(Almost) 6 month old!

Belle's confused: when exactly is February 29?
Mom and Dad are confused, too: how did six months go by so quickly?!


Less confused and just happy because, well, Belle is so often happy (and how lucky that makes her mommy).

Peter Pan

Remember Peter Pan? He didn't want to grow up so he and the Lost Boys lived in Never Never Land. There was a crocodile and Captain Hook and some grand adventures, but the basis of Peter Pan's story is his desire to stay young forever. I get that. I'd like to take Belle and go to Never Never Land today. I know that one day, Belle will experience disappointment, loss and pain and I won't be able to make it better. But, for now, I can comfort and calm her. I can soothe her and make her smile. Most importantly, I can protect Belle. So, Belle and I are going to freeze time- this time when I can hold and protect her- and we're going to join Peter Pan in Never Never Land.

Do not operate heavy machinery

A friend who lives in the 'burbs where she has to get in a car to get anywhere had a baby who is a few months older than Belle.  This friend told me that, upon discharge from the hospital after birth, she was warned not to drive a car.  The medical professionals at the hospital warned her that the post-postpartum hormones lowered her reaction time and heightened her emotion so she would be better off staying in the passenger seat, or out of the car all together for her first two weeks at home. I didn't hear this warning, but I wish I had.  Had I known that I was not suited to drive a car would have made me feel less crazy for feeling, well, crazy postpartum.  I joke that I cried more than Belle those first few weeks, but I guess that's normal.  My emotions were on a roller coaster and my head was in the clouds and my body felt like hell.  A warning about not operating a car or heavy machinery would have made sense.

"Everyone is working for the weekend"

Saturday nights highlight the greatest shift in our new lifestyle as parents. Saturday nights used to be a big deal: big night out. Saturday nights used to book up quickly, and it was rare that we found ourselves plan-less on a Saturday evening. Birthday parties, dinners out, movies, theatre, concerts: there was always something going on Saturday nights.

And now when my sister-in-law called at 7:15pm and asked what we were up to, Craig was already in his PJs and my contacts were out. In fact, Craig and I have only once been out on a Saturday night in NYC since Belle arrived (thanks, Grandpa Richard, for the chance to see "The Social Network" in December).

It's just that babies don't get the concept of a weekend the way we do. Belle doesn't skip a late-night feeding or sleep-in on a Sunday. So, well, it's just not worth staying up late on a Saturday night.

OK- it's now 8pm and nearly bedtime for me...

Belle > Turkey!

This past November, at Thanksgiving, our turkey weighed more than Belle did at the time. Now Belle, who has passed the 15-pound mark, weighs more than our turkey! Way to go, Belle :)

"Was it worth it, Mom?"

Last night, I attended a Tufts event at the swanky Times Center in Times Square. The event was to honor outgoing University President Larry Baccow and celebrate his fund raising efforts. I fed Belle and then left in time for cocktails at 7pm. Then, I enjoyed the presentation and a quick, light dinner (catered by Abigail Kirsch- delicious and creative!). Craig, though feeling under-the-weather himself, had everything under control, of course. So, when I got home just after 10pm (!!!!) to a sleeping baby and husband, I smiled. The smile was short-lived. Before I was out of my make-up and earrings, Belle started fussing, Not wanting her to disturb her ill daddy, I grabbed her and held her in the dark bathroom while I brushed my teeth and prepared myself for bed. Then, I fed her and we all slept. That, too, was short-lived. Belle was up at 1am, 4am, and 5:30am. While she had been falling asleep well and waking only twice a night the previous two nights, last night was not a good night. I held Belle to soothe her at 4am and wondered if it was worth going out at all. I thought I'd maybe get a minute to breathe after coming home from a nice evening out, but I guess I resumed my mom responsibilities the second I walked into the apartment. The Tufts event was free, but I sure paid for it.

A better picture of our mark on W85th St?

Our mark on W 85th St.

Across from Louis Brandeis High School on West 85th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues, we made our mark on the sidewalk. Look closely and you'll see "SLC" and "CMC" sketched into the cement.

Belle sitting up in bed

Sporting her Cornell onesie, smiling away, Belle sat up on our bed today and played while I folded the laundry. She is a joy.

"Happiness is being a grandparent"

I can think of a few grandparents who concur with this sentiment.

Always something

One of the reasons I am so happy living in New York City is that there is always something to do, even when there is nothing to do. As often happens in life with an infant, my day got a little mixed up and I found myself alone with Belle in Central Park. And so, while Belle napped, I read the many dedications on the park benches around the Great Lawn. Memorials, marriage proposals, dedications to pets: each bench has a story. It was a lovely walk.

The joy of the pacifier

Belle loves her pacifier. In the past five (nearly six, actually) months of life, the pacifier has been the one consistently effective calming tool for Belle. I am not exaggerating: it has been a roller coaster, as new parenthood should be, but that ingenious piece of plastic joy is the only reliable, predictable element of life with Belle.

When Belle learned how to reach for things, she first reached for her pacifier. When Belle figured out how to put the pacifier into her own mouth, it became a game (Belle will pull the pacifier out of her mouth and then put it back in...over and over and over...). How wonderful that she entertains herself! Now that Belle is teething, she sometimes chews on the pacifier rather than sucks on it.

