Archive for the 'Das Kind' Category
March 6th, 2008 by Blythe
My books did not tell me to expect that age 13.5 months is the Clingy/Whiny milestone, yet here we are. I’m trying to enjoy the clinging (we’re calling it “snuggling”) and do my best to ignore the whining. Ignore ignore ignore. I can’t hear you when you’re whining. Isn’t that what our grandmothers said to us?
Theo has also become increasing sure about What He Wants and is getting better at pointing out his desires. Literally. I realized yesterday that I was (once again) acting as his minion as I carried him around in my arms as he pointed in the direction he wanted to go. I would take him there, and then he would turn around and point somewhere else, and we wandered around the house this way for some time. It’s a glamorous life.
He’s also learning words and Jeff is teaching him to point to various body parts (we’ve hit a bit of a roadblock with “eyes,” wherein instead of pointing to his eyes when we point to ours, he reaches out and attempts to remove our eyelashes).
There is still no unassisted standing or walking, and for that I am truly grateful.
February 14th, 2008 by Blythe
I fretted when I was putting together this video, about whether a five-minute version would be too self-indulgent, and whether I should just cut it down to two-and-a-half minutes. And then I remembered that I was putting together a video of my baby to put on my blog where I write about myself on the internet and decided I was living the definition of hair-splitting.
(Idea for the first song shamelessly stolen from Amalah, who makes really nice videos of her son and has excellent musical taste. I’m not sure, but I think this McCartney kid is going to make something of himself.)
January 17th, 2008 by Blythe
December 9th, 2007 by Blythe
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJuKtF1csho&rel=1]
November 29th, 2007 by Blythe
Theo and his dad went out to get some Chinese food for our dinner, so I’m writing in blissful quiet. Our little pterodactyl has recommenced his dinosaur screech during the past few weeks and, frankly, it’s giving me a headache.
Also giving me a headache is the aftermath of my visit to the dentist this afternoon. The hygienist cleaned my teeth for an entire hour and I hate to tell you this but it was sort of gory. Do beer and bratwurst cause plaque to multiply exponentially or is it just another example of German thoroughness? I think I might even start flossing just to avoid the bloodbath next time. (Wait, isn’t that almost exactly what I said last time?)
Speaking of (no, not bloodbaths) dental hygiene, I bought a weird little baby toothbrush for Theo earlier this week. It has about twelve rubber bristles and I guess I’m supposed to rub it across his little teeth after he eats. So far I can’t even get the package open. That, combined with my bad example, does not bode well for his future dental health.
THEO’S BREAKFAST SOUNDTRACK: Uncle Scott and Auntie Kerri’s Christmas Mix
November 22nd, 2007 by Blythe
Lately, when I sneak in to check on Theo before I turn in for the night, I’ve noticed that he is usually lying at the same end of the crib where Jeff put him down to sleep. It signifies for me that he’s growing up a little. When he first learned to roll over and then to scoot around, I would find him at the far end from where he started, sometimes with his little feet in their footed pajamas sticking through the bars of the crib because he had wiggled sideways. Then, by morning, he would have wedged his head into different corner completely and tossed his binky on the floor. I wondered how he would ever learn to sleep with blankets and a pillow. But now that he has learned to keep his head at the head end of the bed, and his bare feet at the other end (Did you know that jammies in size 12 months and larger don’t have feet? Except Carter’s brand.), I guess he is on his way.
He has also mastered the sippy cup. Theo has always been happy to drink anything out of any vessel that anyone puts to his lips, but just this week he finally figured out how to tackle the project on his own. This development could be related to the recent introduction of saltine crackers into his diet. Lesson: if your baby won’t feed himself liquid, just pour salt down his throat until he’s so thirsty he can’t help but suck down any water within his reach.
Theo is thankful for turkey, mashed potatoes, bath time, and the fact that cheese is not a traditional Thanksgiving food.
THEO’S BREAKFAST SOUNDTRACK: Sinatra Reprise, The Very Good Years : Frank Sinatra
November 18th, 2007 by Blythe
I inadvertently omitted one of Theo’s vehement dislikes on that list I made the other day. I had forgotten about the great and terrible cheese.
I’m not sure why we were so delighted when Theo grew big enough to sit in the shopping cart seat. He looks so small and determined clutching its bars and staring around at every shopper, every pair of socks, every avocado that we pass during our weekly shopping excursions. He cranes his neck around so he can see where we’re headed and examines the other people in the store solemnly. There’s always so much going on around him that he’s too distracted to fuss.
Our routine includes a stop at the fancy cheese counter. I usually make a detour into the yogurt aisle while Jeff wheels the cart up to where he makes his weekly request for what we’ve learned is the most exotic of delicacies – yellow Irish cheddar. The cheese ladies, who wear white paper hats and hairnets and crisp aprons, all know him and start to prepare our order as soon as they see Jeff coming.
The past few weeks, after Jeff parks the shopping cart, just as the cheese lady makes eye contact and starts to speak, Theo becomes as terrified as I’ve ever seen him. I can usually hear his shrieks as I reach for the yogurt, and by the time I get to the counter, Jeff has picked him up and the cheese lady is backing away slowly. There are tears, there is clutching, there was even, on one occasion, the apparent attempt to climb out of Jeff’s arms and flee the scene on foot.
