WHAT?!?!?!?! WHO IS THE FASTEST CRAWLING BABY IN ALL THE LAND???

Okay, it's insanity. I thought I had no time before? INSANITY, I tell you. If there were no major obstacles (and by major, I mean like a steel wall) the boy could get from here to Nevada in about four hours. Alas! My new job as a mother involves being creative, being quick, and being the "bad guy" all at the same time.

Everything he wants, he can't have. Well, he shouldn't have. Otherwise, poison control and 911 would be frequent phone calls. So, I am constantly taking things from his hands or his mouth. The dogs tail is one of them.

Of course, anything on the floor was always ignored in the past. Heck, that's why I put it on the floor in the first place. I didn't want to look at it anymore, or I just couldn't deal with it at the time, so the ground has always been as good a place as any. But now, super human, turbo charged vacuum cleaner and floor polisher (aka: my son) sees all these things that I wanted to ignore. He picks them up and within an instant the meanie-monster-mommy has snatched it away from him. Gone are the days where he didn't know any better. Now, he realizes that whatever he's not supposed to have is probably the best "toy" of all.

Something that has taken the place of his regular baths is his frequent visit to the dogs water bowl. Certainly that is safe! After all, I spent all summer teaching him how fun water is and encouraged him to make really big splashes while we swam. So, there's no reason why he shouldn't splash the dogs water all over the kitchen. He's actually tried to climb into the bowl because I think it reminds him of a swimming pool, on a smaller scale. Again, meanie-monster-mommy steps in.

Excuse me as I write this. My brain is being infiltrated with Baby Einstein music and I can't think straight. At the same time, I am hoping that the boy will be distracted enough with his own toys so that I can write something. Instead, he finds crawling directly under my chair to be the most exciting option. I'm sure there are safer places but at least I know where he is.

Today I had an audition and I had to bring the boy. Always a very anxiety-filled event. For me, not for him. The audition times are NEVER convenient, I spend an hour deciding what to wear, then another hour griping about having to actually shower and wear make-up, then I usually have to wake the boy from some precious nap, and drive in LA traffic to actually find where I'm going.

Of course there was some "event" happening on Hollywood Blvd. so there were all kinds of detours, crazy drivers, and lost people trying to drive past the cones that said "Do Not Enter". Clearly, a big red circle with a line going through it is not a universal language. But oh well, I'm pressed for time. My next mission is to find a parking spot that is within reasonable walking distance from the building that I need to go to. Otherwise, I know exactly how I would look after pushing a stroller uphill ten blocks in 90 degree weather. And I didn't put on this make up for nothing!

I find a spot a mere two blocks away. Lucky me! My next issue was a parking meter that kept eating my quarters but not giving me any credit for it. So either pride, being rushed, or the fact that I already gave it $3.00 prevented me from moving my car to a "working" meter. The sign said, "$2.00 for each hour" but the meter was only showing that I had 58 minutes after giving it three bucks! MAD TIMES!!!! Anyway, the boy was already in his stroller, and I very well couldn't have left him on the street as I moved my car to another meter. Surely, that would be called in as child abandonment. And I hadn't even gotten to the audition yet! I think I put in over $5.00 before it finally read that I had two hours.

Dazed and confused, I strolled our way down Hollywood Blvd. looking like a lost tourist. Luckily, I ran into an old friend of mine at the audition. It was so lovely to see him. He helped me find the elevator in the building. And lucky for me, the casting director was very "kid friendly"! She didn't mind one bit that I lugged the boy into her waiting room. The stroller took up the entire hallway, but she maneuvered around it without a second thought.

I spent the next several minutes reconnecting with my friend, and wouldn't you know it? The boy had everyone entertained! He smiled, laughed, and soaked in his admirations. There wasn't a person there who couldn't help but smile at him. It's like I put a quarter in him and he was all ready for some tricks.

