Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Strike a pose

Seeing how neither Eli nor I have family in Chicago, Yelena hasn't seen many relatives since she was born. Everyone was happy to see her and she was thrilled to strengthen her family ties. Here is Yelena posing with Gramma & Sabba.





And here she is with Uncle Aaron and Auntie Cristina.





Even though we were in Long Beach for a while, it seemed like a whirlwind. We weren't able to see all our friends out there, but did manage to catch up with a few who found Yelena amusing.



Getting funky with Dennis between the BlowUpBlow CD release show and The Space is the Place roller disco.








Visiting with Sharmila fresh off her guest starring role on Joey.





And with Young Jeremy, fresh out of Beverly Hills.






Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Sweet home Chicago

We made it home intact tonight. Yelena did not enjoy the flight today. She is asleep now and was all smiley before bed, so it's water under the bridge but, unlike on the flight to LA, she did not make the best impression on her fellow passengers. When Eli went to get my luggage at the baggage claim, an elderly gentleman who had been sitting a few rows behind us on the flight said to me, "She must be Irish, with that dark hair and so beautiful. And such great lungs." After thanking him for the compliment and denying the Irish part he reported that his wife had said, "Someone is very angry," and that I must have my hands full. I assured him that typically she is a very cheerful, easy baby and this was unusual. I think this is the first time I've had to apologize for my child's behavior in public. I doubt it will be the last.
She did not want to nap, and even wasn't into having her legs bicycled, which is a first. She was very grumpy, plus pooping quite a bit and spitting up a ton. She wasn't even into eating, but didn't seem to be teething, although maybe she was and her tummy was bothering her from the teething. The descent was the worst. Like before, she was suckling between sobs but then started to fall asleep, in a weird way. Everything I've read and heard says to never ever let a baby sleep during descent so I brought her up from under my discrete shirt when she fell off the booby and she looked very out of it, eyes rolling back, not breathing normally and a bit blue. This happened twice and each time I held her upright and called her name and kissed her and tried to get her attention, which seemed to bring her to. It was scary. I think she was exhausted from the flight and the ear pain and crying, which is all new to her. It was almost like she was passing out, to escape her misery. But it wasn't nodding off, which would not have frightened me. We made it to landing, thank God, and she seemed ok and then nodded off for a bit. By the time we got into the car she was cooing again, as if nothing had ever troubled her.
I rejoice that babies do not have long term memory. I am going to talk to the pediatrician about this at our next visit. I am currently not worried but it's not something I am going to forget about any time soon.

I have a new theory about this napping-crying continuum. The only other time this week Yelena cried a lot was Thanksgiving, when she was teething pretty vigorously. She then conked out for two hours. On the average day, Yelena doesn't cry much more than a minute here or there and takes 3-4 20-40 minute naps a day. On the rare day she's fussy, she naps like a "normal" baby. I guess "normal" babies cry a lot more, and thus need more day time rest to sleep off the emotional exhaustion.
Sweet Spina is mewling for some loving, so off I go.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Keep them doggies rollin'

Last night Yelena was cheerful so I put her on the floor for some much loathed tummy time. She protested by rolling over! To prove it wasn't a fluke she did it three more times. Daddy and Grandma were both present, so I have witnesses to this historic first, and it was great sharing this moment.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Travel baby

Yelena survived her first flight relatively unscathed. Take off wasn't a blast and landing was misery, but she did remarkably well, with no bouts of crying during the intervening 3 plus hours. She only took 2 short cat naps, despite getting up almost 3 hours before her usual wake-up time, and was a bit grumpy stuck in my lap at times, but I stood up and bounced and put her in my seat and played with her and she got compliments from many of our neighbors on how well she did. I wouldn't want to do it every day and it would have been a lot easier with Eli, but we're ok now and enjoying the warmth and sun.
The mamzers at American do not allow pre-boarding for passengers with children!
I am without many of my entertaining tricks here, so we will have to improvise. Fortunately, there are a lot of new sights, sounds and faces to keep her amused. I wish I could have brought my violin -- there was no way I was going to check it and I was already carrying on the diaper bag, stroller and Yelena and barely had enough appendages for that -- as Yelena can sit and watch the bow go back and forth mesmerized for 45 minutes at a time.

Split

Damn, my mom has one of those split ergonomic keyboards. I never learned to touch-type -- although on a regular keyboard I can do ~50 wpm -- and this keyboard is not compatible with the Mila method. I may not do much blogging the next week-and-a-half since this pace is very frustrating.

