Growing up and up

I saw Maia walk this weekend! She took a couple of crablike steps once to get to me, and then a couple of forward steps to go from Eric's hands to mine. Eric also saw the crab walk at a different time. She's also delighting in climbing the stairs, and in riding her rocking horse standing. She's been grinning all weekend. She's got a couple of days to go on her antibiotics and the remnants of a cough, but otherwise is very well. Whenever we hold her and start patting her back now she pats our backs a few times too. "It's okay Mom," she seems to be saying. "It's okay, Dad."

Chloë continues to have sleep troubles. In the last week I've gone in and seen her sleeping with her legs slung over the side of the bed, her trunk on the mattress; one leg in and one leg out of bed; with her legs under her pillow and her head on the blanket; facedown on the floor with one leg hooked over the chair. The other night I was talking to Dad on the phone about an hour after bedtime and she came out into the hall and called me. "Mama, did you say 'Chloë'?" she said. I said I had, and that I was talking to Grandpa. "Did you tell him that we went out into the garden and planted tomatoes?" she said. "No, I didn't," I said. "Go back to bed."

We did plant tomatoes, just in time for some torrential rain. I'd mentioned that I hoped it would rain so the tomatoes would get water, and that morning Chloë said, "The rain will be good for our plants to grow!" She has a great time digging around with the little spade she got for Easter, and continually asks me to dig for worms. When I find one, she accepts it in her hand with delight and coos at it for about three seconds. Then she puts it carefully down in the hole and asks me to find another one. I'm glad she treats them well but it's a pretty exhausting pastime.

We went to the farmer's market Saturday, and watched the river for a while. A couple of men were fishing on the dock there, and we got to watch one of them catch a big silvery panfish. Now Chloë wants to go fishing. I know both her grandpas would be delighted to take her, so I'm sure we can get her out fishing this summer.

They got a sandbox as a joint birthday present from Memaw and Omi, and Chloë has been asking every day when we're getting the sand. Maia is a bit young for it, but I'm contemplating bringing out the empty sandbox and putting it in the yard for them to play around in. They're enjoying it that way in the living room now, which is fine but doesn't leave a lot of room for things like walking. We also finally brought out a wooden train set that we got from Ikea over a year ago, and both girls love them--Chloë to build tracks and run the trains around on them, Maia to lift them up and chew them. "Maia Destroyer," Chloë laments whenever this happens (as our friends call their youngest). She also likes knocking down the towers and bridges and rocketships Chloë builds. Maybe they'll play more harmoniously as they get older.

Dear Maia, year one

Darling Maia,

Happy first birthday! I'm really sorry you have pneumonia.

Last week you started coughing while nursing, which made me worry at first you had an allergy to codeine, since I'd just started Tylenol 3 because of a toothache. Then Friday, your birthday, it developed into a real cold, with a drippy nose and a fever. That night I noticed you were breathing fast when I put you down for bed. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry I didn't get more alarmed by it, or think to give you medication for the fever. I did tell your dad about it, who said he'd look it up. I went to bed. He woke me up at 1:45, saying, "I'm taking Maia to the ER." He'd checked your breathing and heartrate, which were both much too fast, and taken your temperature, about 102F, and the doctor had directed him to take you to the hospital. So you went. He had me hold you while he grabbed a last thing before leaving, and you were so lethargic and hot.

You got some ibuprofen and a chest x-ray there (your dad holding you, the film between his chest and yours, so that you wouldn't scream and writhe while they took it), and they diagnosed you with pneumonia. It was mild, as pneumonia goes; they didn't even give you breathing treatment, just a prescription for antibiotics and more ibuprofen and instructions to take you to the pediatrician in a couple of days. You were due for your one-year well-check anyway. Dr. Magoun was pleased with you overall (75th percentile for everything, developing just right) but found that the antibiotic wasn't working and you had an ear infection as well, so switched you to something different, and that's working better. You perked up as soon as we got the fever down, but now it stays down without the ibuprofen, which makes us all happier since you don't like having it injected down your throat. The last couple of times I've fed it to you very gradually, and that's worked better. But discontinuing it is better still.

