Thursday, January 26, 2006

Safe and sound

We made it without incident to Long Beach. Yelena was great on the flight, but she's a little discombobulated still from getting up early yesterday, the time change, being too stimulated to nap properly and general flying stress. She is sleeping quite soundly now, so hopefully she's over the baby jet lag. She has also been teething a lot these past two days, displaying all the classic symptoms. Poor thing is bopping around and then suddenly lets out a big wail. Perhaps there will be a tooth in a week or two to show for all this pain.
Since Yelena went to sleep (Grandma and Sabba are out dancing) I have been reading the news and editorials in all the major print media about the Hamas win. This is not a political blog, so I shall address this subject no further.
What I will comment upon is that I just read that Ira Glass is moving This American Life to New York. The f#$%ing bastard. I hope his series on Showtime gets crappy ratings and that he develops a permanent itch in his nether regions.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Baby sprout no longer short and stout

Yelena just had a growth spurt. I remember the teacher in my breast feeding class saying that babies typically cluster feed at 3 weeks, 6 weeks, 3 months and 6 months. Well, Yelena did the first three on schedule, but I forgot all about the adage these past few months. When she went from sleeping 7-9 hours straight at night to waking up ravenous once, twice, and even an exhausting three times, I started to worry. I was ready to send Eli into the guest room and move Yelena back in our bed so I could get some sleep. I mentioned it in yoga and a few of the moms with older babies said, "Six month growth spurt!" One mom said around six months her daughter nursed every hour all day and every two hours at night.
Mercifully, the past few nights she's reverted to one waking in her 10-10.5 hour night-time sleep cycle. We're not back to the 9-1, 8-2 or 7-3 pattern that I like, yet, but I'll take 6-4 over 4-2-2-2 any day.
The eating has paid off! She definitely grew at least an inch or so in the past week. Last time I looked (really, just a few days ago!) her tippy toes barely touched the bottom of the exersaucer. Today, she was standing flat footed on it, with her pants riding an inch above her socks. I am already phasing out 3-6 month clothes and bringing out some 6-9 months outfits. I'm glad she did this before I went out to California. True, I am only going for 5 nights, but it seems that's all it takes.
Yelena has also made major headway on the cereal front. Every day she increases quantity and thickness and seems to be enjoying it a lot more. Today she was amused by cereal on her nose. I bought a hand pump so she could get the cereal mixer milk freshly squeezed, which she seems to find more appealing. I'm not going to do this gourmet option indefinitely but, for now, whatever facilitates non-boobie food delivery systems is my methodology.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

The Fifth Beatle

Monday, January 16, 2006

Baby Business

Today the weather was lovely, low 40s and sunny, so Yelena and I went on a long walk. We walked over to Indian Boundary Park where they have a small farm zoo. I was into the 5 llamas -- they were mobile, expressive and gazing right at us -- but Yelena seemed more admiring of Beth, the 17 year old geriatric cow that was resting in the sun. Beth uttered a soft, low, "Moo," and Yelena responded, "Oooh." Coincidence?
Last week Yelena was decidedly refusing her rice cereal, turning her face away from the spoon at first sight, so I gave her a 3 day respite. It worked. Yesterday she took a few spoonfuls, aided by Daddy standing behind me and making encouraging faces. Today she took quite a bit more, not the whole amount I made, mind you, but her spoon skills are certainly improving. She may still have a bit of a tongue thrust reflex going on, but I'm not sure. It's not like I've fed a whole lot of babies their first solids. Anyway, the iron in the cereal has gone done made her poop turn green. Psychedelic.
She is getting much better at sitting up, aided by the boppy or having a finger or two rest on our hands for balance. The whole rolling over thing isn't happening right now, unless tipped, so I've decided to take her back to the crime scene of her initial rolls next week, Gramma and Sabba's house. Well, we're really going for a spontaneous visit, but I am hoping their magic carpet will prompt her to start rolling on her own more.
Her fine motor skills are progressing much better than the gross ones. It's so much fun watching her manipulate toys, passing them back between her hands and exploring them. Every week her hands work so much more efficiently than the previous week.
She still loves music, especially when I play fast, and appears to even differentiate between tunes when we play, displaying preferences (Oh Lady Be Good, Honeysuckle Rose and a Romanian folk song are currently at the top of the hit parade) and kicking at the same riffs each time they are played. Soon, Yelena will start the 17-week long Twinkle Tots class at the Suzuki-Orff School. She will just make the cut off, since it's a 6 to 18 month class starting on February 4. We're going on Saturday mornings before shul so Daddy can join us. Marsha and Rafi are going, too, so Yelena gets to see her big buddy and we have a friend with whom to share just how adorable kids banging on things can be.
Other than that, she's just really cute! She vocalizes frequently, adding new sounds and dynamics every day. She's very social and loves to look at and interact with her admiring public. She is now really into having books read to her. I can't see her so well when I'm reading to her on my lap, but Eli says she looks at one page and then the other. I see her smile at some pictures, too. There are a few books in particular to which she really responds: Busy Kitties and I Love My Mommy Because, the latter of which is illustrated with mommy and baby animals and is my favorite book, too, and not just because of the indoctrination of maternal love.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

When the dad's away

Eli is at his annual pod party tonight. Whenever he is gone at night Theo goes insane. His howling is so vociferous I am afraid he's going to wake Yelena.

