Hats off

As Sawyer's hairline continues to recede and fall weather approaches and I look at cute baby models posing the latest styles, I've decided that I might be into hats. I have about a million of them but haven't used any since about week 1 when he came home from the hospital. Actuallly, the whole hat look makes me laugh, which is a bit cruel - but I am hoping to not permanantly bruise the little guy's ego (see Cancer entry below). Of course, all I have right now are hats in the ubiquitous baby blue. I may have to scope out some fun alternatives.... see there I go again, looking for any excuse to shop.

Ode to Fall

I have a new, surprising, obsession.
Clothes.
Baby clothes.
Designer baby clothes.
I have not yet bought any of this coveted apparel. That would be silly. Two friends with four boys between them have donated enough hand-me-downs to keep Sawyer outfitted for the next six months. And these aren't just your run-o-the-mill Gerber onesies either. They are brand name outfits - Ralph Lauren, Christian Dior, Baby Gap.
I blame Sarah and Jen for calling my attention to it in the first place.
I was blissfully ignorant that designer baby clothes existed - Zutano, Kushies, Bon Bebe -- I could just eat them up!
And I thought baby boy clothes would be boring.
I blame the time of year.
There's something about autumn.
It's an illness, really.
I have to shop.
Compulsively.
I will chain myself to the chair!
I will bury the credit card in the yard!
To shop for either of us would be absurd.
See, I'm shrinking and he's growing.
But I LOVE fall couture!
Brown, orange, burt red, plum - these are my colors.
Denim and corduroy - these are my textures.
Big bags and cowboy boots. A new hairdo (how long has it been - April?).
I must satisfy myself by just window shopping online.
Drooling on the keyboard.
Flipping through magazines.
Finding unused outfits in the bottom of Sawyer's drawer.
Pulling out my own clothes I packed away nine months ago.
Scraping together fashion from the dregs of my closet.
This is a different me than I ever was before.
The me that wore only fleece and threadbare long underwear.
This me lives in the country.
She floats between work and home.
And she's hell-bent on being all gussied up with nowhere to go....
... and wearing outfits that are just waiting to be puked upon.

Milestone

Sawyer shocked us both today by rolling over, tummy to back. An expression of surprise fleeted across his face, then one of worry. His bottom lip began to jut out as he tried to decide whether this was something to cry about. Then, curiousity: he raised his eyebrows as I squealed in a deafening pitch and clapped my hands reapeating over and over in a high little voice that's good, that was sooo good. Finally, a smile. When a rolled him over on his stomach and grabbed the video camera to try to snatch a repeat performance on film he broke into sobs. And that was the end of that.

My new obsessions are going to be:
1. Getting him to repeat the event.
2. Capturing it on film.

I think I'm alone now ...

... there doesn't seem to be any one around.
- Tiffany



I have always been the type of person who needed my alone time. While I thrive on social interaction, I will eventually short circuit if I don't have time to recooperate. This alone time, for me, is more important than sleep, and my need for it didn't subside after having a baby or after going back to work. After everyone else has gone to bed, there is nothing - and I mean NOTHING - more relaxing to me than curling up in the big chair and taking the time to do something - anything - with nothing to distract me but the sound of the refrigerator running. Sometimes I read, sometimes I write thank you notes or emails, sometimes I watch a cheesy chick flick ... but most recently I've been using that time to update my blog. It brings me back to my days hiking and camping for weeks on end with students. In the evenings after the kids hit their sleeping bags for the night, I would use the quiet time to pen a letter to a friend. I seldom do that anymore - who am I kidding - I don't do that anymore. Typing is so much easier and email so much more efficient. It was wonderful to be so removed from society for months on end that my only contact with friends and family was via general delivery at the nearest post office. Ahh, mail day. Those letters meant more than candy or trail mix in a care package. I think that's why blogging is so fun for me. It's the same concept, really. It's a letter, in a way, without the niceties and the endless lines of questions that will never get answered: How are you? Are you enjoying your summer? More important than the letter itself is the process of just writing. For the duration that I sit here typing my entries, I am alone with my thoughts. Something happens between me and the words on the screen, with the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the dark stillness of the room closing in comfortably around me. I am elevated and energized by the endless possibilities of a blank page, with no agenda and no notes to work from - no deadline. I am pushed to communicate humorously and precisely - to make people laugh and to understand with nothing but the power of words. And pictures. My other favorite pastime. Capturing the essence of a place or a person or an experience in just a single frame. Even now, with a two-month old who wakes up several times a night, I choose this quiet time over sleep. Am I nuts? (Don't answer that.)