The pacifier makes Belle happy on so many levels. Please, let her (and me!) enjoy.

It hurts me more than it hurts you

Belle felt warm to the touch on Saturday so Craig wanted to take her temperature. What?! But I grew up in a home without a thermometer. My mother's well-trained lips on my forehead determined whether or not I was sick enough to stay home sick or required Tylenol. Additionally, the doctor affirmed that the exact temperature matters in a newborn: a fever of 100.4 is cause for concern. The doctor told me, though, that Belle is old enough that the exact number of her temperature is not as important as whether or not she has a fever.

So, I was opposed to taking Belle's temperature. She felt warm to the touch so we were going to give her Tylenol. But Craig was persistent. A fever from teething would be around 100, while a fever due to illness could be higher, and Craig wanted to know what we may be up against. Also, our new-parents lips aren't so well trained. Craig wanted to know what 'warm' felt like, as opposed to 'hot' (as in, was Belle's temperature 100 or 104?). And so I agreed to help Craig take Belle's temperature.

My great protest was primarily because the most accurate way to take a baby's temperature is rectally. The idea of sticking an instrument in Belle's tiny tuschy made me squirm. But, I wanted to help Craig. So, I acquiesced.

I lay Belle on her belly (ie, tuschy up) on my lap and gave her a toy to play with while Craig dipped the thermometer into petroleum jelly. When he brought the thermometer near Belle's little bum, I started to cry. Belle, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice and was enjoying being on my lap and playing with her toy. After Craig determined that her temperature was 100.8, I dried my tears, gave Belle a big kiss for being so brave (did she even know what was going on?) and we gave her Tylenol.

It seems that some of the poking and prodding hurts me more than it hurts Belle. I guess that's the plight of the mommy.

"Sometimes you just need your mommy"

I love holding Belle. Nothing is more snugly than feeling her little hands on me when I pick her up. And when she is sleepy and nuzzles her tiny head into my neck, I could hold her forever.

But not really. Really, I love snuggling Belle when it's time to snuggle. When it's time to play, I enjoy playing with Belle. When it's time to sleep (hahaha- Belle is not exactly a great sleeper), that is when I need to get things done to feel like a functional human being. But we may be venturing into that stage when baby need her mommy.

Craig and I attended the cocktail hour and chuppah for a friend's wedding. While we were noshing and celebrating, Belle was at Great-Grandma's Ann's with Grandpa and Aunt Joanna and other adults. Baby Belle didn't get a great report from said babysitters, but was a smiling, adorable angel when we returned to Grandma Ann's. And then today, Craig put Belle down for a nap while I ran out to the gym. When I got home, she was fussing in his arms. She stopped when she saw me. Was she all smiles only after Mommy was around?

I thought I could avoid the 'I-need-my-mommy' stage by exposing Belle to other people constantly. We've left her with family and non-family babysitters. We've passed her from person to person at family parties. We've gotten her used to being around others. Perhaps that's not enough to fully avoid the clingy stage.

In Belle's defense, she has a small cough and cold. Maybe that explains her desire to be held. I sure hope so, but I love snuggling Belle, and I enjoy having a few moments to myself when Belle is in the good care of another adult.

Stroller seat

Belle is so excited to finally be in her stroller seat (as opposed to the bassinet or car seat). And she is bundled and ready for fresh air!

Cousins!

Cousin Noah and little Belle at Grandma Ann's.

"And I was like, Baby Baby Baby OH"

OK, it's true: Belle has Justin Bieber hair. Teenage boys everywhere are jealous that they can't sport it, knowing how it drives t(w)eens wild. C'mon- Belle and Justin do sport similar hairstyles.

BIEBER:


BELLE:

Stroller parking at Joe's

After a great (and super hard- I think we hit every hill in Central Park) walk, we six mommies enjoyed a coffee at Joe's.

She doesn't live here anymore

A friend asked me if I have the hang of motherhood and if I feel "more like my old self again."  Does one every fully get the hang of motherhood?  Routines, child's needs, life is always changing.  It's not easy to get a handle on a constantly-changing job. And in terms of "my old self," I don't think she exists anymore.  As of August 29, 2010, I do not eat the same (foods, quantity, time), sleep the same (or at all, it seems), engage in the same activities, or even have all the same friends.  My priorities have obviously shifted, and so has my reading material (baby books and mommy blogs), my value of free time and, of course, how I use that little and precious free time.  Life is quite different since Belle came along and so I am not sure that the Seren of August 28, 2010 still exists.  Sorry, Craig.

"In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king"

I have attended a monthly support group for nursing mothers since September, when Belle was just three weeks old. Now, at the ripe old age of five-and-a-half months, Belle was one of the older/est babies at this month's group. That makes me a more experienced mommy. And so, at the meeting on Wednesday, I introduced myself and asked the facilitating lactation consultant my questions. Shortly thereafter, the tables turned and a few of the moms asked me questions. After the lactation consultant concluded the session, I found myself still chatting with four other moms, all with babies younger than Belle. In fact, three women asked for my contact information, which I excitedly gave, in case they had questions about what lay ahead with their babies. I am happy to serve as a resource to new moms, not that I really know what I am doing. But, with nearly six months under my belt, I am look like a pro to the mom with the ten-day-old. The relativity of knowledge is astounding, and yet another way in which motherhood is humbling.