That aside, your twelfth month and your first year have been wonderful. You're such a happy, explorative baby. I always intended not to compare you too much to your sister, and while I do it some, it really does feel like we're starting over with you. I kind of remember how Chloë was at this or that age, but mostly only by realizing how different or similar she was to you. Now you're my benchmark for three-month smiles, and six-months sitting, and seven-months crawling (sooner than your sister), and baby high-fives and kisses and trying to eat baby feet. I taught you "Kiss Mama," sometime in the last month or two, which instantly made your dad jealous, so now you also know "Kiss Daddy," and, kind of, "Kiss Chloë." Your one-year-old self is so smart. You point to the books or your new statue from Grandpa when you want them, and turn yourself around to slide down off the bed, and move off my legs when I'm getting up from the toilet, and understand things like "Arms up," and "Lie down," and "Milk?" and "No eyes!" This afternoon you and Chloë were at the window of our bedroom, and I heard you start to giggle intermittently. After a moment I peeked behind the curtain to find you tentatively poking your finger toward Chloë's eye and laughing when she was dodged. You both seemed to be enjoying the game, but I put a stop to it anyway. I love to hear your laugh, but maybe not at that potential price.

You love to laugh, much more so than your sister. Your very early months were a bit of a trial, especially the night colic. But as soon as you started emerging as a real person, with a real personality, I had a lot more fun with you--I think we all did. You like to be tickled, of course, and hung upside down, and to play peekaboo, and have raspberries blown on your belly; but you also like being jounced up and down while we make funny noises, or playing keepaway, or poking at my glasses after I've told you not to. You have a sunny smile that you bring out when I come into your room to get you after a nap, and when I come home from work at night, and when you catch sight of me unexpectedly. Sometimes it takes my breath away, my great good luck in being so beloved by you. I know, the whole giving-you-life thing gets me some brownie points, but still, I'm not always sure I deserve this.

You love your daddy too, and your sister. You're so pleased to see Chloë when I get you first and we go into her room together to get her or to wake her. You crawl all over her, and steal her drink and push her out of her own chair, because you like the things she has because they're hers. Recently you've started leaning over and kissing her hair, open-mouthed, at every opportunity, which she enjoys too. You love her hair. I keep telling you you'll have your own like that...eventually. (I think you've finally got as much now as she had at birth.) You two get along very well, all things considered, and I'm so glad. I look forward to the next year or two when you can really start to play together.

You've developed well, giving us pretty much no trouble this year other than the colic and some dramatic projectile pooping while on vacation, and maybe a bit on food. You weren't all that keen on solid foods for the first few months we introduced them, but you love them now. While you've been sick you've mainly been eating cheddar crunchies (baby Cheetos, basically), which I'm not excited about, but it's better than no food at all and you won't take baby food. Ordinarily you love bananas and oatmeal and Cheerios and apple bites and soft vegetables and pretty much everything else we'll let you try. You have been eating some cheese (you love cheese) and applesauce and, tonight, some strawberry, so that's good. So far you've been a pretty adventurous eater, and I'm hoping you'll stay that way into toddlerhood. Tuesdays when your dad goes out with his friends have always been "weird food nights," first for me and then for your sister and me, and I'm really looking forward to having girls' nights, just the three of us, eating all the good things your dad won't touch.

We're still nursing, which makes me happy, especially since we've gotten past the "mauling me" and "biting me" stages and have weathered the need for formula. When I first went back to work, you refused a bottle. I worried you would starve. We took a weekend and did bottle Boot Camp until you caved (being only nine weeks old) and started accepting the bottle. When, some seven months later, I faced the fact that I wasn't pumping enough to cover my work hours and was going crazy trying and had no frozen stash (thank you excess lipase issues) to draw from, I worried that we would buy formula and you'd refuse it and, being bigger and even stronger-willed now, starve. But you didn't. You took a half-and-half bottle without comment and didn't look back. I may have muttered, "Traitor," to myself once or twice, but I was glad, overall. Now you're on whole cow's milk, and formula to finish off that one container we bought, and a little milk I'm still pumping. But we nurse happily when I'm home. You don't have a real need for it anymore, and you never indicated that you were hungry the way Chloë did, by bouncing her mouth off my chest; you got generally irritable instead. But sometimes you'll point to my chest, or gently press your mouth to my shirt, and I get the message. I'm glad we still have this together. I'll be sorry when it goes. I could probably get you weaned onto a bottle pretty easily, but I'd rather not, not just yet. If you decide you're ready for that, I know you'll tell me. You're good at telling us what you want.

