Summer Smiles - 41 Weeks

InDEEPendence

40 Weeks

This picture was taken on the 4th of July BEFORE, not after, we had to have the car pulled out of a sinkhole in a friend's side yard. If looks can kill they should also be able to see the future...

Last Call

39 Weeks

"He hates going to bed. Just like his mommy."

"And he's a light sleeper, just like his daddy."

Good combo. For a politician. Or a security system. Sorry kid.

Ren likes the party to last all night. When he gets sleepy he does a sweet, cartoonish eye rub and reminds me of the E.H. Shepard sketches of Christopher Robin dragging Pooh at his heels. Then he uses his thumb to pull the side of his cheek towards his ear and he yells a kind of joyful nonsense. Sometimes his head and eyes roll a little bit. He grins. He likes to shake his little noggin back and forth, back and forth. Quickly and with intensity, especially when we first lay him on his back in the crib. We used to think he was trying to stay awake but it is becoming more clear that he is enjoying the sensation. Every so often he's like a body that needs the batteries taken out. He can't keep his eyes open but his limbs want to go, go, go—move, move, move. Sometimes he will be sound asleep and as soon as we turn our back to head out his bedroom door, we hear a goofy "goo". He's standing up. Mocking us. He giggles. When he finally goes down, it's sudden. Mid-baby-sentence. It's disconcerting and hilarious at the same time, like someone found the remote to turn him off.

Every night our son is the shameless, crazy, fun guy who they wake up to close the bar. And every morning he's bright eyed, smiling, and ready to face the day. I think he's made of energy drink... and whiskey.

No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed

38 Weeks

It is amazing the ripple effect caused by the gums of one tiny baby.
For two weeks, each night, each time, he woke crying, bleary eyed, I would go to his room and nurse him.
He was in pain—I thought I was doing a good thing.
Then our doctor told us we were starting a lifelong habit of bad.
He told us to make a change and make it quick.
He suggested cold turkey.
A sandwich.
He suggested we give Ren turkey sandwiches instead.     
Um.    
No.    
He told us to cut out the night feedings immediately.
We did.
We're tired.
And deranged.
This is week three of late nights for us all.
Ren's finally getting used to new teeth making appearances but he's not used to Daddy doing the nighttime soothing.
Daddy doesn't have any milk.
Or turkey sandwiches. 

Dirty, Rotten, Scoundrels

37 Weeks

When you're a sleepy mom, you make sleepy decisions—if you can remember that you need to make them. It was a little late in the day to be doing so but Ren needed a bath. "We'll do a quick one," I told him. He said, "Goo" and we forged on. Simple. Ren goes in the playpen. I go to our room to turn on the water then go to get Ren and get him undressed in his. It's always a gamble—those seconds from the changing table in Ren's room to the bath in ours. It's a gamble IN the bath too, but for the most part the water usually stay purely water. I put Ren back in the play pen, sans diaper, and leave on the onesie (for some reason). I check on the bath and turn off the water. It's just right. Not too hot but in that spot where you don't want it to sit too long or it will be too cold. Tub time is now. 

I grab Ren and see a runny, brown mess where he was just laying. I feel wet warmth on my hip. 

"Crap."

It's a lot. I take him back to his changing table. I lay him down knowing I'll need to wash everything near him. He's pretty squirmy. I pull off the onesie and he reaches down to explore. I'm unable to block him in time. 

"Crap."

A handful. And he's still covered waist to feet. I lay my arm across his body to keep him from flipping over and use my other arm to hold his dirty hand away from his mouth. I'll need to wash everything near me after this. I await for a pause in his fight to release and grab more wipes. Somehow I get him relatively clean. I brush a tickle away from my face. I feel something damp. And slimy. 

"Crap."

It's in my hair. I hold him down with one hand while I pull my dress up and off, over my head. I figure it will wipe some of it away. I won't be showering until Ren goes to sleep in a few hours. What's a little 'mousse' gonna hurt? Moving on. We're both relatively clean. I'll need to warm up the bath by now so I'll grab some wipes to clean out the playpen and start all over again. I turn to do just that and...

"Crap."

There are footprints of it behind me. From the new carpet in our bedroom to the new carpet in his. I have to get that up before it sets. Right? Yeah, you do...

We go downstairs to get the carpet cleaner and paper towels and I catch a glimpse of the two of us in a mirror. That's a lot of pale skin and a dirty smudges here and there. Ren's still teething. Sleep deprivation is wearing on us both. We look like Lucy and Little Ricky of A Clockwork Orange. 