Looking in the gift horse's mouth

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later and I am surprised it took this long. Today Yelena received her first Baby Einstein and Baby Mozart DVDs. They were from a family friend -- who does not know about this blog, thank God -- and I accepted them graciously and appreciated the gesture, but I could feel my mom's inner amusement radiating from behind me. Fortunately, they came equipped with a gift receipt, of which I will make quick work.
News flash to parents: Einstein and Mozart were unique geniuses; there is no way plopping your kids in front of the same idiotic show a hundred thousand other kids are watching at the exact same moment will make your kid special in any way. I've bitched about them before and I will bitch about them again, they are complete baby crack. They are the gateway drug to television addiction. They have no through-line, don't encourage imagination and have no educational methodology that I can glean. If I want Yelena to have a trippy experience, I turn on the laser pod and play The Wall for her.
I am going to create a new line of DVDs. Baby Rothko. Baby Bataille. Baby John Cage.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Close Afield

Yelena loves museums. At least when they aren't crowded, like the Field Museum today. She was awake until we left the Pompeii exhibit and was quite chatty and smiley all the way through. We even got a pass to bring in her stroller, since strollers typically aren't allowed in special exhibits. There were a bunch of school children, but none of the groups were in the exhibit when we were, so it was quite spacious. Hugo pointed out that Yelena is closer to high school age than we are. Yikes. I can feel my wrinkles crinkle.
The exhibit featured quite a few resin and plaster casts of bodies killed in the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. When we met a friend, Todd, who works at the museum for coffee we mentioned that the cast party was a bit grisly. Todd concurred, and said that gift shop sales are way down since people are too depressed after the exhibit to buy stuff.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

One of the kids

Honorary Uncle Hugo is in town for a few days. Yelena enjoyed playing with him and looks forward to going to the Pompeii exhibit at the Field Museum with the Hughes.
Yelena is also very excited to see her real Uncle Aaron, along with Grandma, Sabba, Auntie Cristina, a few honorary aunts and uncles, and her first palm tree later this week. And the Pacific Ocean. And hills. Yes, my dear daughter, the whole world isn't flat and all streets aren't on a grid.

Just a Dairy Queen

Last week our financial planner, who is also a friend, came over for our six month check-up. At every meeting he updates our stats. Under my profession he wrote "Home Maker." I found it disconcerting. Unlike my erstwhile colleagues, equipped with MBAs and degrees in practical things like finance and for whom being an Asset Manager was a point of honor, I was always a bit ashamed that I had a job in the financial world. (I had envisioned myself more as Mila Cohen, Renaissance Woman: actor, director, writer, musician, art historian, double agent, something with panache frowned upon by the American masses as Bohemian and impractical. Alas, I didn't have a trust fund and lacked the stamina and the ambition to live below the poverty line for longer than a few weeks to see if I actually had the talent for any of the above, so I copped out and got myself a "real job" while dabbling on the side.) It was still troubling to see such a loaded title emblazoned over the palimpsest of a decade plus of what our culture deems respectable work. Home Maker, Housewife, these are disparaging terms, job titles I really never thought would apply to me.
I had our friend cross out Home Maker and write Dairy Queen. I was joking on one level, since it is idiotic how our culture equates job title with identity, but then again, I wasn't. From a purely Marxist perspective, I am exceedingly productive. Each feeding I produce up to six ounces of milk, multiply that by the number of feedings in a day and I am a prize milchkow. Most days in the office, in between playing solitaire showdown with Kenny and surfing the 'net, I produced a spreadsheet or two -- abstract representations of possible scenarios projecting future returns, hypothetical profits realized some day by The Man. Now I am generating precious bodily fluids with both use value and exchange value, well exchange value assuming someone else out there besides Yelena wants my milk. Moo.
Gloria Steinem proposed that "women's work" is drastically undervalued and that it should be given monetary equivalents. Given the moolah shelled out for day care in this town, multiplied by 4.2, I would be rolling in it and once again have value in the eyes of the work bigots.
People ask if I am returning to work. I tell them I am working, just with a huge pay cut. One person asked if Eli were the sole supporter of our family; I answered that he is the sole financial supporter, but I am certainly supporting our family in other vital ways. When hearing that I am not planning on returning to slaving away for The Man, I typically get one of two reactions: either a disapproving / surprised look that I am giving up a career (especially one where only 10% of the workforce is female) or a comment about how it is really best when a child has a mother around all the time. People who react either way can kiss my feminist ass.
Both responses indicate the questioner's assumptions of a woman's place. From reactions in the former category, I get the feeling that I am either letting down the sisters or they think, because I have chosen what they see as a traditional route, that I am caving into patriarchal expectation or, moreover, that I am boring. A few female friends -- with and without children -- have asked, "Don't you think you'll get bored staying home all day?" As if their lives in an office are constantly scintillating. (At work, my co-workers were pretty much the same every day, talking about the same sports teams and making the same stupid jokes. My co-worker now changes every day and it will be a long time before she tries to talk to me about American football, if ever.) Obviously, people in the latter category are all Christian Coalitiony and think all women should stay home and raise their children, with which I also don't agree. Yes, someone actually said to me, when I revealed my indefinite maternity leave, "But I thought you were a feminist." Yo! Feminism is about choices. I have made mine, you have made yours, and kindly sod off if you don't approve.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Alfalfa meets the Evil Naptime


