I didn't do a good job with the baby book record-keeping for either kid. That is, unless you could how meticulously I filed their prior pediatrician evaluations, and even somewhat chronologically.
No? Doesn't count? Well, I tried...
The main thing I regret is not documenting Sam's vernacular as she started to form sentences. These days, I'm constantly blown away by how much she just knows and can name, absorbed from some sight unseen (telescope? where the heck did you learn tht?).
There are the biggies that I can name. Her monkey was once "ah-ah," her cousin is "cee-cee." The playground was once "whee."
But here are some current ones:
knickers = fingers
whee = swing
yesterday = any point in the past, as in "remember yesterday when I was a baby?"
Monday, September 23, 2013
Friday, September 9, 2011
She...
She is three.
Three years and five months, to be a little more precise.
She is a girl who depends on routine, who is leary about new people, places, and things. She's not a fan of elements that invade on her personal space. She needs time to warm up, to get a feel for the lay of the land. When she engages, it absolutely has to be on her terms. If you attempt too soon or push it, she will fight you, balk, and otherwise protect herself. In this way, she is very much like me.
Yesterday, she started preschool.
I have been anxious about this transition for awhile. It was a huge change coming--entirely new place, people, and cadence to her day. I had zero expectations as to how well she'd handle it, and millions of worrisome scenarios. I tried to sell her on the novelty - a lunchbox! Purple crocs! This is all fun, fun, fun!
We drove up to the school. All the novelty talk had her pumped, but as soon as I parked, she started with the worry squeaks, as I call them.
Still, we marched on in. She changed into her indoor shoes without a fight, but otherwise clung to me as we approached the circle of kids on the other side of the classroom. She didn't want to sit down. She pleaded for me to stay. She wanted to play with the blocks. I hesitated to answer because of the thoughts in my head of Oh My God She's Already Going Rogue...but her teacher, bless her heart, told her yes, go ahead...and then educated me on the methods of transitioning her in, giving her free rein first and foremost to make her comfortable; that the acceptance of the group needs will come with time, don't worry.
At this point, S, doubled-back quickly asking for a kiss, and asking if I was leaving now. Just like that, she was ok with staying there without me. Not bouncing off the walls happy, mind you, but with a resolute look of acceptance that this is where she needs to be now.
And oh--OH--oh my heart. It was a bittersweet moment: proud that she was brave to take this new step without much of a fuss, but also sadness that she's growing up.
Three years and five months, to be a little more precise.
She is a girl who depends on routine, who is leary about new people, places, and things. She's not a fan of elements that invade on her personal space. She needs time to warm up, to get a feel for the lay of the land. When she engages, it absolutely has to be on her terms. If you attempt too soon or push it, she will fight you, balk, and otherwise protect herself. In this way, she is very much like me.
Yesterday, she started preschool.
I have been anxious about this transition for awhile. It was a huge change coming--entirely new place, people, and cadence to her day. I had zero expectations as to how well she'd handle it, and millions of worrisome scenarios. I tried to sell her on the novelty - a lunchbox! Purple crocs! This is all fun, fun, fun!
We drove up to the school. All the novelty talk had her pumped, but as soon as I parked, she started with the worry squeaks, as I call them.
Still, we marched on in. She changed into her indoor shoes without a fight, but otherwise clung to me as we approached the circle of kids on the other side of the classroom. She didn't want to sit down. She pleaded for me to stay. She wanted to play with the blocks. I hesitated to answer because of the thoughts in my head of Oh My God She's Already Going Rogue...but her teacher, bless her heart, told her yes, go ahead...and then educated me on the methods of transitioning her in, giving her free rein first and foremost to make her comfortable; that the acceptance of the group needs will come with time, don't worry.
At this point, S, doubled-back quickly asking for a kiss, and asking if I was leaving now. Just like that, she was ok with staying there without me. Not bouncing off the walls happy, mind you, but with a resolute look of acceptance that this is where she needs to be now.
And oh--OH--oh my heart. It was a bittersweet moment: proud that she was brave to take this new step without much of a fuss, but also sadness that she's growing up.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Morning at Chez Fisher
6:00 - Deacon awake, demanding food, now!
6:30 - Deacon put back down while I cross fingers for just a little more snoozing, pleasebabyplease.
6:31 - 6:50 - definitively not-sleeping,continuous grunting heard over the monitor. Gah. Well maybe if I just ignore it...
6:59 - all is quiet. Hurrah! Mama is sooo ready to finally get some snoozin' going on.
7:00 - Fish's alarm goes off. Double gah.
7:01 - 7:14 - I am drifting off, finally. Mmmmm...It is delightful.
7:15 - Sam is suddenly awake and over the monitor going: "Mommy? Mommy?...Mommy. Mo-o-ommy!"