I'm just about ready to be called in so I decide to breastfeed him really super fast. Ya know, to keep his chipper personality just a little bit longer. So, I snuck into what seemed like the office supplies room and shut the door. I sat on several reams of paper as the fax machine was spouting out papers and the coffee machine was making funny noises. Out came the booby for feeding time. I tell ya! If you told me I'd be doing this when he was two weeks old, I'd have laughed in your face.

A mere five minutes later, I hear my name being called over and over and over again. My lovely friend tells them where I am. There's nothing discreet about, "She's breastfeeding in the supply closet." So, I hurriedly pull my shirt down and hop out the room. I throw the boy like a sack of potatoes to my friend who's agreed to hold him while I have my audition. Then as I enter the audition room I take a split second to make sure I'm all put together. And, alas! That darned breast pad was half sticking out of my shirt. Seconds before the casting director turns around to say hello I managed to shove it back in. But god knows how the rest of me looked.

Well, it didn't take long for me to actually figure out how I looked. After the audition, I looked in my car mirror: raccoon eyes from the mascara because it was so hot out, and my hair was a mess because I had my sunglasses on top of my head for the past three hours.

Auditions now that I'm a mother have proven to be quite difficult. But once I get there and see other moms lugging around their kid(s) I feel like I'm a part of some secret masochistic club.

Okay, it's taken me three days to actually write this. I don't know if I got out the point that I had started out with. But more will be coming shortly!!!

Is That a Toy Boy I see?

Why is it when the boy has every imaginable toy in his possession the most exciting thing to play with is the metal trash can?

Right before this picture was taken he was attempting to put the dog's tail in his mouth. Can't you just see the guilty look on his face?

People seemed to not believe me when I said the boy has too many toys. Perhaps they thought I was being gracious by saying, "Oh, please don't buy him anything. He really has too much." While I am very grateful for the many wonderful gifts we have received, from the looks of this picture, I think it's safe to say he really has too much.

And actually, this picture shows only half of it. It does not show the toys that were too heavy to add to the pile, or the toys in the shed that are not for his age yet. The picture also does not show the three cribs, two playpens, a crawling safari tunnel, and two jumpers he has. Almost all of these toys make some kind of noise, light up, or roll around. They do not, however, clean my house, wash the dogs, or cook dinner. Useless, I tell you!!!

Now in my defense, I did NOT buy him all of these things. In addition, most of them were not even gifts. Thanks to the wonderful world of my old job I was able to obtain loads and loads of toys. For free! Nice, huh? I don't feel guilty at all... until I see some poor child playing with a metal trash can because that is his only toy. One of these days I will make it into a donation center.

Now, as I am typing he is getting the biggest kick out of hitting the metal trash can with his rattle. He prefers the noise the trash can makes over the noise of the rattle. Hours of entertainment. But selling a metal trash can as a child's toy just wouldn't be marketable.

What a Sweet, Sweet (Potato) Face!

Well, he did it. Had his first bite of food! Sweet potatoes in honor of our fall weather. Daddy got to feed him, as promised. The reaction was as expected~ uncertainty, confusion about whether to like it or not, and then much more interest in throwing the spoon around. I think he got about one ounce in his mouth, a 1/2 ounce down to his stomach, and about 2 ounces on his shirt.

We did get it on video and of course the commentary is much more exciting than watching him. "That's too much." "I need a napkin." "Oooohhh, yummy Kien!" I'm not sure we convinced him.

So, our first adventure with food went quite well. I did make Daddy clean up his chair, tray, and surrounding area. That was the trade off for being the first one to feed him. Not to mention that I'll probably be stuck with that task from here on out...

I think the only thing we have to work on is stop having dinner at 9:30pm. I'm sure somebody somewhere will tell me that that is too late.

Stupid theory

Yesterday I came up with a theory.

I was lying in bed and playing with the boy. I was getting so tired of him pulling one or two strands of hair. Not pulling it completely out of my head, but just pulling enough to cause torture. So, I thought I would take a chunk of hair out of my 3-day old ponytail so that he could pull on a larger piece of hair. I thought it wouldn't sting quite so bad.