The Crab and The Moon

Sawyer was born July 21, which means he's a Cancer. I don't know about you, but I think there's a lot to be said for this astrology stuff. Here's a few excerpts from Linda Goodman's Sunsigns:

Cancerians have a handsome round face, soft skin, a wide, grinning mouth, almost circular eyes, rather a baby-faced look. Think of the man in the moon. That's a perfect image.

The CANCER Child

Dear, dear, how queer everything is today! And yesterday things went on just as usual.

Write it down so you'll remember it and not be surprised every day of your life: your Cancer baby will change his moods as frequently as you change his diaper. It's a strange new world for the lunar infant. What he experiences will never leave him. When he's old and gray, your Cancerian will remember every feeling and emotion, and be able to give it back as an exact image.

Playing with lunar babies can be loads of fun. They're funny little creatures, with droll expressions and eyes that almost talk by themselves. Their features constantly contort with tears, twist with a grimace or spread wide with smiles. It's interesting to watch those elastic expressions, but you may frequently wish you could predict when he's going to giggle, or get that faraway look in his eye as he listens to the curious music every Moon child hears.

From infancy through the teens, young crabs are tremendously dependent on the reactions of their parents and their brothers and sisters. Your lunar child may be too shy to express his real inner desires, but he secretly wants to be made over, cuddled and adored. If he doesn't get attention and approval from his family, relatives and friends, the rejection can simply crush him.

Although your young Cancerian may briefly turn into a rebel without a cause in adolescence, during his tender years the little crab is usually easy to manage and discipline. His inner life is very real to him, and he'll happily play by himself for many hours. He may even have an invisible playmate called something like Boris or Betty, who helps him make mud pies, plant imaginary flowers or play cowboy and Indian. As docile and quiet as most Cancerians are. Cancer is a cardinal Sun sign of leadership. Despite their tender emotions and gentle manners, they are not followers. There's a great deal of independent thinking and individualism.

If your offspring follows the pattern of most July children, he'll get his way and be slightly spoiled around the edges. It's the squeaky hinge that gets the most oil. He won't exactly squeak, but he can get mighty weepy when he's ignored or treated harshly. Talk about tears! A Moon child can cry rivers and flood a room. It's as if someone left the kitchen spigots running. If all that dampness doesn't get him the tender sympathy he must have for healthy emotions, the little Cancerian boy or girl will grow up into a dry-eyed adult with a barren heart, unable to give or receive love easily-seeking solitude, forming very few warm friendships-and become a recluse in old age.

When such a sensitive little crab is in your care, it's really urgent to laugh and cry with him and to calm his fears. He can be afraid to go to sleep in the dark without a soft night light, afraid of fire and matches, afraid of fast cars and loud noises. He can fear strangers, large animals, bright lights, food he's never tasted before, lightning and thunder.

The Cancer child will keep you amused with his jokes and his contagious laugh. He can make funny faces that look like Halloween masks, and he sees the humor in every facet of the human parade as it passes. Give him, if possible, a little plot of earth he can call his own, where he can plant things with his green thumb and watch them grow.

Young crabs can live up to the name and be quite crabby, but such moods seldom last more than a few hours, before they're replaced by a lovable loony grin.

Drum Roll Please

We had our two month well-baby appointment today (Friday), which is a funny thing – really – because I spent the entire time worried about getting sick. Before I even entered the joint I decided that I would touch nothing, which turned out to be impossible. Clipboard, pen, chair – even the air seemed thick with germs.

Trying to find a place to change a diaper in a pediatrician’s waiting room is like looking for a missing baby sock in a mound of laundry. I decided that my best option was the fold down table in the bathroom – the kind with the Koala bear that I normally avoid like the plague – just think of the hundreds of poopy diapers that have been changed on that one spot. It can’t be sanitary.

