Here's To Silly!

As Bean gets older, she is constantly discovering new things. 


Conclusion:  Discovering new territory is exciting, no matter where it is found.

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This isn't a real post.  I promise there's one out there that's coming.  Until then, there are just two things I had to share.

1 - You know it's time to shave when you are laying (lying?  this is one grammar rule I never got a handle on - don't worry I know everything else about grammar) in bed with your almost-one-year-old (good heck, how did she get that old that fast?) with your arms behind your head and she reaches up and pets your armpit as though it were one of her "touch and feel" board books.

2 - I really liked this picture/quote, so I thought I'd share (it's sort of been a theme in my life lately):

Conclusion:  Laughter is real, real good for the soul.

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You know it's quite a day when I take pictures of Bean both because she's so cute when she's actually in clothes at home (let's be honest, that hardly ever happens, the being clothed part, not the being cute part):


and because she's so cute when she's hanging out naked (she's had a bit of a chappy bum, and there's no better cure than simple fresh air, right?):


Conclusion:  It's been a good day.

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So, my advice is to never get cancer.

Good.  Now that that's taken care of, here's a link to a comic that kind of sums up how I feel about The Big C.  I am posting a link rather than embedding said comic because there is some foul language (and we're not talking chickens here, folks).  This is your official F-bomb warning.  Still, it's apt.

Conclusion:  Don't get cancer.  The end.

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We're bad parents.  I'm coming to terms with that.  But at least we're not terrible parents.  We're good about some things.  I still won't give Bean cookies.  They're pure sugar, right?  But somehow we've decided it's ok to give her ice cream.
And she loves it.  Surprising, I know.  I've never really cared for the stuff myself (lies, all lies).  It's rare, though.  She mostly eats fruit and veggies with varied protein sources.  It works out in the end.  I think she'll make it.  Sure hope so.  I really like this kid.  I'd like to keep her.
Conclusion:  Moderation in all things includes ice cream, for sure.  And good parenting is for people without an imagination.

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Wearing a white shirt and standing directly in front of a baby feeding herself baked beans and sausage did not turn out as well as I would have hoped.
Yup.  All five fingers on display.

Conclusion:  One can get away with so much more when one is cute and tiny.

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Conclusion:  Sometimes it gets overwhelming, dealing with the overload of cuteness at our house.

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Conclusion:  You never know.  You just never know. 

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Bean has recently had her first experience sitting outside.  We don't have a lawn, but there is moss on the sidewalk, so it's pretty much the same thing.
I took her outside with me while I put laundry on the line.  She wasn't too sure of it at first, but seemed ok when I distracted her with a leaf from the ground nearby.
Conclusion:  Outside time is golden, but we look forward to lawn.

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You probably guessed that Bean is eating solid foods by now.  What you may not know is the journey she has taken to get here.  LONG ago (ok, so in the past year, but it feels like forever), I read a blog post about a woman who, instead of going through the "rice cereal, then purees, then finger foods" process, just gave her baby a piece of green pepper when he wanted it and went from there, with the baby eating real food along with the family the whole time.  "I'm totally going to do that," I said to me.  I still bought some spoons and purees of foods not available here on the island (which I know doesn't make sense if my plan was to avoid purees), but I was fully intending to go with her philosophy, because it made sense to me.  She mentioned a book "Baby-Led Weaning," but books are hard to come by here and it seemed silly to send it when we're only here for such a short while, so I was sure I could go it alone.  I was wrong. 

The first food I offered Bean was mango, which seemed a delightful option to me.  It was very slippery and, while she seemed to enjoy the flavor, she could not get a hold of it to eat it no matter what she tried.  It was a mess.  So I mashed it and fed it to her with a spoon.  Then I did the same with bananas.  And then I blended up some green beans (Bean eating beans - classic, right?) and some spinach with pumpkin.  And all of a sudden, I was all caught up in spoon-feeding my baby all kinds of purees - exactly what I didn't want to do.  I even fed her a jar of store-bought sweet potatoes.  Sigh.  ;)  We tried rice cereal, but for some reason she was zero interested in its blandness. 