7:16 - I stumble into her room. She hops out of bed, on an urgent mission. There is, after all a monkey puzzle out there that is demanding to be put together, the one we told her last night there wasn't enough time to do before bed. So hello? Morning, which means time is here! And we must do it right now, before time goes away again!
7:18 - I sneak in making a cup of coffee on my way to retrieve said puzzle from the closet.
7:19 - 7:24 - We put together the puzzle on the floor and I sip my coffee, trying to wake up, casting longing looks towards the couch. Soon, maybe I'll sit for a spell, after this is done...then, suddenly:
7:25 - From Deacon's room: Waaaaah.
Such are mornings here. But, really, as bleary-eyed as I am, I do cherish the these moments of (slight) chaos being a family of four brings!
6:30 - Deacon put back down while I cross fingers for just a little more snoozing, pleasebabyplease.
6:31 - 6:50 - definitively not-sleeping,continuous grunting heard over the monitor. Gah. Well maybe if I just ignore it...
6:59 - all is quiet. Hurrah! Mama is sooo ready to finally get some snoozin' going on.
7:00 - Fish's alarm goes off. Double gah.
7:01 - 7:14 - I am drifting off, finally. Mmmmm...It is delightful.
7:15 - Sam is suddenly awake and over the monitor going: "Mommy? Mommy?...Mommy. Mo-o-ommy!"
7:16 - I stumble into her room. She hops out of bed, on an urgent mission. There is, after all a monkey puzzle out there that is demanding to be put together, the one we told her last night there wasn't enough time to do before bed. So hello? Morning, which means time is here! And we must do it right now, before time goes away again!
7:18 - I sneak in making a cup of coffee on my way to retrieve said puzzle from the closet.
7:19 - 7:24 - We put together the puzzle on the floor and I sip my coffee, trying to wake up, casting longing looks towards the couch. Soon, maybe I'll sit for a spell, after this is done...then, suddenly:
7:25 - From Deacon's room: Waaaaah.
Such are mornings here. But, really, as bleary-eyed as I am, I do cherish the these moments of (slight) chaos being a family of four brings!
Monday, July 18, 2011
I should start by declaring that we resolved the mystery of the car seat hate.
For weeks, I was known in stores as the Woman with the Crying Baby. Because I would take several trips to, say, BB&B, only to rush out 5 minutes later, head ducked down, in a blaze of decidedly non-glory, but decidely with a red-faced, hysterical infant who would. not. settle. Rinse and repeat, several times a week.
This was very distressing to me for two reasons: 1. Sam was very much a napper-on-the-go and I expected all babies to be the same (ha!) and 2. I am very-much-a-person-that-needs-to-get-out-of-the-house, all the time. When I don't, I end up doing things like changing our cable and internet carrier from Comcast to Verizon, simply because a Verizon man knocked on the door. A human being! Who is an adult who doesn't spit up! Talk to me about FiOs and your cable package deals. This, by the way, is a very true story.
So, we--or, more correctly, Fish--suggested that car seat screamfests were related to the very snuggly headrest we had. I had some doubts about the theory, because what baby would really prefer to have their head flop down forward instead of being held upright at all times, and at all costs. In spite of my doubts, I went ahead and changed out the car seat head rest back to the flimsy one we had used with Sam. Lo and behold, from there on in Deacon has cried a LOT less.
So now that I can rely on naps in the car seat, I decided that it was time to get my arse in gear and exercise. So, off to Wakefield Lake we went this fine day. I plotted out my course length against the time it would take for Deacon to fall off into dreamland, at which point I would sit in the common area right outside the church, and eat a leisurely lunch and read a bit. I packed a sandwich and drink, and my Kindle. I even remembered sunscreen. Look at me, sleep-deprived and yet highly-functioning!
All went according to plan, at first. Substantial walking achieved, and baby fell asleep just like I envisioned. Except I didn't notice that the benches abutted the church parking lot, so the car noises caused an occasional stir from Deacon. Oops, but we can work through this.
And then noon came. And that's when the noise started.
Oh my god, is that...church bells!
#$%*^% church bells!
I had sat right under the steeple. And the church bells were not just chiming noontime, it was playing God Bless America.
Baby immediately starts crying, and I hastily pack everything up and head back to the car in effort to preserve some semblence of nap and quiet time. File under: spaced-out.
For weeks, I was known in stores as the Woman with the Crying Baby. Because I would take several trips to, say, BB&B, only to rush out 5 minutes later, head ducked down, in a blaze of decidedly non-glory, but decidely with a red-faced, hysterical infant who would. not. settle. Rinse and repeat, several times a week.