That was a dumb theory.

Completely different thought: I was told by my good friend that her 4 year old daughter weighs 30 lbs. Kien weighs 20 lbs. at 7 months old. Her daughter did not reach 20 lbs. until she was about 2 years old. (I think they even started out at the same birth weight.) Could this explain the great arm work out I am getting every day?

What's a mom to do?

The ever popular questions for holistic mamas: co-sleeping, vaccinations, breastfeeding, homebirths, cloth diapers. Or in my case, diaper free... We all sit around drinking our organic tea, with our organic sunscreens, working in our organic vegetable gardens wishing our cell phones could be made from organic, sustainable, free-range materials. To be or not to be?

I had an epiphany the other night. Well, I should start off by saying that when I went to the pediatrician for the boy's check up, he (the doctor, not Kien) suggested that we find some kind of sleep routine that included him going to bed at an earlier hour. It wasn't a must-do, or a threat to call social services. It was merely a suggestion. Then he said, "Of course, you and your husband have to determine if it's worth it to give up that time that the dad gets to spend with his son." You see, if I make the boy go to bed at 8pm (as is the "suggested" time) then Dad and Son will hardly ever see each for at least three days a week. And the other days of the week would be very limited in "play with Daddy" time. But I was sucked into this "You really SHOULD..." business.

So, that night I rocked him to sleep and when he was still somewhat drowsy but not quite asleep I placed him in the Co-Sleeper. Now, let's talk for just one second about this thing called the "Arm's Reach Co-Sleeper". This product deserves some recognition. It's basically a crib with a raised platform so that when the baby lies in it, he is basically at the level of your own mattress. You then have it pushed up against your bed so that you can be close to the baby.

Well, for the longest time, it's definitely been pushed up against our bed. You better believe it! It looks really special~ soft and cozy just like in the advertisement. Well, our only adjustment to using this product was that we didn't actually use it to place the baby in. No, the baby slept with us. Now that was soft and cozy. Very special. We got used to placing other things inside the co-sleeper. In fact, for a while we were using it as a night stand. Just place a book inside and it instantly becomes stable enough to hold your water glass. It's also great for keeping extra diapers, blankets, and toys. Our main purpose for this contraption was to store our nice, frilly pillows from our consistently unmade bed. You know, the "decoration" pillows that you don't really ever use. So, after a month or so of utilizing this storage facility, my husband began calling it "The Pillow Holder".

Where is the My Breast Friend? Where else? In the pillow holder. What did I do with that bra pad? Of course!!! Check in the pillow holder. I can't find my phone. "Did you check the pillow holder?"

At times it held more than pillows. But not once did it actually hold a sleeping child. This too also came with a constant reminder of how much we paid for our "pillow holder". I remember many early mornings when the boy was sleeping in the bed with us, perpendicular to the rest of it's inhabitants which causes me to lie on my side at the utmost edge of the bed. This is because his foot made it's way to my rib cage. It was those overly tired mornings when I actually considered crawling into the pillow holder so I could have more room. Unfortunately, there's a weight limit which I definitely exceed.

Anyway, after some time, we graduated to putting the boy in the pillow holder. Unfortunately, I had to find another place for our pillows. He would sleep in this thing for various amounts of hours through out the nights (sometimes seven hours, sometimes we didn't get past two hours). However, it was enough hours in the night to re-qualify it as a co-sleeper. However, just as we're getting used to it, the boy is on the edge of reaching the weight limit. Luckily, I have a place to put my pillows again.

Okay, back to this great epiphanous night. (Is that a real word?) I place him in the co-sleeper when he's not totally asleep and he instantly wakes up to realize what is going on, and starts with low grunting noises showing me his discontentment. So, I think that if I lay next to him (on the adult mattress) and sing to him he'll go back to sleep. This went on for 10 minutes, and after 10 minutes his face was beet red and he had snot spilling out of his nose because he was crying so hard. He even looked at me through those humongous tears and reached out his hand to try to touch me. Several times. I was sad. Severely disturbed. This "method" just didn't feel right.