Birthday biography















Today is Cherubino’s tenth birthday. The most extraordinary cat I’ve ever known has put in a decade of faithful, loving service and I wish to take a break from extolling my daughter to write a hagiography for this fabulous feline.

Cherubino’s mother, Vaska, was an elegant seal point Siamese owned by a PhD student in the Slavic languages department. His father was a blue point Himalayan studded out to father the litter of three kittens that produced Cherubino; a sister, also with a pointier Siamese face; and a brother, who got the shmooshed-in face. My friend Laura had mentioned to Vaska’s human mother that her friends Mila and Ben wanted a cat, preferably a girl, so when a guy named Ben responded to a poster on campus advertising the cats, the girl cat and the last cat in the litter was promised away. I called for a cat, only to find out they were all betrothed to other humans. A few hours later I got a call saying that the person who was going to pick up one of the boy cats didn’t show so, if I got down to Hyde Park soon, I could take him. I called Tony, the designated shlepper back in the days when he was just about the only person we knew with a car, to head to the old ‘hood while my boyfriend (now ex-), with whom I lived at the time, went to go buy a litter box and cat food.

It was love at first sight when I met this blue eyed boy, just shy of two pounds, with big paws, all creamy fuzz with lilac points, love that has grown proportionately as he closes in on twenty pounds, colored Russian blue except for his chest, still a snowy white ruff. I didn’t own a cat carrier yet, so I put this kitten that fit in my hand in a cardboard box. As Tony and I drove north on Lake Shore Drive the kitten mewed pathetically until I let him out of the box. Trembling, he craned his little neck to see out the window, curious and brave despite his fear at being in a new environment for the first time.

When we got him to LaSalle I made him a little snuggly bed and put in a ticking clock, like the books suggest. Of course, when we went to bed he had none of that, crying at the bedroom door until he was let in. At the time, we slept in a futon placed directly on the floor, so the kitty jumped in bed along side me – where he has spent his nights for the past decade, except for the first three months after Yelena was born.

My boyfriend and I took a few days naming him. I wanted to name him Yuri, to go with his mother’s Slavic name and it seemed to suit him, but Ben would have nothing of it. The kitty was very fond of women and loved crawling under skirts, so we came across the name Cherubino, after the character from La Nozze de Figaro, a young man enamored with women who, at one point in the opera, hides under Susannah’s dress. Castration was also in the cat’s destiny and Cherubino is a pants role (a male character sung by a mezzo-soprano for you non-opera fans), so it was rather funny. [As an aside, I have rarely met a person who got the joke right off. One of the only people who ever did was a lovely actor I knew, Nathan, who sadly succumbed to AIDS in 1999. Whenever I think of the irony behind Cheru’s name, I remember Nathan fondly.] We agreed to call him Bino for short, although at some point soon after I started referring to him as Cheru and that is the name to which he primarily responds.

He was a feisty little guy. When he was a kitten we had to take turns staying up with him at night since he was too excited to sleep– great experience for the first few months with Yelena. He loved to chase balls and do flips mid-air, escape into the hall of the apartment building an play keep away, only to flop at your feet for a belly rub when caught. (He still does that, just a lot more sluggishly.) At first he was afraid of so many things; he'd run out of the bathroom when the toilet was flushed, each time covering less distance until he overcame his fear and became the loo paper troll, batting at hands that dared reach for the toilet tissue. At the Beatles' Blackbird he frantically looked around for the chirping birds and, upon listening to a Busta Rhymes CD for the first time, dove under all the furniture seeking cover. (Now, nothing fazes him.) He was super snuggly and loved to sit on my chest between my face and my book when I was reading.

He was always very amorous with me, very flirtatious with women and very fond of my friend Sharmila, but he had difficulties with men. He used to nip at my ex-boyfriend’s ankles whenever they weren’t covered by socks. He would climb up men’s jeans and would attack the mouse tattoo Eric has on his calf. After cat sitting him a few times while I was away, Cheru finally got around to trusting and loving Tony and Eric, but he still had general issues with men until Eli and I got serious. (Kenny being the other exception. He would just go over to Cheru, pick him up and show no fear.) I have seen that pussy cat emasculate at least a dozen men over the years.

Eli was the father figure he needed, and they have grown to love each other very much. When we first started dating and were in bed together, though, Cheru asserted his authority by jumping from the computer monitor to the top of the door, nine feet off the ground, where he hunkered down at the edge, balancing his enormous body on a two inch beam, starring down Eli. Eli wasn’t frightened off, like so many before, was ultimately deemed worthy and accepted into the pack. Now when Eli wakes up Cheru joins his Daddy for his morning ablutions, sitting patiently on the toilet until it's time for the dental floss game.