A toddler girl, her head a nest of blond curls and two lines of snot streaming from her nose came running up to us squealing “BABY!” I was forced to shoot her my most evil “I-am-a-witch-and-I-will-eat-you-for-dinner” look, which stopped her flat in her tracks and sent her wailing back to her mom. “But I want to TOUCH the BABY!” I tried to give the mom my most understanding, friendly smile I could muster, but she just stroked her daughter’s hair and said “We don’t know what’s wrong with the baby, honey. You need to stay here with me.” What’s wrong with the baby? Look lady, your kid’s the one with bright green glaciers flowing out her nostrils.

My own fear of pediatricians’ waiting rooms aside, the appointment went well.

For those waiting with baited breath, Sawyer weighed in at a whopping 13 ½ pounds. He’s 23 ¾ inches long and falls into the 80th percentile for both height and weight. The doctor assuaged my fears that the little guy is becoming the Good Year blimp. “He’s a tall baby and he’s the right weight for his height,” he said. His also has a perfect head, which seems like a funny thing to say but apparently head growth is the most sensitive indicator of development and it’s important that it be not too big and not too small.

The bad news about having a large baby is that the bigger they are the harder it is for them to sleep through the night. They have poor gas mileage I guess. Sawyer still wakes up three to four times between 8 pm and 8 am. Doc said I shouldn’t let him cry it out until six months, but that seems like a long time to me. At the same time, I’m not exactly ready to start pushing him now, since he’s still sleeping in the same room as us and I don’t know if we could withstand the sobs. I really don’t mind getting up and its amazing to me how refreshing three straight hours of sleep can be. I was surprised to learn that 60 percent of 2 month olds actually sleep through the night – which means that they go a 12-hour stretch without waking up.

Sawyer got three shot cocktails in his thighs, poor guy. I felt bad for him, but I got a kick watching him take the grape-flavored Tylenol, which was the first taste other than my milk he’s had. He kept smacking his lips with the most peculiar expression on his face.

Now he’s cranky and sleepy, resting traumatized on my shoulder. Who knows, maybe we'll sleep through the night.

May the Force Be With You

Looking like Yoda
(Week 1)

Looking like Jaba
(Week 8)

Some days my son looks like Yoda. Other days he's more like Jaba the Hut. I don't know why I constantly want to associate him with creatures from Star Wars - especially such unflattering ones. One thing I can say for certain is that he looks more alien than human. I do love my son, and I happen to think he's adorable (as evidenced by the number of pictures I take of him), but I pride myself in being able to step out of my mother's blinders for long enough to realize he's not headed for the cover of Parenting magazine anytime soon. We've already discussed the reverse male pattern baldness (see below). Add to that the double chin, thick thighs, wrinkly forehead and slightly crossed eyes ... why are all these features so insanely cute in a baby and so unflattering on an adult. Anyway, he's packing on the pounds and looking less Yoda and more Jaba every day. We have our 2 month appointment tomorrow and I'm taking bets on how much he weighs. At one month he was a little more than ten-and-a-half pounds. I'm guessing he'll top 12 pounds this month. While we're glad he's gaining weight and looking healthy, we are a little surprised that two relatively skinny people could have such a tank of a baby. He's already stretching the seams on his 0-3 month clothes and we have another month to go before he's supposed to outgrow those. Today I cut the tags off a felt jogging suit because the temperatures are in the 60s. It's a heavenly day. Too late, I realized that the outfit is sized for newborns. The pants hit mid calf and the sleeves come down just below his elbow. He's wearing it anyway. In fact, I am going to go through the drawers and make sure he gets one last wear out of all my favorite outfits. Our boy is not only thick, he long, and his legs are strong. He bounces on them like pogo sticks, and if he had any control whatsoever he'd be crawling already. His head is strong and he can hold it very steady, but he seems to have no interest in rolling over yet, so I think we have a while before he's mobile. For the most part these days, he's content to just lay under the jungle gym and talk to the singing star. I wonder sometimes, that he doesn't get bored with the same old view. Anyway, stay tuned until tomorrow when we'll have updates from the Doc. Meanwhile, I am making a list about a mile long of all the questions I have to ask. It's my one and only opportunity because I refuse to be one of those parents who calls all the time. Last month, I was still thinking of questions as she pushed me out the door. This month, she'll be sorry she asked.

