Christmas Photos Part 2

Christmas Eve was peaceful and lovely. . . . once Elliot went to bed.

I think we made pizzas.  This may be contrary to what I wrote in my previous description of Christmas Eve.  But I think we made pizzas.

This is my favorite photo.  I don't really know why.

What's new with Elliot?  He is toddling all over the house, being adorable and loveable.  He sits in his high chair, crinkles his eyes and rolls his head onto one shoulder as he eats his food.  He does this when he is particularly overcome by the tastiness of some morsel.  

He’s doing a lot of pointing at things.  He has this weird way of pointing: he extends his arm out straight, but then he turns his wrist, rotates it like he’s taking a glass of water and dumping it on the floor. And he holds his hand in that position, fingers splayed.  To him that’s how he points at anything he wants: a cup, some food, whatever.  The concept of pointing a finger has not arrived yet.  Sometimes he goes even farther, rotating at the elbow, twisting the whole arm around, even pushing his shoulder into it, so that it looks like someone is grabbing his arm to do one of those indian rubs, or is about to put him in a half nelson.  Like that scene at the end of Back to the Future, where Biff grabs McFly’s arm.  That’s the position Elliot likes to put him arm in.  Weird, right?

Christmas photos

I told you I would get around to posting them.  We start on Xmas eve (the day I arrived), with a nice simple bare tree.  

Since it was Elliot's first real Christmas tree, we made sure to include him.

He liked the ornaments, but the concept of hanging them on tree did not come naturally.  It is kind of weird tradition.

And of course this had to happen...

Some Grandma Time

We started cat-sitting for Irina again.  What sounds like someone striking a match is actually Ding-Dong doing her biznass in her litter box.  And what sounds like Hannah gagging is. . . . Hannah gagging. 

Elliot got sick recently.  January 10, 2012 was probably the toughest single night for us since Elliot was born. 

Elliot breastfed when he was a newborn, which meant he got Hannah’s immune system, which meant during his first winter he didn’t get sick at all, not even once.  

But now he’s off the boob.  It’s his second winter, and he’s riding on his own immune system.  And every day we take him to daycare, which is a small room packed with bacteria and also a few infants.  You can practically see the illness particles spinning through the air (although most of the time they don’t have to travel by air: I watched one kid smear his mucus on another’s cheek.)

So Elliot is enduring his first serious illness.  For about a week he was vomiting (see previous post), and a couple days ago it moved to his throat.  At first I thought this might be better --- or at least less wet and sticky.  But it turns that vomiting for an infant is fairly painless, and over within seconds.  Whereas coughing hurts like hell and goes on the entire night.  

On January 10, 2012, I went out and played volleyball, and didn’t get home until after 11pm.  Hannah had been with Elliot alone for nearly 4 hours and was going crazy.  I found them in our bed together, Elliot completely awake.

It was definitely my turn to be First Parent. I took him into his room and fed him a bottle.  He calmed down, closed his eyes.  But I was stuck sitting up in a chair.  So I tried to transfer him to the crib, but he immediately woke up and started screaming for me.  And the screaming of a sick child is not something you are prepared to sit awake and listen to.  I didn’t fight it, I just picked him up and sat back down in that chair. 

So now I’m stuck in the chair. Elliot is semi-comfortable, coughing occasionally and waking up to cry, but then falling back asleep quickly.

I sit there for an hour.  I come up with a plan.  Elliot is sprawled out across my thighs.   If I can maneuver us to the couch, then I can be horizontal enough to sleep.  Elliot would be in the same position, and have the same contact with my body, so he could sleep too.  Everyone’s happy. 

I put him in the crib, and as he starts to cry I quickly run out and arrange the couch for my plan.  I refill his bottle, then run back in and get him.  I settle us on the couch in the position I had chosen, and get ready for a night of comfort and bliss. 

[hold for laughter] 

Let me see, how long has it been since I slept with a baby resting on my abdomen?  I think the last time was. . . . never?  Is that right?  Never?  

