Today, I transformed the bedroom we share with our toddler back into the bedroom I share with my husband. The ultra-huge king+ size bed (a queen and a twin put together) that took up most of the room was reduced to just the queen bed. I returned furniture to the room. Put the lamps back. Hung things on the wall. Cleaned out the baby clutter. I’m taking back my space. I do this at the end of bed-sharing with my babies. And today I decided that it’s time to get that ball rolling. To get my boy to take the next developmental step. To sleep on his own, out of range of the comfort of his mother.

I’m ecstatic to think of sleeping for more than a few hours at a time. It’s been 2 years+ of having many of my executive functions .. not functioning because of lack of sleep. I wonder what it’s like to get sleep.

I know I’m a long way from the goal I’m beginning tonight — to have my toddler sleep through the night. Likely, it will be weeks or months until I can claim that success. But it’s beginning. It’s the first step.

Part of me is already mourning. I love sharing bed space with my kids. But that other part of me has a lot of pull. The part that is hope. Hope that I’ll get a little bit more of myself back. I’ve given a lot. I look forward to reclaiming some of that lost power and functionality.

Goodnight.

This pizza tastes like the floor! Cool!

Me: “Look, Andrew! It’s Andrew’s kitchen! Look at all the things you can do, all the bins and drawers, and the pretend food!” *runs away quickly, hoping to get a few minutes to herself in the… ummm… bathroom.*

Andrew: *giggling* “I know what you’re thinking. You think you can give me my very own kitchen, filled with awesome pretend kitchen items, and it will save YOUR kitchen from being decimated every time I am so inclined to decimate it?”  *decimates the family kitchen*

Me: *5 minutes later, seriously, upon finding the baby inside the kitchen cabinet, the floor barely perceptible under every container we own.* “ANDREW!!!!”

Andrew: *Breaks down with the crying. It is very pitiful*

Me: “OK, let’s go play in Andrew’s kitchen!”

Andrew: “I will only play with it if you have taken the time to put everything back in its place.”

Me: “Why aren’t you playin…. Oh. I get it.” *puts everything back in its place*

Andrew: *with the glee* I DECIMATE! I DECIMATE! CHAOS! *more gleee!!!*

I am Super-Laid-Back Guy!

As translated by me

Baby B (age 13 months), to Rockstar (age 12 months): “Oh, hi! *hugs*”
Rockstar to himself: “Awww! The small person who is my size is HUGGING ME! *delighted!* ”
Baby B: “The small person with the crazy hair LIKES the hugging! *hugs more!*”
Rockstar: “Oh, I like the hugging! See my delight?”
Baby B: “The small person with the crazy hair likes the hugging! I will try KISSING next!”
Rockstar: “The small mouth is moving toward my face. Will it bite?” *winces* ”
*sloppy kiss*
Rockstar: “Oh, it was a KISS! I like the kiss. *kisses back* ”
*smiles, all around*
Baby B: “Clearly, the small person with crazy hair LIKES THE KISSING! I will kiss MORE!”
*kisses more*
Rockstar: “Umm, well, OK. Yes, another kiss!”
Baby B: “I will kiss MORE!”
Rockstar: “I’m .. umm… feeling done with the kissing”
Baby B: I will kiss multiple times! On the MOUTH!”
Rockstar: “Uh oh. There is intensity. I am feeling pressured. Mommy?”
Baby B: *getting intense* “I WILL KISS YOU MORE, AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!”
*MORE KISSING!*
Rockstar: “M O M M Y !!! The small person with the intensity is  S C A R I N G  M E !”
Baby B: ” *yells, intensely*  “What is WRONG with you? Why don’t you like the kissing?”
Rockstar: “I cry now”
Baby B: *looking confused* “But… the kissing?”
Rockstar: *Melting down. There are tears*

Adult onlooker “I wonder if, when they are kissing as teenagers, we can remind them of this incident?” ?

Rockstar’s Mom, to herself: “This is why I keep a blog!”

Andrew likes oatmeal. All over himself. And the floor. Fun!

Daddy. Da da. THAT. This. Gentle. Tickle. Done. Hello! Hi! Book. Clap. Bonk! Block. Andrew. ilk (short for milk). Laurel.