Check it out

I have just finished creating a blog to share the column I write for the Rappahannock Record. It runs on the editorial page sporadically. Who knows where I am going with the blog - the possibilities are endless, but, for now, it should provide some interesting reading for those of you who haven't read my columns. I recommend: Tractor Factor, Turkey Disaster, and The One with the Snakes. Oh, and High School Motto for the Madeira girls.

See link to right.

Heads up

Look, Mom, I'm trying. But, it isn't easy to lift a four-ton boulder with a twig, which is basically what you are asking me to do when you put me down on my stomache. I have two choices: defy gravity or suck sheet. I'm getting much better at it - see?

WSP - 2 Months

Sawyer gets down

Scott shows Sawyer some moves.

Just Call me Mr. T

My son is experiencing some reverse male-pattern baldness. The dark hair he was born with is falling out. All that's left is this mohawk on top and a band that stretches from ear to ear around the back of his head:
















It suddenly struck me who he looks like (if you imagine him without the beard and earring):

Blogging is like Crack

Highly addictive, I mean. I go to my friends' blogs. I read all their comments. Then I go my friends' friends' blogs - people I don't even know. It's like stalking, my sister-in-law Gina said. Is it crazy? Sometimes I even check my friends' blogs more than once a day, hoping for an update. (Sarah Q.: time to update the droolcicle. Yes I know you have a full time job and a baby and a life, but I'm hooked.) It's like one friends' friend that I was blog-stalking said – you just can't be a new millenium mom without a blog. I even enjoy going back to my own past posts to see if anyone has commented ....Comments? Anyone? Are you out there?.... Every so often somebody will email to say they love the blog and read it regularly. It's nice to know that I am not just sending these photos and words out into cyberspace. Don't be shy. Let me know you are out there. Go on. Comment! By the way, I make money off the ads at the top of the page so, after you comment, if you could click on them it would really help a girl out!

Really cute clothes

I have to say that one of the best parts of having a baby is getting to dress him in all these insanely cute outfits everyone has given us. Here a couple of recent favorites: Jen and John gave us the cowboy outfit and Melanie and Sean gave us the Fortune Cookie T-shirt.

Top 10 things I couldn't live without: 0-2 months

1. Halo Swaddlesack/Miracle Blanket: Great alternatives to "freehanding" with blankets in the first months.
2. Nuk silicone pacifier: Sucking is a natural reflex and good for their development and it doesn't hurt to have a plug
3. Hush Baby CD: It's magic - especially in the car
4. Happiest Baby on the Block DVD: Tools that REALLY work
5. Fisherprice Swing (the good kind that swings both directions)
6. A nightlight: So you don't have to turn the light on every time you get up in the night
7. Jungle Mat/Tiny Love Mobile: Things that dangle for when the ceiling fan grows old
8. Baby view mirror in the car: For when he's too quiet
9. About 100 burpclothes: They never seem to be handy when you need one
10. A really good carseat: Its worth the money - both for safety and baby's comfort. They spend a lot of time there. A comfy baby is a sleeping/happy baby.

Sawyer's Tiny Love

This is the BEST mobile I've ever seen. A gift from Lynne - the thing is truly trippy. So much so that last night when I put Sawyer down to bed he cooed and giggle wide awake under it for half an hour before I finally turned the lights off so that I could sleep. Did that stop Sawyer. NO! Once his eyes adjusted, the nightlight was enough to keep the mobile illuminated. When I fell asleep, Sawyer was still jiving and laughing - eyes wide open. He must have eventually fallen asleep because he didn't wake me up to eat until 5 am. But this morning he is cranky as get out. That thing is like a drug, and we are going to have to regulate.


IN OTHER NEWS: Sawyer's been working hard this week. On Saturday and Sunday he went with me on assignment and hung in the Bjorn front carrier while I shot photos. Yesterday he went to work with me and chilled out in the sling, silently focused, during our staff meeting. He was doing so well that I stayed and got some work done. What killed me is that he was in such a good mood sitting there in his bouncy chair staring at me while I worked. He kept flashing me little smiles, and I felt so guilty ignoring him when he seemed so ready to interact. So far, though, work is going well. We'll see how poor dad holds up though. Scott has to watch Sawyer three nights this week while I am at meetings. I hope Sawyer goes easy on him.

