Separated at Birth: The Bug and the Heat Miser

This Week's Advice

There are a lot of breast-feeding coverups out there, but this one -- the bebe au lait -- is really good. (And don't even get me started on the Baby Bjorn which claims to be something you can breast-feed in, but they simply show you a photo and skip over the part where actually, well, you really just can't.) The men in my life claim that if the point is to be subtle, then the great big, 70s print isn't the way to go. The women in my life know that fasion is all, and we're not really trying to be subtle about anything -- it's just that in certain situations the full naked breast isn't quite polite.

In the pic you can see the bug's little foot while he eats. What you can't see so well, is that right at the top, just beneath my neck, the bebe au lait is affixed with a piece of circular wire that holds it away from my body. That rigid neckline means I can see everything going on, the baby can see me, and the coverup doesn't drape across his face convincing the average mom that her child is suffocating no matter how many times the rest of the family says you're being paranoid.

I think most mothers get over the fear of breast feeding in public fairly quickly, but at the beginning it's a bit tough because part of the problem is that neither you nor the baby is all that coordinated. The bebe au lait is pretty (it comes in many different fabrics), big enough to cover everything, and open enough to give you a great view. A highly-recommended item!

Unplanned Themes

Here is a picture of Ben on his Winnie the Pooh sheets, in a Tigger onesie, sucking on his Eeyore. I swear I didn't plan this . . . .

More Thanksgiving Photos

The Bug with Grandma Beeson.








The Bug with Uncle Doug.














The baby zonked out on triptophane-filled milk in his super-duper pack 'n' play.

First Thanksgiving!

All dressed up for Thanksgiving. . . cute outfit courtesy of his Great-Uncle Steven. Look! His hair is kind of staying down. I am embarrassed to say that this is partly because I actually spit on my fingers and smoothed it down for the occasion. Apparently, I am officially a Mom.

Ben's Party Tricks: Squealing

Last Saturday night, Steve and I went to his 20th high school reunion. It was too good for words. It was very fun to be an outsider just watching the scene: the artsy boy who wanted to prove he was now cool, the cheerleader who wanted to prove with her sexy dance moves that she was just as attractive as she was in high school, the charming quarterback-turned-school-principal who did a reprise of his high school singing routine by grabbing the microphone and crooning "Thank God I'm a Country Boy." I loved watching people's outfits to figure out just what they thought was the best thing to wear to their reunion (it ranged from white rabbit boas to tight jeans to cocktail dresses). I was the only woman in the room who hadn't had her hair dyed within the previous 48 hours. And I can't pretend that it wasn't fun to dance with Steve and help him show off in front of everyone too. (The word in the ladies' room was that he was "lookin' good. . . ")

But really the best part was that not only did we have a fun date, but it was our first time leaving Ben to spend the night somewhere. He's fallen asleep elsewhere before, but we've always gone to collect him and take him home -- which means we don't want to do it too late, lest we disturb him or that he not sleep well outside of his crib. In this case, Ben was going to sleep at Steve's parents in the Cadillac of Pack 'n' Plays that they bought him (complete with spinning mobile and nature sounds) and we spent the night there in the guest room when we came home. We stayed out until the mind-bogglingly, partying-it-up-late hour of 1 AM. Quite unprecedented.

All of which is the preamble to the fact that the whole thing was clearly a success, as Ben had a great time with his grandparents as can be seen on this video in which he squeals up a storm.

New Noises

Steve and I have gotten somewhat complacent if Ben wakes up in the middle of the night. For one thing, Ben doesn't cry as much as he did when he was younger. He just gives a bit of an "I'm awake, is anyone else?" whimper that doesn't mean he's hungry. Often he falls right back asleep. Other times he ramps up and one of us will go in and coax him back to sleep.

It is easy, however, in the confusing middle of the night, to convince yourself that perhaps you are a horribly bad parent for choosing your own sleep over comforting your child -- no matter how many sleep books tell you how much better in the long run it is for your child to learn how to comfort himself.

