The Art of Reproduction

It is only now, after a few consecutive nights of Grade A sleeping, that I have begun to realize how very truly tired I am. Now that I no longer approach the bed each night wondering what torture lies in wait for me (will it be the inability to fall asleep? a car alarm at 2am after I have finally passed out? a single cry that Milo lets out at 3am that keeps me awake until 7am? only The Shadow knows...), I find that I can't go to bed early enough. I've taken to falling asleep at 9am with the lights on, and it is truly awesome.

All of which reminds me just how long it is taking my body to recover from pregnancy and labor. Over a year later, I'm still dealing with the aftermath of creating another human being. I went to get a facial last week and the facial lady asked if I had had a recent pregnancy. I wasn't sure if 14 months ago qualified as recent, but I said yes. She told me I had some kind of weird pigmentation on my skin that people get during pregnancy that would require many hours and many lasers to correct. Yay! More ways pregnancy is disfiguring!

And yet, everyone wants to know when we're going to get working on baby #2 - the combination of Milo entering full-blown toddlerhood and my entering my 35th year, I guess. But I cannot possibly conceive of going through all of this again. The morning sickness, the insomnia, the crying, the every-2-hour feedings. For some reason the labor and delivery I can imagine doing again - in retrospect that lasted only 36 hours, while the morning sickness, the late-night feedings and the insomnia lasted months. And if I'm this exausted with one baby at 34, how will I be at 36 or 37 with two babies?

Still, my body has been saying all kinds of ridiculous things to me lately. Like: don't you miss being pregnant? NO! Isn't it nice when Milo curls up on your lap? That won't last forever, you know. SHUT UP!

And then on the other hand we have Elizabeth Vargas, who apparently left her position anchoring the evening news when she became pregnant with baby #2. I had to find this out from watching Oprah, because I do not watch the evening news. (Does anyone? Is there anyone left out there who doesn't get their news exclusively from The Daily Show?) There is no question that life is easier on a working mother when there is only one child... Vargas says she hopes she'll be able to become an anchor again when her kids are older. And apparently NOW sent her a nasty letter, because that is how feminism should work.

Lucky for me, I still hate babies. The one thing I do not think, when thinking about baby #2, is how great it would be to have an infant around. I do not think, aww, they're so cute, I miss that new baby smell. I do not think, it was so awesome when Milo was a helpless blob who couldn't communicate, I'd love to do that all over again. If only babies could be born at around 11 months old, I might feel differently about the whole thing.

Also if Steven could carry this one. Then we might have a deal.

The Annotated Milo

Teeth
What people say: "Wow, he has a lot of teeth."
What they mean: "Wow, he has a lot of teeth. Do you think he might be a vampire?"
What I say back: "Don't know. Don't care."

Backstory:
Milo had no teeth until he was 10 months old. Back then people would say, "He has no teeth. Is that normal?" I was all set to ask the pediatrician about Milo's lack of teeth when, thankfully, just before his 10-month appointment, two bottom teeth popped up. Since then I have decided not to worry about Milo's teeth anymore unless they turn green and fall out. Also, I know that there will be a lot of teeth talk when Milo hits 13 or so, when he will probably need braces. So just let the teeth be, okay?

Hair
What people say: "He has interesting hair."
What they mean: "What is up with that hair?"
What I say back: "Yes, that's pretty much my fault."

Backstory
A few weeks ago I tried to cut Milo's hair. He sat still for half the haircut, then decided he'd had enough. So I wasn't really going for a weird punk look, but that's what happened. On the up side, Milo learned the word scissors.

Also, some days his hair is curly and some days it's just frizzy (portending a possible Jew-fro come puberty) and some days it stands up straight. Truth be told, I could care less about what Milo's hair does, so long as it does not wrap itself around his pinky toe and cause another hair tourniquet.


Words
What people say: "He says a lot of words. Is that normal for this age?"
What people mean: "Are you raising some freak of nature?" AND/OR "My child doesn't say anything. Should I worry?"
What I say: "It's not normal. Milo is a genius."

Backstory
A few weeks ago Milo and I were at the playground. There was only one other mother and baby combo there -- a woman pushing a 9-month-old in a swing. Milo walked over to the woman and said "Cup," pointing to her Starbuck's cup.
"That's right," said the woman. "I have a cup."
"Hot," said Milo.
"Wow," said the woman. "Do most kids start talking that young?"
I shrugged. "Those are really the only words he says."
Milo grabbed my hand and pointed to the swing. "Up," he said. Then he picked up a piece of paper from the ground. "Garbage."
"And those words," I said.
"Dirt!" said Milo, pointing to the ground.
Since then, I've just decided say he's a genius. Go ahead, you say he's not. I dare you.

The State of My Union

I made it through the entire State of the Union address last night - it seems like it's been a while since that happened. And I found two things interesting. First, there was a lot of applause in the begining for Nancy Pelosi's uterus. Or the fact that she has one. Yay, Nancy Pelosi and her female organs.

I'm (duh) all for women in positions of power, but all that self-congratulatory applauding for the fact that there is now a female Speaker of the House just rubbed me the wrong way. When do we get to the part where we're beyond applauding women simply for being elected? When do we get to the part where there are just women around doing important things and we don't even really notice their female-ness?

Growing up I was pretty sure that there would be a female president in my life time, but I refuse to vote for Hillary Clinton just because she has ovaries. I need her to be good too.

And second: the plan for a tax credit for uninsured working poor, or whatever it was - seemed like Bush wasn't so sure himself - caused me to turn to Steven and ask, "Where's the tax credit for the uninsured who are just barely scraping by in wealthy New York neighborhoods? What about those of us who have to work our fingers to the bone trying to earn enough money to take nice Mexican vacations?"