Back to Work

I left Sawyer- looking cute in a surfer dude outfit - with his nanny (aka Ashley - Scott's secretary) for the first time today and headed to work. Back to the grind! Most days I will be working from home, but I still have to put in time in the office for layout and staff meetings. My schedule will remain pretty flexible since I will still have to cover government meetings at night and weekend events. I guess it's easier to get back into the swing of things now than it would be in another six weeks, but I sure do miss my little guy and its only been three hours!!

Scott risks life to save boat

Scott had to save his boat five times during Hurricane Ernesto when lines broke. Go figure - today he's sniffling. Sorry the clip is so short. That's dial-up for ya.

Baptized in Ernest

Rev. Kate Welcomes Sawyer

The Godparents

Madeira Moms

Dueling Aunts

Addie and Sawyer

Nobody saw it coming. The weathermen even stopped tracking Hurricane Ernesto – now a tropical depression – once it hit the Chesapeake Bay. But as dawn struck the shores of Glebe Creek Friday morning it soon became apparent that we were in for a whopper of a storm. At 6 a.m. Scott woke me up to inform me that if he wasn't back in 10 minutes, something had gone wrong – he was headed out to save his boat. The lines had snapped in the wind and surf. I, of course, got up and watched through the window to make sure he didn't get swept away. Oak trees were bending in the wind like palms in a hurricane; and five foot waves were crashing over the dock, which was buried under two feet of water at high tide. By 6 p.m., Scott had been swimming five times trying to save his boat and the dock. Each time the lines had snapped. 60 mph winds knocked down trees all over the Northern Neck and our power went out before noon. Meanwhile, 16 people arrived at our door for Sawyer's baptism. As folks showed up two by two, we all sat in Florida room gazing out the window in awe. There was nothing else to do. Hopes of a Club Med weekend playing croquet and boating were soon dashed. Without power, plumbing or water, we were roughing it. Nothing left to do but crack open the beer and wine. My biggest fear was losing the 35 bags of breastmilk I had frozen at home. That stuff is like liquid gold. All that work – I wasn't about to lose it. I sent Scott and Brian out in the worst of the storm to retrieve the generator, ice and the precious breastmilk. Our house guests braved the wind and rain to dip water out of the swimming pool with buckets so they could flush the toilets. We brushed our teeth en mass by the kitchen sink with a jug of water. We ate cold cuts for dinner and passed away the evening hours talking by candlelight. My poor parents were on the verge of short circuiting, but – to their credit – held it together. I was not about to call the baptism off. Six people had flown in from California for the event and Jen, Johnny and their two toddlers had driven SIX HOURS (on what should have been a two hour drive) to get here. It was Baptism or Bust! For some reason, Armstrong events are never without a crisis. I like to think it makes them memorable. With the help of our good friend Betsy Woods who lent her showers and oven when her power turned back on before ours, and Susan Faulkner who also let us come take showers and baths, we made it through a long weekend in the dark. We still managed to have a crab feast on a lovely and clear evening Saturday. Sunday morning arrived and we were still without power. The priest and my godparents left at dawn from DC for the ceremony. People shaved their faces and legs on the dock by the river before slipping on their fancy duds. Scott drove Sawyer's godparents to the ceremony in his boat – which didn't sink (the dock, however, was looking a little worse for the wear.) We set up a makeshift alter by the water. Sawyer was a perfect angel through the baptism. He slept through the whole thing. He was baptized with river water and welcomed into the world by a group of the most dedicated friends and family anybody could ask for. He's a lucky young man. Godmother Sarah Q. said on Sunday that she had noticed a change in Sawyer in only four days, and I think she's right. He smiles and coos and laughs now. He's more alert and interactive. He can entertain himself under the playgym for an hour now. It's like somebody flipped a switch and suddenly he's interesting and interested. He realizes I'm more than just a boob, and he can chill out with his dad without crying. He's sleeping for five hour stints (and that has been going on for almost a week now). I believe that all the interaction with his grandparents, aunts, uncles, godparents and future wife (Addie) helped. My little tree frog is clinging to me right now as I type this. We miss everyone already, and for those who couldn't make the trip: just be glad you had working toilets!
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