This was very distressing to me for two reasons: 1. Sam was very much a napper-on-the-go and I expected all babies to be the same (ha!) and 2. I am very-much-a-person-that-needs-to-get-out-of-the-house, all the time. When I don't, I end up doing things like changing our cable and internet carrier from Comcast to Verizon, simply because a Verizon man knocked on the door. A human being! Who is an adult who doesn't spit up! Talk to me about FiOs and your cable package deals. This, by the way, is a very true story.
So, we--or, more correctly, Fish--suggested that car seat screamfests were related to the very snuggly headrest we had. I had some doubts about the theory, because what baby would really prefer to have their head flop down forward instead of being held upright at all times, and at all costs. In spite of my doubts, I went ahead and changed out the car seat head rest back to the flimsy one we had used with Sam. Lo and behold, from there on in Deacon has cried a LOT less.
So now that I can rely on naps in the car seat, I decided that it was time to get my arse in gear and exercise. So, off to Wakefield Lake we went this fine day. I plotted out my course length against the time it would take for Deacon to fall off into dreamland, at which point I would sit in the common area right outside the church, and eat a leisurely lunch and read a bit. I packed a sandwich and drink, and my Kindle. I even remembered sunscreen. Look at me, sleep-deprived and yet highly-functioning!
All went according to plan, at first. Substantial walking achieved, and baby fell asleep just like I envisioned. Except I didn't notice that the benches abutted the church parking lot, so the car noises caused an occasional stir from Deacon. Oops, but we can work through this.
And then noon came. And that's when the noise started.
Oh my god, is that...church bells!
#$%*^% church bells!
I had sat right under the steeple. And the church bells were not just chiming noontime, it was playing God Bless America.
Baby immediately starts crying, and I hastily pack everything up and head back to the car in effort to preserve some semblence of nap and quiet time. File under: spaced-out.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Starting a-new...
So, it's been awhile. Ok, really a loooong while.
This time I will make another earnest attempt to jot down my thoughts.
Why now? Three years have passed, after all. Life got etc, etc.
Then, on May 18th of this year, we welcomed my son into the world.
When Samantha came barreling into the hospital room a day later, I was overwhelmed by how older she suddenly seemed. All the talking! The logic! Where did this gigantic child come from, and where did my baby go?
I am re-living all of those firsts with her brother, and in doing so, I realize I struggle to remember the little parallel stages of his sister. What did her early cries sound like compared to Deacon? When did she get her first tooth? Her third word? It was only three years ago, and yet it feels like ages ago.
I did collect small parcels of information from emails, postings on mom boards, and a few annual photo albums for the family, but I am sad at how much feels lost in between. No more, I say! Time to document life as a family of four, with...half as much time as I did three years ago. Go, motiviation!
If I succeed in keeping up with this, no doubt Sam will eventually realize I missed a chunk of life (and which will surely become fodder for therapy), but at least the photographic proof of her infanthood is three-times what it is for her brother.
So, here goes. Blog, take 2.
This time I will make another earnest attempt to jot down my thoughts.
Why now? Three years have passed, after all. Life got etc, etc.
Then, on May 18th of this year, we welcomed my son into the world.
When Samantha came barreling into the hospital room a day later, I was overwhelmed by how older she suddenly seemed. All the talking! The logic! Where did this gigantic child come from, and where did my baby go?
I am re-living all of those firsts with her brother, and in doing so, I realize I struggle to remember the little parallel stages of his sister. What did her early cries sound like compared to Deacon? When did she get her first tooth? Her third word? It was only three years ago, and yet it feels like ages ago.
I did collect small parcels of information from emails, postings on mom boards, and a few annual photo albums for the family, but I am sad at how much feels lost in between. No more, I say! Time to document life as a family of four, with...half as much time as I did three years ago. Go, motiviation!
If I succeed in keeping up with this, no doubt Sam will eventually realize I missed a chunk of life (and which will surely become fodder for therapy), but at least the photographic proof of her infanthood is three-times what it is for her brother.
So, here goes. Blog, take 2.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, August 21, 2008
And so it begins...or began...4 1/2 months ago
Here is my kid. She's nifty. She's also 4 months and 17 days old. Not that I'm counting.
It occurred to me that I should probably start capturing the many memorable moments and exciting little discoveries of baby-world before my memory faded, as it has a tendency to do.
What was I saying? Oh. Right.
I blogged once before, but grew tired of listening to myself talk. I wasn't all that interesting after awhile. But lo and behold - kids! Now, kids are an endless source of amusement, hence endless source of amusement for blogs! My writing can be reincarnated to be interesting! Brilliant! So, I spawned for the purpose of my amusement, and Fish (because of course I couldn't physically be alone in this journey) yearns to pass on his art of punning.
Ok. We are nuts about this girl. She rules us, although she hasn't figured that out yet.
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