You're not quite walking, but you're so very close. Your dad, and your halmoni, have seen you take a few independent steps. I haven't. But I've seen you cruising with one hand held so lightly, and I've seen you standing for half a minute or more, bouncing a little, confident, strong. I was so sure you'd be walking before your birthday, but I guess you decided to take your time. You don't have any words yet, either, though I'm starting to wonder about those times you start to chant "Ma ma ma ma." Probably having "Mama" be your first word is too much to hope for. But you do sometimes look at me with intent when you're saying it. You've also fixed your gaze at my face and said earnestly, "Bah," and I've known you're telling me something, though I'm not sure what.

We had to cancel your party because of the pneumonia, but we still opened presents and had cake (I worked so hard on that darn thing; there HAD to be cake on your birthday). You didn't eat any, because you weren't eating anything, which made me sad--not that you didn't taste the cake I made, but that you weren't up to trying something I'm sure would have delighted you if you were well. Now that you're feeling better we'll try it again soon. You did enjoy your presents, especially the bouncy ball your sister picked out and the new chair Halmoni bought you. (Chloë loves that it folds out, and has so far used it more than you. You're still pushing her out of her chair, so I guess that's fair.) You pulled at the wrapping paper, and were intrigued by the prizes inside. You stared at the computer where we were doing a web call with family and I could see you thinking: "Moving picture. Nice faces. They're talking to me. They look familiar." You're still a baby, but you won't be for long. My wonderful girl.

You're a bright girl, a happy girl, an adventurous girl, and I'm so glad you're my daughter. I worried when I was pregnant with you that I wasn't going to love you as much as I do Chloë, no matter how other parents kept reassuring me I would. I didn't see how I could avoid having an internal competition between the two of you, and Chloë had the edge of being less care-intensive and more familiar. But it turns out that when you have a second child, she doesn't get some negotiated share of a compartment marked "parental love." She gets a new compartment all her own. You have a sister, but you still have all my love. I've had a baby before, but you are still the first you, still an amazement and a mystery and a happy surprise, even in familiar wrapping paper (someday you'll stop wearing everything your sister wore). And you get the advantage of a mama who's had a baby before, even if she doesn't apply everything she's learned (like: when the baby gets a fever, do something). I love the baby you've been and the toddler you'll be, and the family you've given us by being part of us. I love you, Miss Baby. Happy birthday.

Love,
Mama

Status report: Chloë, Month 33

Our girl at two-and-three-quarters is full of defiance and trepidation, "why?" and whine, silliness and fun. I got a newsletter from Pampers today informing me my 30- to 36-month-old should be forming four- and five-word sentences now. I refer them to Chloë herself: "Mama, you're silly. You're silly and I am silly and Maia is silly and Daddy is silly. Our whole family is silly."

She asks--states, really, "Why," whenever I refuse something and often after I merely say something. Where before she would ask for what she wants, now she demands it. "Put on my bib and scoot me in to the table." "Put on my shoes and my jacket." "Change my diaper." (I've started telling her she's going to have to learn to change her own.) We're working on fixing this, and otherwise she's very good about please and thank you, sometimes to ridiculousness. At bedtime she often hangs out in the nursery doorway while I'm feeding Maia. The other day she appeared, saying, "Hello Mama." I said hello. She continued, "How are you?" I said, "I'm a little disgruntled. How are you?" She said, "I'm a little digwuntuud too." There was a short pause, and then she said, "Thank you." I said, surprised, "For what?" and she said, "For hello."

She continues to be a good big sister, though a bit of a tattle-tale sometimes too--but Eric pointed out that it's good to know when she perceives something is wrong, like "Maia is in the garbage," or "Maia is going toward the stairs." She likes to share Maia's food, and is happy to share her own drink as long as she gets some too. They giggle together sometimes. Crawl over each other, too.

Her imagination continues to soar to new heights. The living room is a spaceship, sure, that she and Maia use to blast off. But now she goes to work in the office and does homework, then trims her beard (like Daddy) with a bubble wand, then makes me a Lego cake and takes pictures with a Lego camera. She makes clothes and cooks food, fixes cars, and pours pretend sugar on the floor so she can pretend vacuum it (and then ask me if she missed any).

This one's for Grandpa and Uncles James and Nels.