Thankfully, Steve and I now know that we are not bad parents, and that we can come through when it really counts. Last night, at 4:30 Ben let out a sudden yell that was unlike anything we'd ever heard before. We've heard him in pain (there was that, um, incident with the nail clipper when his skin got in the way) but this cry had real fear in it too.

We were both out of bed, wide awake, and in his room within nanoseconds. I imagined him to be in some horrible nausea state; Steve thought perhaps his twirling lamb mobile (MacGyvered to the side of the crib with duct tape) had fallen down on him.

In fact, the Bug had gotten his leg stuck in between the slats of his crib -- his foot dangling outside the bed, his thick thigh lodged between two pieces of wood. A friend of mine has a grandchild who did this so tightly that they had to call the fire department to take apart the crib -- luckily, Ben's leg slid out easily.

He stopped crying instantly. And then he started talking. These were all new noises, too, a set of vowel sounds that he was trying to make sound like a sentence. We held him as he tried to tell us all about the scary thing that had just happened to him -- "Dude, I woke up; and then I tried to kick and my leg wouldn't MOVE. It was dark and I couldn't see and something had hold of my leg. You got here just in time."

So now Ben has three party tricks -- kicking, holding, and talking -- and his crib has a pretty yellow bumper all around to protect him from those mean slats.

Ben's Party Tricks: Kicking AND Holding

Steve and I visited with his friend Lisa yesterday and she laughed as she told us that we were falling into the classic parent-trap of videoing our child when really he wasn't doing anything whatsoever. I don't know WHAT she is talking about. The fact that Ben can now kick AND hold something at the same time (he just started holding things this week) clearly means he is the smartest baby in the whole world. I could watch it forever. . .

Important Dates

Many years ago, in a different life, when I was a dating columnist for AOL, I answered a question from a girl (as in "young", not "female") who had asked what present to give her boyfriend on their one month anniversary. I, being the sanctimonious Latin scholar that I am, published an answer on how "anniversary" came from "annum" and you could not, by definition, have a one-month anniversary, and it was absolutely ridiculous to consider celebrating such an event.

So, um, here is a picture of my husband from November 12, which is, um, our six-month anniversary. And -- while no gifts were exchanged -- this is just a note to say that I can't believe we've been married that long, I can't believe that the Bug is already three months old, and most importantly that I love my boys in blue. How cute are they?

Ben's Party Tricks

You might think that the fact that Ben can kick up a storm isn't so interesting. . . but actually I could watch it forever. Watching him stare at his hands is also very good stuff.

Things in Our Future #4

This is two-year-old Will, learning the difference between "my nose" and "your nose." (Also, Ben is wearing one of Will's hand-me-downs, given to us in a crunch when Ben managed to destroy his current outfit in what we affectionately refer to as a "nuclear diaper explosion" -- an event which is definitely still in our Present.)

He's Growing Old So Fast. . .

. . . he's already looking at pictures of girls. . .

Things in Our Future, #3

Lisa told me a story about her daughter Anya today. As Lisa's husband Dan was making coffee (with his brand-new, shiny-silver, could-power-the-space-shuttle-if-needed coffee maker) Anya asked him,"Dad, do you love coffee?"

Dan said he did, then smiled knowingly at his adorable child and added, "But do you know what I love even more?"

Anya thought for a moment and then said: "Beer!"

Rock and Roll Hipster Child

Here's Ben in his spanking new Ramones onesie. And, no, there is still no product in his hair.

Today's Ben picture

More Cousin Photos

This is another one from Iowa -- Ben with his first cousin twice removed, Ted. (That makes Ted my mom's first cousin if you're counting. . . )

In Iowa I obsessively mapped the lineage every time I introduced Ben to someone: "This is your second cousin, this is your great uncle, this is your third cousin twice removed. . . " Well, I can't tell you how many removed Ben is from his cousin Assaf shown here, because we've never quite been able to figure it out. My grandmother Lenore was related to his grandmother Genya, I believe through my grandmother's father Joseph. Joseph came to the U.S., and Genya's family moved to Israel. Regardless, Assaf came to visit us from Tel Aviv last night since he was in New York on business. And, again, I say, it makes me feel very warm and fuzzy that Ben has so much family all over the world. . .