Enter my birthday.  My sweet mom sent me the book.  I devoured it.  I ceased and desisted with the purees.  I gave her finger-shaped and sized bits of food and watched her go for it.  She LOVED it. 

Here's a video of her, just a couple weeks into her "learning to eat solid food" process:
She now eats all kinds of food, and she's getting all kinds of fast and efficient.  She has also made some glorious messes.  I love watching her explore food this way.  She has become a first-rate beggar, too.  Anytime there is food being eaten anywhere in the house, she gets very quiet and alert, like a predator sneaking up on an innocent . . . small helpless thing.  She watches us every moment there is any kind of food in our hands.  She smacks her lips.  And if the food is not offered to her in a prompt manner, she gets the most sad/demanding look on her face that you can imagine.  It awesome/frustrating.  It has cut down on my open cookie intake (of course the hidden cookie intake remains intact). 

Even without teeth (still, not a single one), she is a force of nature.  Bananas?  Easy.  Gone in mere moments.  Melon?  That's a snap.  Broccoli?  A little more challenging, but still delicious and worth the effort.  Star fruit is a new favorite.  Crackers and cheese and ham and chicken and pasta and all kinds of delicious things are all a part of this new life.  It has definitely made me more aware of my own dietary habits, this sharing with a tiny person.  It's friggin' awesome.  Here, I'll show you:

We are pretty excited to see how much she will enjoy teeth.  Just think of the things she'll be able to do.  I mean, if she can eat pizza now (yes, yes she can), steak isn't that far off, right?  Also, we look forward to getting to Utah in the season of corn on the cob - oh, how I'm sure she'll love it. 

Conclusion:  Independence begins early in this house.  Happy Independence Day, all.

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When a battery in a smoke detector is low, it just goes off every ten seconds or so.  You know, smoke detector loud.  And shrill.  And scary.  I may have known that.  I probably knew that.  It's a good idea.  Unless The Universe decides the battery is low an hour after the baby goes to bed.  In her room.  Right above her crib. And the ceiling the detector is attached to is so high that your 6'6" husband can't reach it standing on a chair (And, let's be honest, every pillow in the room, which is many.  Safe, right?).  Then it's a terrible idea.  Just sayin'.

Conclusion:  Whoever said to change the batteries every six months may have had a point.  And/or a once sleeping baby.

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So, here's the low-down on the ho-down (I really feel like putting a "w" after "ho," just to make it match, but then it would spell "how" and that wouldn't make any sense).  Apparently I'm sort of an attachment-parenting type.  This is not something I planned on.  I remember discussing birth plans with a friend of mine, waaaaay before Bean was twinkling in my eye, and being completely flummoxed when she asked me what parenting methods I planned to use.  Um, how should I know?  That was, like, light years away.  I had spent years deciding just how I wanted my birth experience to be (sort of like little girls who plan their weddings for decades but fail to consider the realities of a real-life marriage).  Turns out, it was just as important, if not more so, as considering choices like epidural? hypnobirthing? midwife? hospital? and t'ings o' dat sort.

While pregnant, I did start to sort of investigate stuff like that.  One website had a particularly strong impact - Hathor certainly has a forceful way of putting things.  Most certainly an attachment-parenting advocate, she renders all other ideas as essentially ridiculous, at the very least disdainable.  I specifically remember her pointing out all kinds of "detachment-parenting," which included strollers.  Well, when you put it like that, of course I don't want any part of it.  She did get to be a little much for me and I had to unsubscribe to her feed before Bean came on the scene, if only to save us both from the intense scrutiny I felt like it put me under (Sure, sure, it's just a website so the scrutiny was self-inflicted.  No matter, it had to stop).  Still, the phrase "detachment-parenting" has stuck with me.  I didn't start out looking to use a sling to make a statement or to fulfill any hippie fantasy.  It just made more sense to me and fit in with my style and ideals.  And I have loved it.  So has Bean.

Then I got the heat-rash-from-hell and had to reconsider.  After some to-do, we gratefully received a stroller two weeks ago from Wonderman's ever-generous sister.  I thought that I was being so pragmatic and was neatly eating my humble pie, when I realized that I had actually been quite selfish.  I got the stroller just for me and assumed Bean would love it since she used to love the car - same concept, sort of, right?  I honestly barely considered how she would feel about it.  It just seemed like an alternative mode of transport.  No biggie.

