March 2008 Archives

Easy babies breed guilt. Miss Paige is just such a sweetie--so docile and obliging (at least thus far!) that when I do bestow attention upon her it's a deep genuine adoration. But it's quick.

The problem is, with a two-and-a-half year old running around the house and making valiant efforts to rule the McClusky roost, I feel sad that there aren't enough opportunities to gaze adoringly at Miss Paige.

When Kate was two months old, staring at her--even while she slept--was a sport that could easily consume hours of Mark and my time at a stretch. These days with double duty diaper changing, feeding one kid balanced meals and another Mama's milk, while compulsively tidying the house, visiting an endless slew of friends and keeping up my hardcore Target habit--there just ain't the time for baby gazing.

So, like some  do-'em-at-your-desk exercises, I try to sneak in head caresses, neck nuzzles and impromptu smiles--or possibly gaseous releases. It's not the all-out love fest that I wish it could be, but Paige and I are happy with what time we've got together. It's like I'm having an affair with my baby.

So then, what happens when you have three kids? Four? Or like my brother-in-law's staggering family--15 children? I mean, when you get to the double digits do you ever have a chance to high-five each of the kids every day? "Dear Diary: Today Mom not only said good morning to me, but also asked how I was!"

Well Miss Paigey Waigey, today you are two months old and I want to send you a huge special love note right straight on through the Internets. I'm sorry if you aren't getting as many raspberries on your belly during diaper changes as your sister once did, and if we've already fallen down on photographically documenting your every expression and outfit, along with the 'Paige's Second Thursday Ever!' type pics. Maybe the time we make up for this is in the couple years that Kate moves our of the house for college or something. You get the special 2.5 years of undivided attention on the back-end of your youth.

Suffice it to say that even though it may seem to you (or maybe me?) that Kate is usurping some of your Mom time, I assure you she feels the same way about you. Funny how that is, hey? At any rate, be assured that when I'm dealing with a tantrum Kate is having because she doesn't want to get dressed--and you are lying patiently in your crib looking at your mobile--I'd really rather be lying there with you gazing up at those black and white pictures of smiling faces and geometric shapes. (Okay, either doing that, or taking that chance to pee.)

Okay, your Dad is making you smile a bunch right now, so enough of this blog. Here I come to love you up.

Miss Paige slept a miraculous straight 10 hours last night!

Due to my desire to share this news, I've been walking around the house saying into the air that I was up nursing all night. I'm hopeful that will counter any jinx effect that my mentioning it will have.

Also, we have saved the diaper she wore to put it on her again tonight. There's no telling what factors led to this divine stretch of sleep, but God knows we're trying to recreate as much as we can for a repeat performance.

Miss Kate turned two-and-a-half today. I realized this a half hour into a duet crying session conducted by her and her baby sister.

Paige was crying because she is a baby, and was hungry, and I was too busy tending to her sick sister who had a 103 degree fever to feed her right away. Kate was crying because of the fever.

And just like that, I buckled. And turned on the TV for Kate. For the first time in her life.

Not only has she never watched a show, we've never had TV on when she's been awake. It's something some folks have marveled at our ability to do (since, much as I hate to admit it, I can get into a bit of boob-tube watchin'). The thing is, when it's an absolute and you just don't do it, it's kind of easier than, well, than what I have just introduced ourselves to today. From here on out, if TV is even an option it's one we can easily backslide into, even though we have every intention of being diligent about what and when and how much is watched. (By Kate at least.)

And, let it be known, that--unsurprisingly--the power of TV is mighty. Within literally seconds, a sick and miserable inconsolable toddler was sitting up with her back arched at full attention staring at the screen. She was silent and filled with wonder. It was a staggering shift in the collective mood of just moments before.

So, of course I had to obnoxiously pause the show every 5 minutes to have a conversation with Kate about what was happening down Sesame Street way. "See? Elmo wasn't good at bowling at first, and he was frustrating, but he kept practicing, and then he got better!"

It's comforting knowing that at least over time, I'll likely stop with the annoying animated interjections to Kate's viewing. See, apathy has its merits.

