Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Separated at Birth?

I don't recall delivering another baby on John's birthday, but the likeness is uncanny, no? Here he is pictured wearing a gift from Grama Altman, a camo-inspired swaddler which essentially calms a newborn the farg down as it reminds them of the close and comfy quarters in the womb before their violent eviction. Too much exposed space in their new orbit freaks them out, and they whack themselves in the face and wake themselves up. 'Round these parts, we call the swaddle "fabric jail." Sometimes John fights getting in to (and out of) fabric jail, but he likes it. And since he's discovered his hands and the joy of sucking them over the past week, he's not punching himself in the grill as much, which is good. I guess?He's also smiling a lot, cooing and gurgling lots of important things.

I spent a few weeks with the Family Altman in MA where I arrived with a wee baby, and I've come back to NYC with a little boy. Who happens to look exactly like a Fisher Price Little People person. But is bigger, warmer, softer, and wigglier. And louder. And more expensive.

But cuter...


Thursday, May 20, 2010

Love From Canada

A most delightful quilt (with matching almost too-good-to-use burp cloths) made for John with love by the uber talented Lisagh at Grosgrain Garage.

The Story is a Little Different But the End is the Same

Monday, May 17, 2010

Doodle's Home (That *&^$%# Jerk)

A third sleepless night and I was compelled to go down to the courtyard with a can of Fancy Feast to look for Doodle. She must be hungry for easy food now. I unlocked the basement door to complete quiet and no signs of her, but when I turned the corner, there she was. Just sitting near the side of the building, wild eyed and small, apparently in mid-stalk of some rodent.
I called to her, and she responded to me. But when I cracked the can open, she trotted over. That's when I scooped the jerk (a very light jerk, I must add; doesn't seem like she ate too many meeces on her adventure) up in my arms and briskly walked up the 8 flights home.

She just ate the can--which she ate in an undignified way straight out of said can--in the kitchen sink and now is looking for a dark quiet place to sleep it off. Being that it's 5 in the morning, there are a lot of these places right now but she knows that soon enough the sun will rise and she'll be bored out of her tits again with her partner of 10 and 3/4 years.

Until the next expedition, I'm going to catch some precious shut eye. Between Doodle and her little brother's antics, I'm a little spent over here.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

The Hirt Locker: The Soundtrack for Doodle's Latest Escape

Al Hirt with Java.

Somehow picturing Doodle running around Manhattan to this tune comforts me.

Doodle Was a Rollin' Stone (That &%$#@ A**hole)

Have You Seen Me?

Doodle, NYC ~ March 18, 2010

This Just In: Doodle Ran Out

Last evening I had the front door of the apartment open to catch a cross breeze. Doodle slipped out into the hallway at some point. Generally she doesn't go far other than up and down the stairs a bit because she has no access to the street from that exit. Unfortunately, as of this afternoon, she hasn't reappeared. Did she go out for a pack of smokes never intending to return? Is she running around Chinatown? In an airplane on her way to Puerto Rico? Dead in a ditch? We shall see. Keep your fingers crossed that John's big sister comes home soon. I'm sick about it.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Thoughts While Breast Feeding Typed With One Hand

He looks so sweet. A boy. My darling boy. I hope he doesn't turn out to be a serial killer or a rapist or something. I will be so disappointed. And frankly, embarrassed.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

I Once Had a Blog Now I've Got a Boy

John and Doodle, NYC ~ 4/8/2010

Landing on un-updated blog is as about as unappealing as pulling back the drapes to find a sticky grey hair ball glued halfway on the carpet/halfway on the hardwood, wouldn't you say?

I'm catching a few minutes here at 4:30 am while my two-month old son's Zantac kicks in. That's right, the kid's got reflux. We found out today at the pediatrician that this stuff is to be given prior to a feeding so John stops barfing up his dinner. I plopped him little green swing wrapped up like a burrito, his pie hole plugged with a pacifier, and he's making fussy, hungry I'm dissatisified with this fake boob which doesn't produce milk grunting noises.

Doodle's also making weird sounds. She has to take a dump, so she's running around the apartment crying. She knows where the toilet is, it's simply that she'd rather poop like the big cats in a pile of dirt--or Tidy Cat--which we don't have over here at Two Can Anne. So I'm shuuushing the boy, I'm shuuushing the cat...wait, okay, Doodle just flew out of the bathroom with a gutteral howl, she's officially finished with her business.

It's a pretty busy place around here this morning, aren't you glad you checked in?

We also learned at the doctor's that the rash on John's face which began as a few cute pimples and then traveled all over his head and upper torso is completely normal, just upsetting for first-time parents and innocent onlookers. Although there's a prescription for hydrocortisone and heavy moisturizing, allegedly it will just go away. Essentially, babies's systems are sensitive and wackadoo and they "just get stuff." Encouraging.

Having a kid is kind of like having a plant. And the name of the game is Keep It Alive. The difference is that your plant is wicked expensive, and when it gets aphids, and Miracle Grow doesn't work, you can't just throw it out for the trash man and buy a new one. So when your plant cries at 4 in the morning you can't ignore it; you have to change its diaper, grease it up with Desitin, olive oil and hydrocortisone, give it Zantac, walk it around, put it in a bouncer, put it in a swing, put a plug in it, play childish music to it, flash colorful toys in its face, and breastfeed it, supplementing with formula. Repeat every three hours.

And when you feel like hurling it out the window, you remember that you signed a paper in the hospital promising you wouldn't shake your plant. Plus, your plant just got a Social Security card in the mail so people might notice if you suddenly didn't have a plant anymore.

Ok, well it appears as if I've distracted my plant from breakfast long enough, so I must go. I've decided from now on seize the minutes in the wee hours of the morning waiting for John's Zantac to kick in--and Doodle to relieve herself--to blog. But there's so much to write about, and so little time. I need some structure, an assignment, so to speak, in order to make this work, so why don't we make the next few posts interactive? What else do you want to know about what's poppin' (or poopin') at Baby Barftown USA? Ask your questions the comments, and I'll try to find time to answer some of them.

Fisher price forever, yo.