Isn't that little curl sticking out atop Yelena's head the duckiest? This picture was taken this morning, the three monthiversary of her birth.
Yes, my little Sleep Warrior is three months. That is her new super hero identity: the Sleep Warrior, battling sleep in all its nefarious manifestations. Today, we were up at 8:3o and, except for 10 minutes in the car/carrying in groceries, she just went down for her first nap at 2:06. Yup, that's right, 2:06. And that was after a few earlier tries, the Bjorn, the swing and a few nursing downs (nursings down, like Attorneys General?). Even the one that finally defeated her met with a fierce battle. I put it her in her sleeper and, a minute later, she opened her eyes, began to wail, only to be overtaken by her arch-nemesis mid-cry. Wicked laughter aside, now I can blog for a minute and get a couple not-baby-compatible things done. The good thing: except for distinctly disliking the hardware store, she has been cheerful and smiley all day. I guess I would rather have a good tempered baby who doesn't sleep than a cry baby who takes regular naps.

Oral Fixations II

I had a huge increase in my web traffic the past few days. You wouldn't believe the number of people who Google "oral fixation" which led them to my recent post. I bet they were terribly disapointed to find it was all about a baby teething and nursing. That's were these fixations start, but my guess is they were looking for something kinkier. My blog, like my life, is currently pretty kink free.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Oral fixations

Thanks to everyone for their suggestions. The pediatricians' office called and talked to Eli last night, so we're good to go. Yelena seems much better today. I've heard that these things come and go in waves, so hopefully it's low tide for a while, and not bad on the plane to LA in a couple weeks. A woman in my yoga class said her daughter started this at 3 months but didn't get a tooth until 6 months. Yikes! When my mom gets back from Finland and Prague (I know, peculiar itinerary) I will ask her when I started teething.
On other Yelena oral news, we tried the bottle with formula, since someone suggested maybe she just wants breast milk in the original packaging but would be willing to take something else, but she still wouldn't latch and didn't seem too into the weird stuff. Good news? Daddy tried dropper feeding her and she took over an ounce, which is more than she ever did with the bottle, and without fuss. I wouldn't ask a baby sitter to dropper feed her, but Eli can do it while I go to class or the gym (or maybe even the opera?!) so our baby won't starve. Ha!

Maurice Chavalier nightmare

Let's talk baby clothes. Girl clothes
During the hagim I was speaking to the mother-in-law of a friend due to have a baby in about a month. She said that, if it is a girl, her daughter-in-law requested no pink. I laughed, for I, too, once felt the same way but have since given up the battle against pink. Yelena's crib set and such is neutral and jungle animals, but a good portion of her wardrobe is pink. That's what people buy her and hand down -- and I even bought her a pink hat, because it looks like a flight helmet with a pompom on it and who can resist such a thing, and a pink footie with a cat -- and at least it looks good on her. Pity the poor baby girl for whom pink clashes with her complexion. What amuses me to no end is Eli, who used to make faces whenever I put on a pink sweater, but is now a danger in the baby clothes department. "Oh, look at this itsy bitsy outfit!"
But what I do find disturbing is this whole "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" emblazoned on many the item of girls' clothing. I am sure that someone, somewhere, must think this is a way of celebrating girlhood, a pastel grrrl power thing. But to my hyper-sensitive feminist mind, it seems a bit like reverse psychology revealing society's preference for little boys. Like, oh I wish we had a boy, but thank heaven for little girls! Too bad they grow up into uppity feminists. Yes, for me the phrase "little girls" is condescending -- it diminishes a girl. (A teacher at my high school kept referring to a friend as, "Young lady" despite her frequent requests for him to stop doing so. When she finally retorted, "Ok, old man" he was quite flumoxed.) I think of Oingo Boingo's song, "I love little girls/they make me feel so good/I love little girls/they make me feel so bad... they don't ask me questions/ they don't look for answers/ they just like to hold me." And worst of all, the phrase is straight out of Gigi, Maurice Chevalier singing, "Zank heaven, for leetle girlz," with his pedophiliac leer. Hello, Gigi was training to be a courtesan! And Maurice was thanking heaven for her! Only instead of becoming a high paid whore, she marries young instead. Not exactly the ideal role model.