Now, I know all about not spoiling a child, helping them become independent, blah blah blah. Spoiling a child, in my terms, is giving them everything they want and never saying no. Not picking them up when they want to be comforted, in my book, is refusing love. Especially when this child is only seven months old.

So, I picked him up and told him I was sorry for just watching him cry. My singing just wasn't that good, I suppose. Then came the epiphany. This whole "crying it out" thing IS NOT FOR ME!!!! It does not resonate with me at all. There's not an ounce of my intuition that tells me that this is the way to handle the situation. Now, I understand perfectly well that other parents are capable of this tactic and some people believe that this is the ONLY way to make a child independent. (I must point out that my doctor did NOT say this was the only, or "right" way to handle this. He said if that was my style then I could try it.) That ain't my style. I'm not ashamed to admit it. If that makes me a pushover then so be it.

After I picked him up and kissed him, I nursed him for less than 60 seconds before he happily entered dream land. He looked so incredibly peaceful and calm, and his body language told me that he felt very safe and secure back in my arms.

As I stared at this beautiful creature, I pondered on what had just transpired. I didn't think "Okay, we'll try that again tomorrow." Hell no. I thought long and hard about what my intuition was saying. It was actually incredibly sacred to sit there on the bed, with the boy asleep in my arms, as I dug deep into my heart. It's like everything became so clear.

I've never been one to follow the rules, or go along with the current trends simply because that's what "everybody else is doing". It actually hurts my brain to think about other people being led so easily. My point is that I never would have considered myself to fall under a certain parenting style, mostly because I never knew what any of them were all about or what they were called. Referring back to my "Happiest Baby on the Block" story, I've always just felt that if you listen carefully enough then your baby will tell you what he/she needs. In my past, whenever I've listened to my intuition closely enough it leads me to exactly where I want to go. Perhaps it's all those years of acting that helped me hone that skill.

Back to this night... What I first concluded was that I am going to completely throw away this notion of getting the boy to bed by "bedtime". When he was two months old, he very clearly let me know when he was tired and wanted sleep. At seven months old he gives me pretty much the same signals. So, I decided then and there that I was going to let him tell me when he was tired. First of all, getting him to bed earlier would mean that he would wake up earlier. I kind of like the fact that we all sleep in until 8am together. I really don't need him awake at 6am. I don't understand the point of having a huge fight with him for two hours as I try to get him to go to sleep at 8pm only to have him finally fall asleep at 10pm. Why can't I just make those last two hours of our day fun, memorable and happy?

Then I began to think that if we have a big battle every single night trying to get him to go to bed at 8pm then surely he will not have good feelings associated with going to sleep. RIGHT?!?!? I mean, this is all sounding like common sense to me. On the flip side, if every night we only spend five or ten minutes rocking him to sleep and the whole process is us snuggling together as he dozes off, then I have to believe that he will have really great memories of going to bed. Now, remember to check back with me when he's six and I'll let you know how this theory plays out. But for now, this feels good to my inner-mama. As I said before, it's not like he's got an important meeting to go to in the morning...

The second phase of my epiphany-filled evening has to do with this issue of WHERE he sleeps. That famous question that troubles all the new moms that I know. Some don't want to admit that they sleep with their babies in the same bed, and some think it's the greatest thing since, well... since the day their baby was born.

I remembered several (at least 20) nights where my hubby is half awake on the couch watching tv while I finish up whatever I'm doing. Usually I'm writing until 1 or 2am. I have always told him, "You should go to bed. You don't have to wait up for me." His response is sweet and dear and what every wife wants to hear. "I don't like going to bed with out you. I can't sleep until you come to bed anyway." Now, while this is sweet, I don't think he's just saying it to score points. I have seen him toss and turn in bed while waiting for me to stop saying "I'm almost finished." for the 100th time. He really doesn't like to go to bed until I'm there.