I climb the stairs in my underwear with a naked baby under one arm and stain fighters under the other. At the top, I see a silhouette of the dog. He is bent over and convulsing—vomiting the medication I'd given him earlier that evening. I forgot to feed him first. "Shit."

Breaking the Skin

36 Weeks

Ren's new teeth 
Kill our sweet sleep
He wriggles and cries all night

We lay there and say:
"Tomorrow we'll pay,"
and try not to dwell on Ren's plight

Ren wakes with a smile
We walk into walls for awhile
and hope this will change very soon

Sleep deprivation 
Is a torturous station
There's a reason loon rhymes with the moon

We do it again
"Is it better for Ren?"
Co-workers ask with a cringe

"Well, he's doing all right.
Surely the end there's some light."

Coffee is more than a binge

The weekend appears
Distracting our fears
It's clear a first crush can heal all

Writing is cheap
For the vacation we seek
But it makes all the hard things banal

Might as well jump—JUMP!

35 Weeks

As summer and new summer fun/responsibilities/traditions/necessities present themselves, our lives have gone from time for thinking before leaping to realizing we're mid-leap when we see a cloud pass though our windy hair. "Honey! When did this happen?! What?! Parachute??!!! AHH!! PUUUULLLL!!!!"

This weekend was all about family and new friends coming into Ren's point of view. It was his fantastic first cousin, Emma's second birthday bash, his first trip to the Big Apple (if you count an Inwood picnic as a welcome to NYC), and the first day of his Papa-son's two-month visit. While mommy felt like the coked up, washed up, game show host of the Ren World Tour, Ren sat back and took it all in with plenty of giggles and few complaints.

"The kids are all asleep! Time for the adults to wake up!!!"

After Emma's celebration, the moms check on the kids and we all find ourselves sitting around a cozy campfire. I choose an empty seat next to my father-in-law. In the past two years he's gone from job to retirement and from 'Dad' to 'Poppy'. I know how much our own lives have quickly changed, I start to think about his new turn. I casually try on his proverbial shoes: "Hey Dad, what's it like?"

What came after made me consider tying our stack of parenting books together to make a footstool.

"Well. I don't feel like a grandfather."

"Oh."

"I feel like I'm playing a role. You know what that's like. All the world's a stage and all that."

My father-in-law coached both his boys' little league teams. He also championed them through camps, games, plays, Boy Scouts, first dates, first jobs, and universities.

"It all went by so fast. We only have so much time. And now I'm a grandfather. I don't feel it. It's just a name."

I didn't expect his sincerity; his vulnerability. Perhaps a greeting card sentence on blessings or a joke about diapers. Wow. I don't know why I was surprised. My father-in-law has always been refreshingly frank.

"Yeah, it took me a while to realize I'm not suddenly just A MOM. I'm a woman who is also a new mother."

"Well. You're a mom first."

"Of course."

"But then you're something else."

"Oh."

"First it's about keeping them alive. You're a mom... Then you're a teacher."

My father-in-law worked night jobs cleaning and stocking grocery shelves to make ends meet.

"You teach them right from wrong. Over and over. You make sure they understand the rules."

"Wow, Dad. Yeah."

"Then— Once I took one of them, Mark or Greg, I can't remember— I drove him and a date to a scary movie and then drove them home through the graveyard..."

"That was Greg! I love that story!"

We laugh at a skinny, mustached Greg sitting in the backseat.

"After you teach them. Then you're the parent. You gotta discipline. Make sure they stay on track with all you told 'em."

My father-in-law taught me how to trim a hedge. When my mother-in-law yelled at him for making me do yard work, he answered for me: "She isn't around grass in the city. She wants the dirt under her fingers for once!"

"Then..."

My father-in-law looks across the campfire at his sons. Greg is sitting in a chair. Mark is dancing around the fire. 80's music plays and I find myself singing along with the hair-band chorus.

"Mark and Greg. They're different. Always have been. I remember peeking in their rooms at night. Late at night. 3 a.m. when they were teenagers..."

My father-in-law tells me stories about watching his sons turn their attentions towards girls.

"That's when you start to let go. Before you know it, they're off to college and you just hope that they hold on to everything you taught them and helped them through. That's when you're in the background."

"And... that's the hardest part..."

"Well, of course. You're never as important again. And then you're Grandpa. It's not a bad thing. It's how it should be. It's how it is. You just pray you taught 'em all the right stuff. You pray they don't do stupid things."

We both look over the flames and take in the scene. Here is our Hallmark hallmark.

"I think you did all right."

"Yep. I did."

I run into the house and when I come back out my father-in-law is giggling and flirting with his wife until she smacks his hand away. I wonder how many cliffs they've jumped off together.