Blah, blah, blah, working poor. They get all the attention from politicians. What about two-income families with nannies who want bigger apartments? We need tax credits too!

Happy Boy

DSC_0025, originally uploaded by HAVANA19.

A Chronological Account Of My Mental State Over The Course Of Five Days Without the Baby

Day One
Get on the plane in Atlanta with one suitcase and one small backpack. Can't help but feel that I have forgotten something. Remember that it is the baby. Sit down and promptly read three chapters of Heat with no interruption. Marvel at the idea that it is possible to read more than two sentences without having to get up and remove Milo's hand from a nearby electrical socket. Feel so pleased about lack of baby that I immediately fall asleep as the plane takes off. Wake up three hours later in Mexico.

Day Two
Wake up at 6:30am. Note that there is no one demanding "Mik!" or "Cheerio!". Roll over and sleep for another half hour. Discover that it is now no longer possible for me to sleep past 7am. Lie in bed for another hour anyway, feeling pure joy at the fact that it is possible for me to do so. Rent golf cart with Steven, drive around the island, routinely note to one another how nice it is to be able to have a conversation. Remember that Steven is pretty funny. Have leisurely lunch and dinner. Go to sleep at 8:30pm.

Day Three
Take long walk on the beach. Notice many babies doing Milo-like things. Think how awesome Milo is. Find myself saying "cup! hot!" to Steven. "Hot! Pancakes!" Steven says back. Buy Milo little Mexican shirt and shorts outfit.

Day Four
Take long walk on beach. Note that long walks on beach are begining to feel kind of boring. Finish Heat and wonder what's so great about reading a book straight through anyway, because then you just have to start another one - maybe much better to drag out the reading process over the course of four months. Wonder if Milo will remember he has parents. Pass by family with screaming Milo-aged child and naked three-year-old trying to claw his way out of golf cart. Note that parents look like they want to leave the children in Mexico. Exchange knowing looks with Steven.

Day Five
Get off plane to discover two-hour-long line at immigration. Am tempted to begin elbowing people out of the way, yelling "Let me through! I haven't seen my baby in five days!". Arrive at in-laws, peer at Milo sleeping in the pack-n-play and marvel at the fact that he looks like a completely different person than he did five days earlier.

First Day Back With Milo
Rejoice in the joy that is Milo for about an hour. Spend the next six hours attempting to restrain him from grabbing strangers' laptops, stepping in his own dirty diaper, and throwing himself into a garbage can at the Atlanta airport. Marvel at the fact that a two-hour flight can seem like a two-day flight when one is buckled into the last row with a 14-month-old who does not understand why he can't just walk around the plane, despite the turbulence that would easily fling him against the overhead luggage compartments. Smile wanly as he points to the latch holding the tray table on the seat infront of him and insists repeatedly that it is a clock, which, unfortunately for the entire plane, in Milo's language comes out sounding like "cock".
"Tray," I hushed.
"Cock!" screamed Milo.
"It looks like a clock," I explained. "But it's a tray."
"Cock! Cock! Cock!"
Arrive home. Wonder when next vacation starts.

Isla Mujeres

Photos from a Milo-free Mexico. Update coming shortly...

Housekeeping at 14 Months

Dear Milo:
The past month has been one of extreme highs and lows. About three weeks ago you started whining and you didn't stop until this Monday. My guess is that your molars are coming in and generally causing you to be pissed off with the world, but for a while Daddy and I were worried that maybe this was just your new personality. You whined that you were out of milk and you whined that you didn't feel like eating pasta for dinner and you whined that you didn't want to have your diaper changed or your coat put on and why couldn't you have a sip of whatever it was that all the grownups were drinking and why couldn't you stick your fingers up the cat's butt and why couldn't you just touch the broiler just once?

As a result Daddy and I started drinking. And quite frankly, I'm not very good at drinking. Thankfully you got your old personality back a few days ago and now we're all happy again.

As you've learned more words we've learned more about your personality. You can say garbage, car keys, truck, cup, hot, computer, camera, up, door, please, ball, and closed. Sometimes what you don't say is more interesting than what you do say. For instance, you would think that "milk" might be one of your words, since you consume about a gallon every day. Whereas "garbage" seems like the kind of thing that wouldn't come up that often. But that's not how you roll.

Every day you have a new word, which is very cool, especially when we have a day like yesterday, where the new word was "yuck." You yelled "YUCK" repeatedly at the top of your lungs as I wheeled you down 7th Avenue, causing people to turn their heads and wonder just what kind of strange parents were raising you.

Yesterday I took you on your first walk. We strolled down to the corner where we saw an ambulance go screeching by, and it just about blew your mind. Then we examined the door to the neighboring apartment building, and you demanded that I open it. When I tried to explain that I couldn't in fact open the door to that building, that Mommy doe not have the keys to every building in all of Brooklyn, you cried a little bit. I'm not sure if it was because you thought I was refusing to open the door for you, or the realization that I can't fix everything all the time, even though it usually seems like I can.

You spend a lot of time thinking you're an adult. We've recently discovered that you love the taste of coffee. You like to pretend to read the newspaper and you will say "hello" into anything that even vaguely resembles a cell phone. It used to be that we would put you down in a room and you would stay there. Now sometimes I turn around and you're walking out the door. You're very busy. You have things to do, places to go, people to see, electrical sockets to touch, dust bunnies to eat.

Spending time with you is more like spending time with an actual human being these days. You have desires that make sense and frequently you are able to articulate them. It's been sad for me that just as you've become a better companion I've had less time to spend with you, but I hope that over the next few months that will change. I love when you rest your head on my lap and say "Mama," like I'm your favorite person on the planet. You're my favorite too.