So, again, as I held this sweet, peaceful baby in my arms I remembered my husband's words. Let's remember that my husband is a grown man with the ability to reason and understand logic. He understands that he is not actually lost in a dark abyss if left alone in a dark room. He understands that if I'm not there he has not been completely abandoned. He fully realizes that this room is not going to swallow him whole. Yet, he still insists that he sleeps better when I'm there. So, if he hates going to sleep in an empty, cold bed then why would I think that the boy could do it. Or more importantly, why should he have to do it? He does not have the ability to reason. The boy does not understand why he feels so scared. And worst of all, he does not feel safe and secure.

After I thought about these things, I realized that it's unfair to ask my son to understand why I'm leaving him to cry hysterically in the bed all by himself. And him adapting, or just getting used to the idea that I wont be there for him is not acceptable for me. That's not really a lesson that I want him to learn.

That night he slept very close in the bed right next to me. I reassured him that the world was safe.

Afterwards, I told my husband about this epiphany. He was very understanding and in fact, after I gave him the example of him not sleeping until I got into bed, he really didn't have much of a counter argument. My other argument was that if human babies take the longest of all mammals to learn how to survive on their own, then why would we think they don't need us during this incredibly vulnerable time called SLEEP?

I have heard before the phrase, "Gaining independence through dependence". I like this phrase. It resonates with me. To me, it means that if my son gains a sense of security by knowing that I will always be around if he needs me, then he will be more brave and willing to venture out on his own (because he knows exactly where the safe zone is). This translates into the boy having confidence. The opposite would be a child never knowing where to find his security, therefore never feeling as if he could walk forward with confidence.

This is only how I see it. I am okay with people not agreeing with me and I am certainly okay with people practicing other parenting styles. Some people think my approach will lead to him being too needy or too dependent. After being with my boy for seven months, I just don't see it that way.

Of course, I really know nothing when it comes to textbook parenting. I could be way off base here. But I have to tell you, these past three nights have been really wonderful. No more fighting to make him fall asleep. He just goes, peacefully and at his own free will. (Well, okay, free will for a seven month old...)

I sometimes think that these modern techniques, books, and theories are all about making the child fit into your schedule. "The 8 o'clock bedtime is so that you can feel like you have time to yourself." Not necessarily because it's healthier for them. "They need to understand who is the authority figure." By making them go to bed at the specified time? What's more important- authority or trust?

In today's very busy society of super-moms, working moms, do-it-all moms, some women are having children thinking that nothing will change. They will continue on with their lives, go back to work after six weeks of maternity leave, and make the baby fit into their carefully planned agenda. Sometimes I felt like the facilitator of my support group (which I disliked) approached childrearing as a inconvenience and a nuisance.

Well, I have news for her followers! It IS inconvenient. I brought another human being into this world. We're not talking about goldfish here! Motherhood threw a huge wrench into my already steady life. The boy is not just an extra something to add to my to-do list.

So, here's what I'm screaming about: Having a child IS a lifestyle change, no matter how you slice it. And unless you have a nanny or Netflix, you better get creative in how you plan to raise this creature that desperately needs you to survive. Isn't it the parents job to adapt to the new lifestyle? And in return you will teach them how to be flexible. An important life skill, last I checked. I don't think it's the kid's job to already know where he fits into your busy calendar.

I mean, for crying out loud, I quit my job in order to take care of the boy full time. Talk about change in lifestyle! And I will be the first one to admit that accepting this fact is really hard. It's also been really hard to learn how to not give up my identity completely. (That is a work in progress.) And by all means, I'm not saying working moms are bad, or "crying it out" is wrong. There are a million different ways to parent and there is definite validity in each of them. Finding the right one for your family can be challenging. I just think we have to look at the reasons behind why we are doing things. And it shouldn't be just because the doctor said so.