These are the words my almost one-year-old baby has been saying for months now. Do you notice something missing? A word. A word that starts with a very basic baby sound. One of the first sounds, linguistically speaking, that babies make?

Mama.

For the last 6 months, I’ve been following up almost every one of his da da‘s with a ma ma. And still, it didn’t happen.

Yesterday, I had a chance to slip away to have dinner, to have Terry Time with a friend. To try to transform this soup between my ears back into functioning brain matter and arrange some words into sentences befitting a grown-up human, speaking to another grown-up human. Before Allen got home from work, I put Andrew in the dreaded pack-n-play and jumped into the shower. As I was in there, Andrew was screaming for me. Kelsey saved him from his sad, lonely sojourn of 5 minutes’ confinement, and sat in the bathroom so he could be near me while I showered. And he sat there, on his sister’s lap, saying “Ma ma. Ma ma. Ma ma. MA MA MA MA MA MA MA MA MA” the entire time.

When I dried off, I grabbed him and held him close, thanking Kelsey for saving him. Thanking Andrew for finally saying my name. I nursed him to sleep and then got dressed, greeted my friend, kissed my wonderful husband goodbye, and made a dash for the door. When I returned a few hours later, Allen was holding his sleepy little son, who saw me and delightedly said “Mama.” Apparently, he had been saying “Ma ma ma ma” for almost the entire time I was gone.

Mmmmmm. Cruncy, sweet, crisp, delicious apples!

Fall in New England is my very favorite time of year. After more than 25 years of living in parts of the country that don’t do autumn very well, climate-wise (sorry–don’t mean to disparage your season, Florida, but… c’mon!), I’ve found myself being totally ecstatic when the end of September rolls around. The leaves, the fall produce, the crisp fall temperatures–these are things I’ve missed for most of my life.

And, of course, the farms. I love love LOVE visiting real, working farms and supporting local agriculture. So, last weekend, we decided it was time to head to the more rural parts of our area for some apple-picking time!

Allen and I loaded up the kids, and I grabbed my camera. We drove out to Stow and did a quick drive around Honey Pot Hill Orchards to check on the picking conditions and to meet up with some friends. Our first surprise was the huge professional-looking banner over the entrance, welcoming the apple pickers. And then there were attendants in orange vests, gesticulating purposefully and hurriedly, directing us to the HUGE parking area. We… kept driving toward the exit. As we passed by the entrance to the picking area on the way out, we spotted the hundreds of other apple pickers; but it wasn’t until we saw the guy in the bear suit giving out balloons that we knew for sure that it just wasn’t our kind of place. If it’s yours, you now know where you should go. They do a good business, and little kids, especially, love going to Honey Pot Hill.

We wanted a quieter, less crowded picking experience, so we went down the road to our first choice for apple picking–Carver Hill Orchards, a smaller, family-owned farm. You go to Carver Hill to pick apples and enjoy the leisure. You can also get cider donuts and pie and ice cream, but you don’t have to endure the theme park silliness if that’s not your style.

We took our time picking our apples, sampling from each tree to ensure we got the kind we like best. Laurel got stung on the lip by a kamikaze bee flinging itself out of a tree, but she endured it like the trooper she is. I pulled out the intact stinger from her lower lip with tweezers from my first-aid kit. We watched the swelling, put some ice on it, and she was good to go. The girls climbed trees to pick the best of the fruit. Andrew picked his first apple. We didn’t have to share our trees with anyone else. There were plenty of other pickers around, but we were never crowded. It was a wonderfully peaceful way to spend a few hours on a lovely New England afternoon.

So I have a peck of apples now sitting in my fridge, and I’m thinking of making some applesauce and at least ONE apple crisp. Do you have a recipe for either you’d like to share?

Here are some pics!

Laurel holds the cool fruit to her ouchy lip

Kelsey nomming a Cortland

Allen getting a little sun!

The girls show off their hard work

Andrew picks his first apple

Andrew has cut his first tooth. I shall call it Rocky. We’re playing the “If you bite my nipple with your pointy little new tooth, I will suffocate you!” game. So far, I’m the winner.

Rocky would like a cookie. So maybe Andrew and I will have a *HealthyTimes Maple Biscuit. Cuz they are yummy for babies. And their mothers.