Alas, turns out that after six-plus months of this attachment-parenting mumbo-jumbo, it actually works and babies get attached.  Also, it seems that right around six months is when many babies begin to deal with separation anxiety, even babies who have been "detachment" parented all along.  Needless to say, there were many, many tears when we introduced the stroller, only partially abated when Wonderman danced in front of the stroller making silly noises and pulling funny faces (Have I told you what awesome buddies they are?  I love it).

So, my fear of blending in with all the other mommies with strollers?  Not a concern.  I became the mommy wearing my baby in a sling, pushing an empty stroller.  You know how I love to embrace the ridiculous, right?  Yup, nothing like a crazy white woman to make the Dominicans stare.  So, we've tried to break Bean in slowly.  Some trips in the stroller, some in the sling.  Sometimes managing half a trip in the stroller and coming home in the sling (Um, how grateful am I for a sling that packs small?  Uber for sure).  Every day Bean gets a little bit better about the concept of strolling.  Today she did A-MA-ZING.  She was so calm the whole way.  Two trips to campus and back.  Instead of crying, she just made that little extended "uh" sound that so nicely exhibits the bumps in the road (of which there are many around these parts).  When she did get a little tired and hungry (do I have to confess to my negligence here and tell you how I kept her out way longer than I should have and naps weren't really on the radar, nor was nursing for quite a bit of the time we were out [for all my rantings about public nursing, you'd think I'd make it a point to do it when I had the chance!]?), she just whimpered lightly and then fell fast asleep.  It was glorious.  I gave thanks for the relatively quick adjustment period and began to make all kinds of future strolling plans.

And then tonight I realized a few things about heat rash (Well, the realizations have been building, but the final and most important was tonight at bath time).  1 - Mine did not even come close to disappearing with the introduction of the stroller.  2 - Now that Bean can sit up and so I sling her on my hip, instead of belly-to-belly, none of her body-heat is touching where my gross rash even is.  3 - The heat rash that I've been noticing on her back (right above her diaper so it kinda looks like diaper rash but it actually stops where the diaper begins so I've been pretty confused by it), IS CAUSED BY THE GOSH-DARN STROLLER.  Seriously, on what planet is this fair?  She gets warm in there, but I didn't think it was that warm.  But that is the only thing that has changed within the time frame of her rash development.  So, now I'm torn.  Do I sling it despite the heat, except for when I want to go grocery shopping or to the pool?  Or do I just try to pack an ice back wrapped in a blanket behind her and maintain our strolling success?  Will the rash that I have (Which is only dissipating a bit now with loads of steroid cream) re-rear it's horrendous head?  Whose rash takes precedence?

Conclusion:  There is no "Easy-Parenting" style.

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Last night as I got into bed, I noticed the moon glowing so-brightly-it-was-almost-eery through our window, and I commented on said glowing to Wonderman.  His response:

"Yeah, I was just thinking that tonight we'll find out if Bean is really a werewolf."

A pause of bemused silence lay pregnant between us.

"It would be cute, but terrifying," he said.

It would indeed.

Conclusion:   She's probably not a monster, but she's bound to be funny with genes like his.
It's true, I totally put in a gratuitous Bean-shot.  It's to show off her good genes and to celebrate that we now have a camera and to show that she has enough hair for little clips (they are mine from back in the day right after I was bald, remember?).  Hooray!

The end.

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Well, there are probably lots of things to say in some long post that I'll write later, but tonight I am just going to say that right at 6.5 months, when Bean is really starting up on her separation anxiety, is maybe not the best time to switch from a sling to a stroller.  It's been a long day.

The end.

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Today I woke up to a severed horse's head in my bed.  Speaking figuratively, of course.  You may recall my discussion of courage a while back.  I have continued to wear large and dangley earrings, and Wonderman has continued to, well, wonder at my brazenness. 