She's still very keen on her bedtime story, and if possible a naptime story if I'm in the mood on the weekend. She came to me with a piece of paper the other day and told me she was going to tell me a story. "Once upon a time there were Goldilocks and the Three Bear Pirates," she began. "They went to the zoo and the park." The switch to afternoon naps was a necessary and probably a good step, but otherwise sleep has been bad this month; for a while she was getting to sleep between ten and eleven after hours of whining or crying or lying awake, kicking the walls or playing with her turtle nightlight on the floor. When I invited her to bring the turtle to bed with her she stopped getting out of bed, and the past couple of nights she hasn't put up a fuss at bedtime. I don't think the turtle was the true root of the problem, but we'll take what we can get.

She's always putting things in her mouth and nose, often her fingers, and very often licks her hands while I'm telling her bedtime story. I asked her whether it felt good on her mouth or her hands more, and she said her hands. I don't know what to do about that. She's also very keen on washing her hands, especially now that she can reach the faucet and soap to do it herself. She continues to enjoy getting lotion for her hands or her ows, but now it's mostly so she can wash it off afterward "with a lot of soap and water."

Similarly, she's now riding her tricycle well--she still needs practice and confidence, but she can pedal and she's learning to steer. Now that the weather's nicer Eric has been taking them out for walks and to the park and the zoo (hence the story) several times a week, and she seems to be loving it.

We've been having her try to brush her teeth for a while, and she does okay, though certainly not well enough that we're letting her take over. She strips her clothes off easily sometimes, but other times she wails "I can't do it. I need help." She won't go down slides anymore either, and certainly not on swings. We're not sure why she's so fearful. We're hoping it's just the age.

She continues to enjoy bathtime with Maia, though she recently asked for a solo bath so she could play with her bath crayons and have some bubble bath. She dislikes having her hair combed or brushed, so it's getting cut pretty soon. I keep asking if she still wants to do that, since it's so pretty long, but she's sure.

She had a marvelous time on "bacation," in South Haven, and refers to it often--as well as other things that prove her memory is getting longer and better all the time. Not to mention the times when she asks for, say, naked time before bedtime, I say yes, and when we get to 8 PM Eric says "Time for jammies," and she says, "Mommy said I could have naked time!" and I have to explain that when I said that I had assumed we'd be finishing baths on time. A fine memory. 

She's so much fun to play with these days. I do a "horsey ride" thing with the girls, where I'm on my back with my knees bent and they sit on my lower belly and I jounce them up and down while singing the William Tell Overture very badly. Great exercise for my thighs. Anyway, she saw my cowboy hat, I explained what it was, and now she wears it for horsey rides. Today we somehow ended up playing "knock me down"--she'd sit up, I'd push grandly but gently at her forehead, and she'd fling herself over backward like I'd punched her. She likes Ring Around the Rosie and Row Your Boat and Hide and Seek, though she doesn't get the "hide" concept and isn't strong on the "seek," and loves playing Candyland, especially without the cards because then we can send the gingerbread "guys" on adventures instead of just sticking to the path on the board. Such a happy giggly girl. Strong-willed, and curious, and strange, and a lot of wonderful.

Dreaming, all right

Chloë is currently passed out on the floor. Sometimes she wants to sleep on the thick double-layered blanket that she likes to keep on the rug by her bed, but before I went in just now she was simply splayed face-down, half on the blanket, half off, hand outstretched to the turtle planetarium night-light she had undoubtedly been playing with after she got done kicking the floor and walls.

As you might guess, we're having sleep troubles.

She switched to an afternoon nap recently--or rather, stopped going to sleep during morning naps and started falling asleep during TV time in the afternoon. So Eric's been putting her down with Maia's afternoon nap, since that way they can coordinate actual activities in the early or late afternoon. But it doesn't seem to be suiting her exactly. She sleeps late and heavily, and then at bedtime, as tonight, she won't go down. We used to have a sweet bedtime ritual: naked time with books, then pajamas, tooth-brushing and nose medicine (Ayr saline gel to protect against nosebleeds), good-nights, and then an oral bedtime story and a song snuggled up in the dark before sleep. We still have it, but she doesn't sleep after the song. She wants to snuggle.  She wants to sleep on the floor. She wants this, wants that. She needs her moon back on. She needs a tissue. She needs to pee. She doesn't want to be alone.