*No, I’m not endorsing this product. Unless they want to send me money?

Before I forget, in the everyday busy-ness of life, here is an Andrew update.

Height: 29 inches
Weight: 16.75 pounds
Head Circumference: 44 cm

According to child growth charts, he’s 97th percentile for height, 74th for weight, and in the 83rd percentile for head circumference.

Some days, my son is a bit fussy. Other days, he is basically a milk tank that I refill every few hours. I would say that 95 percent of the time, he is easy going, quick to smile, and pleasant.

The other 5 percent of the time? I rather wish I were 10 years younger.

Today, my son became mobile. He rotated his body 45 degrees in place counter-clockwise in about 15 minutes on his playmat while I was doing laundry. Earlier, he did a 90 degree turn in the time it took me to shower. So, is it time to hire contractors and spend a fortune making my apartment baby-safe? Or should I just put away my dust bunny collection and hide the steak knives?

The answer lies somewhere in the middle. There’s an entire industry born out of some well-meaning parenting advocates who advise you to prepare your house for this stage of baby-hood.

Like most experienced parents, I find it disconcerting when my baby all of a sudden appears in a different place than the place where I put him down. Even if it’s only a change of direction, it’s that first sign that OMG, THINGS WILL BE DIFFERENT FROM NOW ON. I distinctly remember parenting my first child, and how excited I was at this turn of events. And then the paranoia set in. I quickly searched online for advice and then made a hasty trip to the store to buy drawer locks, window locks, baby gates, electrical outlet safety covers, and oven locks. Most of which just sat in a bag (except the baby gates) and collected dust because I discovered that I’m not the kind of parent to make my house baby-safe and then leave a mobile baby in a room, alone.

The experts advise fireplace guards! Table bumpers! Covers on all your electrical outlets! Cord shorteners! Furniture straps! Drawer locks! Gates! The case they are making is that your house shouldn’t be a danger zone for a baby. And whereas I agree with this in part, I’m not allowed to put that many holes in my rental home, and I couldn’t afford to make every single corner/drawer/cord/table safe for the little one, who will just as likely trip over his own toes and end up with a banged head anyway. What I can do is be vigilant. And do some basic preparation.

I don’t worry overly much about keeping a spotless house. Crawling babies make good dust mops! But I do try to sweep up the crumbs and dropped food. Hey, I have school-age kids, so my house is NOT clean!  I’ll need to do some preparation for my soon-to-be mobile baby. But I’m not freaking out about it. Honestly, unless you store toxic chemicals under the sink, furnish your home with unstable/fragile antique collectibles, or collect glass shards on a low shelf, your baby will be OK with the logical basics of home safety:

• Get a baby gate for the stairs.
• Make sure you have a play yard/playpen/safe place to confine him short-term so you can use the bathroom/answer the phone/make dinner.
• Move the cleaning fluids and medicines to an out of reach cabinet.
• Move anything heavy that could fall over onto a baby who pulls up.
• Make sure the book racks/bureaus are secured to a wall.
• Put the breakables out of reach.
• Locate and put away the choke-ables!

Mobile babies find all kinds of things to get into. So, make it safe for him to explore. I can’t stress enough that the BEST LINE OF DEFENSE is to be vigilant. When you are home with the baby, be nearby so that he can explore safely.

Is your baby going to bang his head on the table? Of course. Will he close his fingers in a drawer? Most likely. Do we want to deny him this experience? Umm… no. Babies learn from experience. Natural consequences teach valuable lessons. It sucks when your baby has a boo boo, yes. But covering your house in styrofoam and your baby in bubble wrap isn’t an option. He’s going to hurt himself at some point. Try to make that experience as minimal as you can, sure.

So, leave the pots and pans in their drawer/shelf. But move the glass covers. Leave the plastic mixing bowls within his reach, but move the porcelain/glass ones. These things quickly become THE BEST TOYS EVER.  Let him find safe ways to explore. Give him a drawer where some big metal spoons, measuring cups, and other non-pointy cooking utensils live. Put the antique books on higher shelves, and HIS books on the lower shelves. Crawl around your own house and see what YOU would get into. And make it safe. You don’t need to spend a fortune. Just use your head.