Movin' On Up

We moved Nora into her own room this week. I've been putting this off for awhile, because I loved having her bassinet right next to the bed. I had even grown fond of the fug created by Rich, two dogs, Nora and myself sleeping and snoring and dreaming in one little space together. If we could all have slept curled up in a puppy pile in the corner, I'd probably have been even happier.

However, she's gotten so big that her arms would fly out and hit the sides of her bassinet and wake her up. The bassinet (mine from long ago) is made out of some sort of plywood with stapled seams at each end; in the morning, Nora's head would be crammed up against that scratchy plywood seam and she'd be clawing at the sides of the bassinet like a little Tasmanian devil in a wooden crate. (It sounds worse than it was.)

Since I had the day off Monday, I decided to try putting her in her crib Sunday night in case there was trouble. I lay my yoga mat and an old comforter on the floor of her room and bedded down to keep her company while I waited for the wailing to start.

Nora slept through the night without a peep, swaddled up in that big crib like a pebble on a dinner plate. I lay on the floor spooning with the dog and feeling sorry for myself. No more gazing over at her in her bassinet next to my bed as I fall asleep; no more reaching over to feel her grasp one of my fingers first thing in the morning; no more grinning at each other as we first open our eyes in the morning. My daughter has taken her first of many steps toward independence (unless you count being born as the first one). At any rate, there's no going back to the bassinet, and I'm a little sad that her newborn phase is officially over.

This motherhood thing is turning me into a sentimental cream puff.

Roll Over, Babe-thoven

Yet another milestone: Nora can roll from her belly onto her back! She did it once before, several weeks ago (when I had my back turned, of course), but she did it again yesterday while I was watching. I called downstairs for Rich to run upstairs and see, and he responded with, "Oh yeah, she's been doing that all day." Hmm. Ok. I wonder what else she can do that I don't know about. Does she pop-lock, too?

Update, February 20: I still have only seen Nora roll over a couple of times, so I think this may have been a fluke. I'll let y'all know when she gets serious about rolling over.

Cheeky Monkey

Come on. I mean, really, come on! Has there ever been a cuter baby? We need a wide angle lens just to get those cheeks in the shot.

Nora is really talkative these days. She's very expressive, sometimes knitting her brows and looking right into my eyes in order to make a point. It's mostly just vowel sounds, but she'll throw "a-ging-ging-ging" in there every now and then, along with quite a few Hebraic-sounding "ch" sounds.

She also started reaching for objects this week, grabbing them and trying to shove them into her mouth. She hasn't figured out how to get her own fists out of her way, though, so I imagine she thinks everything from stuffed animals to the remote control taste like hand. She seems to be a lefty, which worries me a bit; scissors will never fit her hand properly. But I guess she can still lead some semblance of a normal life, right?

The other wonderful milestone we've reached is the establishment of bedtime. Nora starts to nod off around 7:30; by 8 pm she's out cold, and she's been sleeping-- knock on wood-- for 10 hours straight. It's glorious to have a couple of hours all to myself at the end of the day, even if it consists mostly of doing dishes and laundry and checking Facebook.

Business in the Front, Party in the Back.

My baby has a mullet.

Back to Work.

I go back to work this week: three days this week and three days next week, then back to full time. Of course, that's a misleading statement-- I've worked harder these last 10 weeks than I've ever worked before. There were days when "doing a little something for myself" meant taking a bathroom break, and nights when I thought lack of sleep would cause me to shrivel up like a salted slug. So in a sense, my cubicle will be a break from the constant mental vigilance I've learned to maintain for the past two and a half months. As busy as work will be, nobody will go hungry, or become a sociopath, or be left to wallow in their own filth if I don't write great direct mail copy. It'll also be nice to make my lunch choices based on criteria other than a) can I make it one-handed while holding a squirmy baby? and b) if I spill it on her head will it leave a permanent mark?

All these benefits will be pale comfort. I'm going to miss my baby, badly. And nobody at work will get my new joke, which kills here: it goes "CCHCHHHH! AGAAA!" But I'm very lucky that my mom has volunteered (or did I volunteer her?) to watch Nora for the next couple of months while I'm at work. It's a relief to know that she'll be in such good hands, even if she did refer to her granddaughter as "Laura" and "Norma" during the same conversation last week.

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In a couple of months, Nora will go into a great daycare with a wonderful woman who comes highly recommended. My daughter will learn how to be around other kids, and she'll get a ton of mental stimulation from being in a new environment. She'll be fine. I just hope for my own sake that it won't always seem like a cosmic injustice that, in order to take care of my daughter, I have to spend the majority of her waking hours apart from her.

Two Months and Thriving!

Nora had her two-month doctor's appointment on Monday, and she is, in the words of my completely objective pediatrician, "perfect." She weighs 12 lbs, 3 oz. She's in the 86th percentile for weight, the 92nd percentile for height, and the 67th percentile f0r head size. Why this doesn't indicate that she will grow up to be a pinheaded giantess, I'm not clear; but the doctor said all is wonderful and that she's thriving. I love our pediatrician-- she always makes me feel like I'm doing things right. Here's an actual exchange we had on Monday:

Me: Nora drools a lot, but she's too young to be teething. Is that anything to worry about?
Dr.: Nope, it just means she's well hydrated. Good job!

Thanks for more evidence of my baby's superiority! I've stopped wiping spit off her chin, just to show off.

Baxter the Phartophobe

We have two dogs, as I have mentioned, each with his or her own idiosyncracies: bossy old Lucy (in the black-and-white photo above) disdains walking on grass and obsessively chases light reflected off of any surface, while stinky omega dog Baxter (in the other picture, of course) steals tomatoes unrepentantly from my garden and is terrified of many things, including Lucy and the aforementioned light reflections (sunlight off a cd case, for example). Both dogs believe that the sound of toilet paper being torn off the roll portends a wonderful event, such as a walk or a car ride, and begin to dance in happy circles whenever they hear it.

Lucy communicates via nudges that sometimes escalate to body slams; Baxter groans while pushing his face across the carpet like a vacuum cleaner. Baxter also has the unsavory habit of trying to maneuver his derriere into the path of unsuspecting petters; he backs up more than a garbage truck. I'm embarrassed to say we've had to institute the command "No butthole!" I just hope the neighbors never happen past an open window while one of us is yelling it.

Given Baxter's appreciation for all things scatalogical, we were surprised to discover his absolute disgust at Nora's gastrointestinal sound effects. Granted, the volume and timbre of her indelicacies is disproportionate to her tiny size, but she is, after all, her father's daughter. Every booming, bassoon-like eruption from the direction of Nora's diaper sends Baxter running out of the room with his tail between his legs and his ears flat against his head. Let me clarify (as if I have to) that Baxter is plenty familiar with the sound of humans farting, and it's never bothered him before. Nora's crying and cooing don't provoke any reaction from the dogs anymore, so it's not a matter of Baxter forgetting she's there and being surprised when a noise issues from her. He is simply mortified by the baby passing gas.

I think that when it comes down to it, Baxter recognizes he is outmatched in the heinie department, and that his shame is what drives him from the room; that Nora is an alphafarter, if you will. I knew my girl was destined for greatness.