Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Audrey Penelope Hay
Turned one this past Sunday.
We were in Central Park, made it nearly til dark.
I plan to go back one fine day.
Cutest moment of the century coming up:
But as often happens with young love, things quickly got complicated:
If I had a dollar for every relationship I ruined by poking them in the eye and trying to eat their head....
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Who says you can't still have fun with a baby?
Infant splashback can be a real bitch.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
We interrupt these Michigan photos for an important announcement...
BREAKING --- ELLIOT SLEEPS THROUGH THE NIGHT --- BREAKING --- NARY A CRY UNTIL DAWN --- BREAKING
On Saturday night, we got tickets to a play that some friends of mine were producing. (It turned out to be a kind of Sophocles-meets-David Rabe elegy to the soldier's experience in war, sober and depressing.)
We belong to a babysitting cooperative, the kind that makes Newt Gingrich clench his hands in fists of rage. We've done free babysitting for people, and last Saturday someone offered to come over and babysit for us.
She arrived at 7pm, was Australian, and had two kids of her own. Off we went to our play, and when we got home at 11, she was watching TV. How long had he been asleep we asked? Since nine pm.
Weird. He never slept for two hours in his crib.
Our "babysitter" left, and we puttered around the house, waiting for him to wake up. But he didn't. We went to sleep at 12:30am, puzzled.
I woke up at 5:30 the next morning, and my first thought was: He's dead.
There's no way he could have slept through the night without crying. I ran over to the room and peeked my head in. There he was, lying on his stomach, his little cheek pressed against the mattress, kicking his legs in some dream of Australian kangaroos.
He slept until nearly 8 that morning. I was convinced that this Australian woman had some kind of aboriginal witch powers. Or a syringe full of morphine.
She'd said that all she did was read him a book and give him a bottle of milk and let him cry for a few minutes. So last night we did that. Turned the lights down, read a book in a monotone. Then Hannah fed him and I plopped him in his crib. He cried for a minute or two, not very hard, and then was quiet. An hour later I poked my head in and could hear his breathing. So we went to bed.
This morning he woke up pretty early, about 6am. And we brought him into bed with us, because that's still the best part of day, waking up with Elliot in your bed.
I don't want to jinx anything, but it seems like he may finally be ready to sleep in his crib.
I have to admit, this makes me a little sad. We both missed him last night. And it does seem like it would be lonely in that crib by yourself.
I always complained about there not being enough room in the bed. Now that we've got that room back, I'm not sure it's worth it...
On Saturday night, we got tickets to a play that some friends of mine were producing. (It turned out to be a kind of Sophocles-meets-David Rabe elegy to the soldier's experience in war, sober and depressing.)
We belong to a babysitting cooperative, the kind that makes Newt Gingrich clench his hands in fists of rage. We've done free babysitting for people, and last Saturday someone offered to come over and babysit for us.
She arrived at 7pm, was Australian, and had two kids of her own. Off we went to our play, and when we got home at 11, she was watching TV. How long had he been asleep we asked? Since nine pm.
Weird. He never slept for two hours in his crib.
Our "babysitter" left, and we puttered around the house, waiting for him to wake up. But he didn't. We went to sleep at 12:30am, puzzled.
I woke up at 5:30 the next morning, and my first thought was: He's dead.
There's no way he could have slept through the night without crying. I ran over to the room and peeked my head in. There he was, lying on his stomach, his little cheek pressed against the mattress, kicking his legs in some dream of Australian kangaroos.
He slept until nearly 8 that morning. I was convinced that this Australian woman had some kind of aboriginal witch powers. Or a syringe full of morphine.
She'd said that all she did was read him a book and give him a bottle of milk and let him cry for a few minutes. So last night we did that. Turned the lights down, read a book in a monotone. Then Hannah fed him and I plopped him in his crib. He cried for a minute or two, not very hard, and then was quiet. An hour later I poked my head in and could hear his breathing. So we went to bed.
This morning he woke up pretty early, about 6am. And we brought him into bed with us, because that's still the best part of day, waking up with Elliot in your bed.
I don't want to jinx anything, but it seems like he may finally be ready to sleep in his crib.
I have to admit, this makes me a little sad. We both missed him last night. And it does seem like it would be lonely in that crib by yourself.
I always complained about there not being enough room in the bed. Now that we've got that room back, I'm not sure it's worth it...
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday visitors
The next round of callers included that ruffian Vronsky, but he was far overshadowed by Deb, Marionetta, and Maria.
Elliot seemed to develop an instant crush on Deb. This was at least partly because she has about 10 times as much energy as Hannah and I put together. So maybe he was thinking, "Finally! Some parents who can DO something for me!"
These photos don't really capture it, Elliot spent about ten full minutes latched onto Deb's face like a lamprey. Which can be a dangerous thing now that he's got that single tooth.
Only one good photo of Maria, and none at all of Marionetta. What a baby hog Deb is!
Last Thursday
Hannah and I got in kind of late on Wednesday, so we took Thursday morning to relax. For me that meant waking up at 8am and taking a nap from 10 to 11:30. For the Michigan locals it meant hitting Value Village, that oasis of economical style that somehow manages to reach deep inside and hit the psychological reset button. (VV virtues extolled here.)
No, I'm just kidding, Liam is actually the best-behaved 12 year-old I've ever met. He does, however, have an addiction to curling up in armchairs.
So does his younger sister Zara, although she tends to stay a little more vertical.
They were both great with Elliot.
Emily's youngest son Aramis was too little to hold Elliot, so he pouted.
And Emily proved that once you got it, you never lose the touch....
On Wednesday afternoon we received callers, as behooved our elite status in the community. Along with the insufferable Mr. Darcy, we were visited by the delightful Emily Greene, one of Hannah's oldest friends.
Here's Emily with her crazy son Liam:
No, I'm just kidding, Liam is actually the best-behaved 12 year-old I've ever met. He does, however, have an addiction to curling up in armchairs.
So does his younger sister Zara, although she tends to stay a little more vertical.
They were both great with Elliot.
Emily's youngest son Aramis was too little to hold Elliot, so he pouted.
And Emily proved that once you got it, you never lose the touch....
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