After my shower today, I put in a pair of large plastic hoops - you know the kind, it was the type that made me wish I had pierced ears in the 80s.  They are not just large, but also zebra-striped, which just adds to their awesomeness.  As I put the soft plastic back on the post I thought out loud to myself, "Bean will probably think these are great toys, placed in reach just for her," and then continued on to put the second earring in.  I had been wearing them for perhaps ten minutes before her grabby little hands reached upwards.  I knew her intentions when I both felt and heard her warm breath in my ear.  Luckily the back was so soft it was super easy for her to pull out and start chewing on.  No harm, no foul.  So I switched earrings. 

I put in a pair that was not small, but not garish by any standard.  They were on fish hooks.  I've worn them lots and lots of time since Bean came on the scene.  They were my safe choice.  Then, while I leaned over Bean this afternoon, the term "safe" was erased from their description.  She caught hold and pulled mightily very, very quickly (before this she's always been a fairly slow, gentle, and exploratory grabber of earrings).  She pulled the jewelry quite out of my ear.  It hurt a little, but nothing serious.  That is, until I saw the earring.  The hook was completely bent in a very un-fishhook like manner.  I realized at that moment that her strength is ever increasing, and it was sheer chance of angle that allowed her to merely bend the hook rather than tearing my earlobe clear through.  Sigh.  I surrender.  Looks like it's a decade (depending on the number of children and their spacing, of course) of dowdy earring for me, coming up. 

Conclusion:  David is not the only little person to face off with a giant and win.

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This has nothing to do with my hippie card.

At least once a day, Bean and I look in the mirror and I say some version of this:  "Do you see the baby in the mirror?  Look at the baby in the mirror.  That's such a cute baby in the mirror, huh?  Can you say 'hi' to the baby in the mirror?"  After repeating the phrase "baby in the mirror" that many times, about 98% of the time I end up with the chorus from this song in my head:
It's not a bad song.  In fact, it's kind of a good song.  It's inspiring and all.  I still don't love having it in my head all day, every day.  I'm not exactly sure how to acquaint Bean with her mirror self without getting it in my head, however.  And so it continues.

Conclusion:  The King of Pop continue to reign.

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First off - strollers.  We bought an umbrella stroller from some friends who were leaving the island so we would have "something," just in case.  I tried it out a few weeks back.  Bean loved it.  Until she got absolutely sun-fried.  I wisely saw some pros and some cons (the decision to use it came about because I needed to go to campus and help out with a fundraiser and needed more movement than the sling would give me but wouldn't have anywhere to put Bean, so I figured it would work to just have her hang out sitting in the stroller for a while.  That part of it worked like a charm.  So did the quietly strolling her to sleep while we waited for Wonderman to finish his business up on campus so he could walk home with us).  Still, the flaming red skin kept at bay all further thoughts of strolling.  Until I got the heat rash from hell all down my front after wearing her in the sling through a long, hot day (I mean, everyone with boobs gets at least a little boob sweat, right?  The sling takes that to the Nth degree and then gets it running all down my belly and then holds it there).  I realized that another semester (in the summer) here without a stroller might not go well.  I contacted my sister-in-law who had offered us her jogging stroller clear back in December (I turned it down, holding firmly to my hippie ideals and thinking I didn't want to "deal with" a stroller), who told me she had kept it, just waiting for me to want it.  Ooooh, that made me feel angry? sheepish? GRATEFUL.  Anyway, it's on its way (with a camera in its pocket - hooray!!!).  It's big and bulky and folds down to a very small size (i.e. about equivalent to the size of Rhode Island).  It's exactly what I imagined I would never own.  But it's exactly what I need (just today as I walked home with a sleeping baby in the sling and about 30 pounds of groceries in my hands I thought, I really need a stroller, even if it's just to put the groceries in - they can make the 20 min. walk home seem so much longer).