We've tried toeing the hard line, since that worked before--making sure she has what she really needs, then checking on her occasionally as needed but not giving in. Then, not checking on her. That's resulted in lots of wall-kicking, calling for us, crying for us, getting out of bed, and sleeptimes of 10:30 or later. (Bedtime is 8:30-9.) But I don't think indulging her is going to help--or at least, not in anything but the very short term. There was one night I did go in and snuggle with her, I think because she was sick. She fell asleep while I was there, but then she woke up and found me not there and called for me again. Repeat twice and then it was my bedtime. I think that might have been the night I stayed and we were both awakened by Maia in the wee hours (or I was awakened by her and Chloë was awakened by me) and she said, "Mommy don't leave me," and I explained I was going to go feed Maia, and then she finally went to sleep for the rest of the night.

I think that Chloë's napping too late in the day. But Eric has difficulty getting her to lie down any earlier, and has trouble planning activities when they have breakfast and then Maia goes down and then they have lunch and then Chloë goes down and then Maia goes down again; and he's running the daycare. I can and do prevent her from sleeping any later than I get home, but that's still pretty late. Eric thinks the problem is simple overtiredness, which can also (rather frustratingly) delay sleeptime. So all we really know is that something's not right. So we'll try one thing, then another, to try to fix it. Poor guinea pig baby.

More on milk

Maia hasn't given up the R.I.N.D.S. yet, though I'm slowing down on pumping and today, for example, she only nursed four times (when she woke, before naps, and at bedtime). She also bit me again today, which resulted in her being shouted "No biting!" at and dumped (gently) on the floor, which she seemed to take personally. I've given up reading or playing on my phone while we nurse, partly because she gets distracted by it and partly because I know this isn't going to last long--either the individual session or the activity in general--and I want to be present for it.

It's funny how individual a baby can be in the act of something as supposedly simple as nursing. At this age, as I recall, Chloë was engaged in Extreme Nursing, wiggling and throwing herself everywhere and pushing her butt in the air as she nursed. Maia doesn't do this, though she does tend to end a little early, wiggle around so she's more on her stomach than on her side, and then go back for a last mouthful or two. But when she's lying on her left side, she puts her right leg straight up in the air, sometimes grabbing it, sometimes pushing her foot (so much bigger than it used to be!) into my face so I'll rub it or pretend to eat it or wave it around like a wand to make her smile. But only that side. When she's lying on her right side, her left arm is constantly in motion, groping over and under my shirt and, lately, patting and stroking the other R.I.N.D.S., which is peculiar and irritating and I've been trying to get her to stop it. But it only happens on that side.

She'll grab and play with my hair on either side, which will generally make it swing free and tickle her in the face, which makes her smile. And when she's done she invariably pushes herself upright and reaches for the books, saying earnestly, "Da da da da." I love how her vocalizations are purposeful now, even though I don't know what she means.  She doesn't often demand to nurse, instead getting generally irritable if I'm not getting into position, but if she's thirsty and I happen to be lying down she'll come over and bounce her mouth off the appropriate place a few times to tell me to get a move on.

I'm looking forward to giving up pumping, especially since the lactation room at work is getting a little crowded and will be more so in the summer, I'm told. (I acknowledge this is still better than not having a lactation room at all like last time, especially with the scalding requirement.) I'm not looking forward to giving up nursing, but I think it's going to happen sooner than later, unless I make a special effort. Maia seems to be less interested in it, more independent. It makes me wistful, but it's a good thing, and it's characteristic of her. I'm looking forward to seeing more of her personality, too.

South Haven

For spring break we went to South Haven, MI, with our friends Matt and Carol, their kids Ellie and Zander, and Ellie and Zander's grandma Terry and cousin Tessa. (I felt very grown-up, renting a vacation house and everything.) It was a great time, even though I went sick and we all came back that way. Chloë had fun running around with Ellie and spying on Zander's video games, and loved the beach.



She was afraid of the stairs leading down first, and "the waves," she explained later; but Matt coaxed her down with shells and promises, and when she got there, she was able to dig in the sand, fly a kite, and watch the seagulls and the boats. We didn't go nearly as often as she wanted us to.





She also had a great time with the Easter egg hunt, running around outside, and being exposed to Play-Doh for the first time.

Meanwhile, Maia discovered a love for swings:



At least one of them likes them.

It seems only yesterday

"I'm old enough to drink now. Watch out, world."