Cherubino has mellowed out tremendously over the years, the Bordeaux of felines. He has been loyal and loving during ups and downs, through break-ups and sickness, always affectionate, always talkative. Anyone who makes generalizations about cats’ aloofness or lack of compassion has either never had a cat, had a bad cat, or didn’t know what to do with them. Whenever I am crying or sick, he’s there within a minute, purring and nuzzling – although, let me tell you, food poisoning and cat breath are not a happy duo. He paws at me and licks my nose and eats my hair (the latter of which is annoying, yet oddly endearing) every night and morning, keeps my feet warm and lets me wrap my arms around him. He stands guard, erect like a sentinel, and is very protective. He comes to the door to greet whomever enters, meowing his hellos. He demands his due but earns every bit of it.

Cherubino has been a great buddy cat to Despina and Theolonious, although sometimes he is a big bully, stealing their warm spots or butting in when they are getting pet. When I inherited Spi she didn’t really know how to groom herself; he would repeatedly lick her until she finally learned, and he still cleans out her ears. The two are truly bonded and curl up together every day. Theo was even more of a spaz before he and Eli joined us and Cheru really mellowed out the orange monster, giving him an outlet for all his hyper energy. Every night Theo challenges Cheru’s alpha status, only to be thwarted by the kung fu master, Jabba the Buddha. Cheru even lets Theo mount him, unfazed by the anatomical improbability of it all, moaning Theo only reaching the middle of his back.

Cheru has also served as a muse over the years. His beautiful eye color has even given name to a color: Chru Blue. He is the subject of many songs. My favorite, which goes to a modified Tenor Madness, as well as a Carlebach tune, and many others besides: My Cherubino/drinks cappuccino/he likes ‘em foamy/with some spumoni. Another, accompanied by Eli’s country style guitar pickings: His eyes were blue and his nose heart shaped/when he shook his butt the whole earth quaked.

Cherubino Bambino, Cheru, Rubi, Rubi Ru, the Ru, Ru-ster, Bibi, Bino, Big Blue Ru, Big Blue Babalu, Buddha, Bubu, Jabba the Buddha, Fatty Boombalatty, Boomby, Pussy Willow, Cherushetchka, Cherushka, Ketzelah, Cherubador from the Clan McCherubador, Fangs, Himalese, Simalayan, Big Guy, I am a better and richer person for having shared these past ten years with you. I have no illusions as to your extremely limited ability to understand human language, but this homage doesn't even begin to touch on your magnificence. You have taught me so many lessons about nurturing and companionship. Your animal nature, your superb catness, has made me infinitely more human and humane. I love you and I look forward to what I hope is another ten years of snuggles and laughs.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Rasta baby

At this point in their lives, many babies acquire a bald spot on the back of their head. Yelena has acquired dreads. Well, only two dreadlocks so far, upon which I carefully operated to detangle the strands. Looks like a daily combing is in order.

Friday, January 06, 2006

Unidentified Flying Yelena


Yelena (via Mummy who is overstepping the bounds of her parental authority by putting words in said baby's mouth) wishes to publicly thank Rafi for the use of his exersaucer. She was a little unsure of it at first but, as you can see, she has warmed up to in considerably.

Yelena turned 5 months on Wednesday. Like most parents, I am sure, every day we rhetorically ask, “Could you get any cuter?” and, by Jove, she does. I love her laugh. She sounds like an old man who smokes a pack a day. A raspy “Hah!” or “Ah, hah!” when tickled just so. The toothless grin contributes to the old man thing. But a really cute old man.
I had every intention of a longer update, except between the time I started this post and now I had a grating injury and my right index finger is wearing a gauze and tape turban. Crumbly parmesan very dangerous.

Things a former leftie never thought she'd write

If you pray, or meditate, or even make a wish now and then, please pray for the health of Ariel Sharon. The future of Israel, the Middle East, and thus the world depends on this dynamic old lion.

Monday, January 02, 2006

It's always better on holiday

Not much doing here, not much blogging. Yelena is alive and well and living in Chicago, which does not make her the Jacques Brel of babies. She is spunky and giggly, hairy and chubby, not quite sitting nor quite rolling but considering both as viable developmental progressions. She tried some rice cereal yesterday and today, alternated faces of curiousity and repulsion, but nevertheless accepted some dribbles between her rosebud lips without tears or tantrums each time. I am hoping that within a couple weeks gentle persistence will pay off and she'll be eating a baby sized serving. I know we start with the stuff that most resembles breast milk, and I am not going to venture out of the norm on this one, but I wonder if she'd be more into eating something yummy, like carrots, than icky porridge.
I made sweet potato latkes on New Year's Eve. They were beyond delicious. Topped with red pepper jelly and sour cream. Eli, Tony and Eric pronounced them the best latkes ever. Ashkenazi purists, it is the holiday of oil, not of the spud.
I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions, certainly not for the secular new year, but I have decided to try to get some fiction writing done on a daily basis, which may cramp my blogging a bit. But perhaps writing begets writing, so I may become a postopotamus after all.
And here you go:

Happy New Year!