Yesterday Kate was watching Mark get ready for work and become enthralled with his hair product. I think part of the attraction was that when she asked Mark what it was, he said mousse. As it turns out, one of Kate's favorite songs is about a moose. I can only imagine how her toddler brain parsed the concept that one word can mean a large horned beast, and a foamy hair product.

Imagine all those poor kids whose fathers aren't metrosexuals who don't have these experiences!

At any rate, on our walk yesterday there was much talk and questioning about mousse. "Can I use some?" Do you use it Mama?" "I like mousse!"

Of course, I made up some hooey about mousse only being from grown-ups. Though I guess, with the exception of kids like Jon Benet Ramsey, it really is.

This morning when Mark was again getting ready for work and Kate looked on in the bathroom, her fascination reached a frenzied peak and Mark relented to put some in her hair. (It's acts like this that will no doubt lead to our financial ruin.)

Kate's delight in having mousse (or was she thinking if it as moose?) in her hair led to her skipping around the house shouting, "I want Thomas [the Tank Engine] mousse!! I want Thomas mousse!!"

We may just have stumbled onto a brilliant get rich quick scheme. And the best thing is, Kate didn't even have us sign an NDA.

Today when I pulled out my cell phone in the car to call Mark, Kate said from the back seat--and this is an exact quote--"Can you buy me a phone, Mama?"

What is the world coming to? My two-and-a-half year old wants a cell phone!

I was hoping that we could hold off at least until she was three.

Kate and I were inside a wooden train structure at the playground the other day with another mom and toddler. The other girl took the steering wheel of the train.

Other Girl's Mom: Where are we going, honey?

Other Girl: To the beach!

Then Kate took her turn at the steering wheel.

Me: Where are we going, Kate.

Kate: Costco!

Clearly I'm taking my daughter on more enriching afternoon outings than that other Mom. But I'd hate to judge her.

So, here I am with a baby who is 4 1/2 weeks old, and of course with Miss Kate who is 2 1/2 years old, taking care of them solo for the first time. And wonder of wonders I'm not weeping, freaking out, or calling Mark to come home immediately. But give me time.

As with Kate, I'm once again daunted by the prospect of staying home to care for kids. It's really a luxury that I realize we are lucky to be able to afford (at least temporarily), but as someone who is addicted to people and action and energy and activity, in my most fearful hours I look at is as a jail sentence.

The thing is, if we lived in some turbo suburbia where there were rows of houses occupied by other stay-a-home moms (and kids), I think it would be easier. Just walk out the door and there's someone else doing what you are doing--in other words, clutching a latte for dear life and looking desperately for something to do to entertain the kids that is inexpensive, safe, not overly taxing on your own energy, and maybe even somewhat educational. I guess if some were to walk through our neighborhood they'd make the argument that I have nothing to complain about. You can't swing a dead cat in this town without hitting a $700 stroller.

But invariably it's being pushed by a nanny. I mean, not that I'm opposed to socializing with a nanny and her charges, but somehow it's different from conspiring (and sometimes commiserating) with another mom. Probably 'cause we're not getting paid.

All this thinking has me wondering if a different setting would make the staying home thing more fun. I mean, shouldn't I be springing from bed each day delighting in the fact that no part of my day will involve saying my name when I answer the phone, or sitting in a gray cubicle as Outlook tells me where to go and what to do? You'd think.

Oh great. Kate is wailing in her room, "Mama! Mama!" trying to dodge taking a nap, and the lawn/garden guys just pulled up in front of the house ready to turn on their volume 11 weed whackers and whack to high hell any hope of Kate settling down. See? I used to worry about client presentations. Now I fear that my well manicured lawn could result in a cranky over-tired toddler. Sheesh.

Paige, on the other hand, is napping nicely in her carseat bucket. Must remember to relish this early-life sleep ethic.

Okay, call me crazy but I'm "going in" to see if I can settle Kate down into restful slumber. Wish me luck, and see you in the grocery store. I'll be the one in the $10 Target Mom sweatpants...