Yes, that’s right.  

I’m not sure why I thought this was such a great plan. Elliot did sleep pretty well, but I was miserable.  

Hannah woke up around 2am and told me to knock it off.  Bring him into bed, or put him in the crib and we’ll take turns comforting him.  I refused. 

Somewhere around 4am I gave up an brought him into bed with us.  He slept more or less peacefully until 7am. . . . and who needs more than 3 hours sleep each night?

In which the young gentleman began to understand the concept of the camcorder:

Sneak Preview

More Christmas photos when I have time, but here's a tantalizing peek:

This was at brunch last Sunday.  There was a bike on the back patio:

Sorry for the shaky camera work.  Apparently one of us had too many mimosas.  

Blueberries and the Femmes

Upon review, I realize it's impossible to hear the songs Elliot is dancing to.  So here it is:  Violent Femmes's "Add It Up" for the first half of the video.  Then a pause, and Tracy Chapman's "Give Me One Reason"

More photos and videos soon, I promise.  As soon as I have the patience to sit there while the little effers upload....

Meanwhile, here's a NYT article about the famous family cello of Nick and Elena Delbanco, with whom we had a lovely dinner with in Ann Arbor a few weeks back.

Vomit

On the day after New Years, Elliot got sick.

I remember the day exactly, because it was supposed to be Hannah's day off.  The daycare was open, but her work was not.  So she got a day to herself.  And she was excited about it.

But around 8 in the morning, on that day after New Years, Elliot threw up.  It was a small one, so she kept preparing him for daycare: the jacket, the baby backpack, etc. Then on the way to daycare, he barfed again.  

So -- to her inestimable credit -- she turned around and took him home.  On her one day off.  And took care of him all day while he vomited all over her.

I didn't really understand how serious this was until a few days later, when he vomited on me while I was trying to put him to sleep.  It's a terrifying experience.

In my case, Elliot was in my arms in the darkened room where he sleeps, and I had given him a far-too-full bottle of rice milk.  He chugged the whole thing down, and since his eyes were closed I stupidly just slapped him on his belly in his crib.  After a few seconds, he coughed once and sprayed a little squirt of vomit on the mattress.  The room began to smell of almonds.

I quickly picked him up, but it was too late.  As I held him against me, he sprayed a viscous white liquid across my shirt and pants.  It spattered onto my forearms, my hands, flecks of it on my neck and biceps.  It seemed for one horrible second like he was emptying out all the fluid in his little body.  I had the irrational impulse to clap my hand over his mouth, so that he would keep some liquid inside him.

Hannah tells me I screamed.  I remember it as a calm "Can I get some help here?" spoken through a crack in the door.  But even now I can remember the hint of panic that was creeping into my voice toward the end of the sentence: "Can I get, some, Help, IN, HERE?"

He got better.  Slowly.  As I write this, over a week later, he is still fussy and not sleeping well.  I'm sitting on the couch, listening to him cough.  It sounds wet and awful, but so far he's still asleep.

If he wakes up and cries, I'm going to go in and perch my bony butt on the diaper bin and rub my hand across his back.  And rub and rub and rub.  It has nothing to do with his lungs or his stomach, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Sleep conundrum

A weird thing happened over Christmas.  Hannah went out to Michigan before me, and for two days was there alone with Elliot.  And during that time he slept through the night without waking up once.

On the same night I arrived in Michigan, Elliot woke up and cried and had to be comforted back to sleep.  I was there for four nights, and each night he woke up and cried.

We explained it to ourselves thusly:  when he arrived in the new place, he was duly freaked out and withdrew.  The routine had changed, and he didn't think he could get parental comfort in the wee hours, so he didn't try.  But eventually he realized that the rules were the same, so he started asking for us again.

But here's the weird part:  I left Michigan before Hannah, so Elliot again had a few days there alone with her.  On the same day I left Michigan, he slept through the night without waking up.  And the same happened for three nights in a row before they came back to New York?