Our block of cheddar tossed across the counter and flung into the cart, we get past the meat counter and all the way to the cereal aisle before Theo has stopped crying. By the time we arrive at the pasta section, he is once again happily ensconced in the cart and smiling at the baby whose mother is shopping for egg noodles.
We have no idea what he fears, but it’s happened every time we’ve visited the grocery story in the past few weeks. His freak-out is, as far as we can tell, usually precipitated by the attention of the cheese ladies. Our one and only theory is that he doesn’t like their unusual costume, particularly the pointy hat.
We’re pretty sure he is going to love his first encounter with Santa Claus.
THEO’S BREAKFAST SOUNDTRACK: Elephunk : Black Eyed Peas
November 15th, 2007 by Blythe
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Likes:
Ina Garten, my Binky, mouth sounds, swimming, Sandra Boynton, electrical appliances, toes, yogurt, giraffes, naps
Dislikes:
my car seat, empty bottles, the Cuisinart, strained green beans
THEO’S BREAKFAST SOUNDTRACK: The Legend of Johnny Cash : Johnny Cash
November 8th, 2007 by Blythe
We haven’t had a doctor’s appointment in a couple of months, but based on our highly scientific calculations (ie stepping on the scale with Daddy before bathtime and being measured with my sewing tape on the changing table), Theo is about average for height and off the charts for weight. That would be off the low end of the charts. I’m not exactly sure how that’s possible, since he eats more than I do at meals. But based on more scientific studies (ie comparing him to my and Jeff’s thirty-six-year-old baby pictures) we think he has probably just inherited the scrawny gene. Which should stand him in good stead later when the German doctors notice he’s American.
See how my posting every day gives you a little view of the path of my thoughts?
Scones–>Breakfast–>Overweight Americans–>Skinny Baby!
Anyway, at nine months, Theo has finally decided he has had enough of this horizontal stuff and he is ready to GO VERTICAL. Too bad his bony little arms and legs aren’t quite strong enough to get him all the way from laying to standing. But that’s not because he’s not trying really really hard. And then shrieking from the frustration of it all. So we spend a lot of our time propping him against the couch and waiting for him to tip over and loudly request to be dragged to his feet once again.
Speaking of shrieking, he is still a loud one. He hoots like an owl, crows like a pterodactyl, and sobs (with tears) at will. His latest and cutest trick is clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, which charms both of his parents. This is further evidence that our entertainment standards have dropped to new lows since we moved out of the USA.
Also, he has six teeth.
THEO’S BREAKFAST SOUNDTRACK: Kick : INXS
October 2nd, 2007 by Blythe
Screaming arguments just aren’t my style. I am more likely to fume and scowl and walk out of the room and recount the injustice later along with all the reasons I was right. But I’m not sure how I will react the first time there’s a hint of harm toward my child.
Our supermarket has an attached multistory parking garage and friendly signs designating parking spaces for families near the store entrance. We’re used to seeing moms and dads and kids loading and unloading their cars, hauling plastic bottles to the recycling center and climbing in and out of strollers. When we returned to our car after shopping on Saturday evening, we could hear the shouting even before we saw the fight. Two couples, two children, one stroller, and a barrage of screams had taken residence in the family parking area. A thin mother in a yellow trench coat held her infant under one arm and shook her finger in the face of a scowling mom in a black sweatshirt. A tall husband yelled in the ear of a burly dad whose school-age daughter hid behind a car. There were accusations and there was anger. Someone had driven too fast in the parking garage, almost hit someone else’s stroller. Someone shouldn’t have had their stroller in the middle of the garage. Someone’s child could have been killed – Killed! No one had a cool head. All of them, except the kids, were red-faced and seemed on the verge of physical violence.
Our station wagon was parked next to the fight and I scurried to pull Theo out of the shopping cart, sliding into the backseat and strapping him safely into his carseat. Jeff and I didn’t make eye contact, we just hauled grocery bags and jackets and bottles of water swiftly into the back of the car, paying no attention to whether the eggs were safely stowed. The woman in the yellow coat retreated then returned, then ran back to her car, then surged back again toward the scowling family across the garage, and we could hear her high-pitched shouts even with the car doors closed; her face was wild with fright and anger. We waited for the clutch of people to move out of our way so Jeff could back the car out of our parking space. The burly dad stepped between the two women. The tall man carried the baby away from the shouting. The young girl looked up at her mother, who glowered angrily and silently.
We sat in our car and waited, hoping that everyone would climb into their cars and drive safely away. I wished hard for the little girl to crawl into the back seat and shut the door, wished her parents would follow her lead. Finally, one car pulled away from the other, its windows rolled down, shouts flying toward the angry gestures behind it.
If a careless driver almost hit our stroller, would I scream and shake my fist and yell out the car window? I think I might just cry and hold Theo tight and write down the license plate number. But maybe that’s what the parents in parking garage thought, if you’d asked them last Friday, if someone almost hit their stroller, what would they do?