I'm already having separation anxiety, just thinking about putting Bean in a stroller instead of a sling (this has made me wonder if attachment parenting in my case is more about me not being able to be separated from Bean that about her needing me).  I can't imagine having her that far away from me for that long, that often.  I am, quite literally, very attached to her.  I also have a strange sense of pride when I get asked "You don't have a stroller, do you?  I've never seen you use one."  I also know that I get recognized because of my beautiful sling and the adorable baby with the aqua-colored sunhat walking all over town, if not for my own stunning beauty.  Once I get a stroller, I'll just blend in with all the other mommies.  The American mommies, anyway.  Very few Dominicans use prams, as they call them.  They don't wear their babies, either.  They just carry them.  That seems difficult and wildly impractical to me, but it is the way of things.  Anyway, I'll only have my own good looks to set me apart, and in the tropics in the summer time, even those get muddled a bit.  Sigh.  Here's to the ladies who stroll!

Conclusion:  Humble Pie isn't nearly as good as dutch apple or lemon meringue, but apparently it's quite nutritious.

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Guess what?  It turns out that I only have time to keep up with reading all the blogs I've added to my reader or to post on my own blog.  Should you be someone who notices when something shows up here, you are aware of what my choice has been lately.  Sigh.  Can I blame part of that on my lack of a camera with which to take adorable pictures of my sweet love, Bean?  She is my inspiration and all.  That's at least part of the problem.  The other part is just me being swamped with reading other people's stuff.  Not only do I do it for educational purposes, but I also have a group of imaginary virtual friends, see.  They're real people, but I like to imagine they're my friends.  They are awesome.  My sister says to comment on their blogs and we can become real friends, but I am not very good at that yet.  I've made a few forays out of my lurking corner, but no fast friendships of eternal consequence have emerged.  Still, I feel obligated (wildly curious?) to know how things are going on their side of the world.  Plus I have to know what my sister/cousin/aunt/college roommate is posting.  It's all pretty important.  Anyway, here I am.  And I'm having a bit of a crisis.  Wonderman says I'm going to have to turn in my hippie card.  There are a few issues at hand.  Updates coming soon.  Probably.

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Bean has grown enough to fit and fill her Bean Ts that my sister made.  It's a pretty adorable combination, if I do say so myself.
















I had to post so many pictures for two reasons.  1 - They're too adorable to choose just one.  2 - These are the last pictures that got taken before my camera broke and so may be the last pictures of Bean or of anything for quite a while.  Sigh.  So, now my posts will just be silly rants and descriptions and no cute pictures.  Like, I have more to say about cloth diapers.  I'll say it soon, but when it's not accompanied by a photo of a sweet baby with cloth on her bum it's not nearly as appealing.  Alas, it is all I can do.

The end.

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Have I ever told you how . . . um . . . active Bean is?  She is always moving.  The bigger she gets, the harder she is to hold on to.  Especially since with bigger comes stronger.  Bath time wrangling has become a serious sport.
Strangely, so has nursing.  Sometimes she is calm and it is the sweet, quiet, relaxing time that you read about, well, I don't know where.  I've read about it on a whole variety of blogs.  There's probably books and stuff that talk about it, too.  Maybe reading about breastfeeding isn't really all that common.  It has become so for me.  Anyway, sometimes it's all sweet like that.  Other times it's an adventure.  She talks and growls while she eats.  She flaps her available arm and leg about (This is one reason that covers and I are not friends.  The waving material acts like a flag and actually draws more attention to us.  Bean has yet to comprehend modesty and discretion).  Often it's not her flapping limbs about, but using them to try to climb up me.  She's even hit my collarbone with such force that's she's bruised me (just barely and just once, but still)! 
Also, notice the gripping of the shirt.  That is the hand Wonderman and I used to call "The Modesty Hand" because she would put it up over her face while she ate, which also covered up any part of me that could possibly be showing.  Now it gets called "The Immodesty Hand" because she uses it to grab my shirt and pull it as far out and down as she can. 

Not related to wrangling of any kind, I would just like to make sure you notice the awesome difference in skin color between the two of us.  I know she's mine because I was there when I birthed her, but she isn't quite as obviously (to the untrained eye) mine as she is her father's.  When I had my hair in braids, a friend of mine described my appearance as "ethnically vague."  As much as I identify myself as "white," Bean and I definitely appear to be of not entirely the same ethnicity.  Weird. 

Conclusion:  True love is much more than skin deep.

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