So the question is:  what is it about my presence that makes Elliot cry?

Hannah has found all kinds of nice ways of answering that question.  Like:  He's just so excited to have you around that he can't sleep.

Isn't she sweet?

The data is also confounded by the fact that he's been sick lately.  Just after New Years he was vomiting, and now he's just got a nasty cough.  Either way, he hasn't been sleeping through the night, but I'm not sure it has to do with my presence or absence.  When he returns to full health, we will find out just how much of a jinx I am.

Nothing to See Here

Object Permanence

The term “object permanence” has, as far as I can tell, completed its transition from academic literature to lay usage.  Maybe that’s just because I live in Brooklyn, a stone’s throw from Park Slope, where minoring in developmental psychology is considered a parenthood prerequisite.

Regardless, I’ve discovered that I can hang out with other parents and crack jokes like “I can steal things from Elliot because he doesn’t have object permanence,” and they seem to get it.  Are they just faking?  Again, I live in Brooklyn, so it’s hard to say.  But at least as many Brooklynites would tell me where to shove it as would fake laugh.

Elliot has had basic object permanence for a while.  Since about 9 months we started playing peek-a-boo, and this has evolved into his favorite game.  It gets old (for him) after about 20 peek-a-boos, but with a five-minute break he’s ready to go again.  

(Don’t ask how quickly it gets boring for me. Hannah and I just watched the latest special from the comedian Louis CK.  At one point he talks about how he explained to his daughter that he had to end a board game halfway through: “I’m sorry honey, I love you, but I love you less than I am bored.”)

But in the past few weeks Elliot seems to have developed what I have decided to call advanced object permanence.

Here’s what happened when Elliot played with toys:  at age three months, you could take it away and he thought it ceased to exist.  At 9 months, you could take it away and he knew it still existed but he didn’t care.  He just started hunting around for another toy to play with.  Now, at 15 months, he knows the toy exists, he knows it’s in your hand, and he will throw a temper tantrum for 2-5 seconds to try to get it back.  This morning he clenched every muscle in his body at the same time and nearly flipped himself out of my arms.  He screamed for a second, and then a second he was completely fine.

We’re on a trajectory here, and I can see where it leads: the terrible twos.  I can see the nascent temper tantrums starting to burble up beneath his generally perfect personality.  It’s like being in a car crash: there’s a moment when you can see exactly what’s about to happen but you can do nothing to stop it.  

Is there anything I can do to stop it?  Please advise. 

Learning to Eat

It ain't easy.  But it is fun.

Elliot's getting bigger.  He is very strong.

Right now I can still lift him up, pin him down, force him into clothes, yank him out of jackets.  But it won't be long before my feeble biceps are unable to match his thigh and back muscles.

Which got me to wondering.  We think of mental and physical development as two parallel processes.  Muscle mass grows, and brain size grows, but they don't really have much to do with each other. Or do they?

Imagine an alternate universe, in which physical development proceeds normally, but brain development takes ten times as long (given the complexity of the brain, this isn't that implausible).

What would we end up with?  Kids who weigh 70 pounds but without the language skills to be reasoned with.  Kids able to punch you hard enough to break your nose, but without any impulse control.  Sounds like chaos. Not the best for the propagation of the species.

Back in our own universe, it starts to seem like maybe there is a connection between brain and physical development.  Maybe Darwinism doesn't allow a child to get so big that he can hurt himself until his brain is functional enough to handle the size.

Which means Elliot ought to be speaking fluent English any day now.

Koda / Coda

We had brunch with Deb and Marionetta on the 26th, and they brought their adorable standard poodle.  I asked Hannah and Ed how to spell his name and got two different versions.  I guess it's my fault for asking more than one person.

Elliot was fascinated.  And now that he can walk, he can get up in a dog's business like never before. Eye-poking, fur-grabbing.  So Koda/Coda wasn't thrilled with him.  But he's a great dog, very mellow, and all he gave Elliot were a few muffled warning ruffs.

And he knows how to use them