Showing posts with label baby blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby blog. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Baby bath time




Bath time is a sacred time for parents and their babies.  Bonding time.  It's about bonding.  And hygiene.  Sure one of you splashes around uncontrollably, 'tearless' soap in eyes while battling the constant water-boarding like an uncooperative Rumsfeld prisoner, but once you step back and take the upper hand over your child there's a real bonding that occurs. 

There's a cuteness about a sopping wet and sparkly clean baby splashing around in their own filth diluted with three gallons of water that is simply precious.  The wonder of water, wild hair and the giggle of glee with each splish-splash.  Pictures must be taken from non-revealing angles, unless the photographer is a grandparent and then it's full on Paparazzi.  Some of the greatest memories and incredible black mail photos that can be used and reused for decades are from bath time.  Most importantly, that incapacitatingly wretched poo stench has been replaced with the most wonderful new baby smell...  at least until you fasten that last button on the PJs and then all bets are off.

Our baby has a war chest of play toys for the bath.  They are a variety of plastic sea creatures and cups that shoot and spray water.  There are rubber duckies, animated fish, little red crabs with googly eyes, silly octopus and purple penguins.  They're great.  I play with them when the opportunity arises, without going out of my way of course.  Last night I also discovered that some of them are the most revolting toys in the history of bath toys.


For years parents and children have been warned about the toxicity of lead.  How Chinese (mostly) toys must be bought with caution for fear that terrible chemicals and toxins were used in the creation of said toys and/or the toys have been painted with lead or cyanide, or the Ebola virus.  I personally don't know anyone who became sick from these terror toys, was hospitalised or even grew a second head but I was very informed of the dangers.  I am certain these horror toys exist but I can't imagine finding them at the local Jersey Baby's R Us, and I refused to Google it.

The bath toys we brought into the giant blow up princess tub for our daughter were all made especially for children and crafted to the highest standards for safety and educational merit (whatever that means).   Some of these toys allow for kids and their parents to fill up the insides with water and squirt them out like a spitting fish or crab, ect.  They're cute, amusing and lots of fun.  They also apparently fill with black mold and squirt a nasty mix of water and mold flakes that ironically resemble bits of sea weed.  This alone is disturbing, but discovering this as your baby sprays her water toy in her face is extra special.

THE HORROR!!!

Manni didn't care. 

Mommy was simultaneously bewildered and furious. 

Daddy may have retched...  and then realized that there was only one way to remedy the situation.

Tonight would have to be Ice Cream Time!

Manni's favorite squirting toys are now taking a bath themselves... A bleach bath.


Friday, July 6, 2012

Baby Pool

 The barrette stayed in her hair for 3 more seconds of cuteness.

Parents spend an inordinate amount of time discussing, theorizing, reading about and stressing over sleeping habits and poop.  It may be because all parents are crazy, or perhaps its due to the fact that 80% of our lives are now dictated by baby sleep and poo.  Either way, prepare for more fun times in the battlefield of sleep and smell-fest of solid food baby poop.

I have to admit, guys spend a good amount of time discussing farts and bowel movements well before they have children.  I think we can all agree that the humor of farting is universal and timeless.  Long after the 3rd world war is over our children's children's children's children's children will be laughing at a funny 'toot' or a perfectly timed 'perp'.  And boys will still marvel and gloat over their most recent 'one wiper'.

Having a one wiper with an infant is akin to receiving a Christmas bonus.  Nothing is more elating than taking a recently soiled infant and completing the change almost instantaneously (and without having to change a pad, the wall, your shirt and pants, and sometimes take a bath in the sink).  An easy clean up is always a nice surprise.  On the other hand, a properly contained explosion that takes 4 or more wipes (a single wipe can be folded and reused up to 4 times itself) always befuddles me.  It's contained.  There was no blowout so how is there so much, so many places and why does it seem to multiply in front of my very eyes like Tribbles if Tribbles were multicolored poo.

Now that it's summer we will be spending a great amount of time at the shore playing in the ocean waves and at the pool swimming in the shallows.  This of course brings into play the dilemma of diapers in the pool and/or ocean.  No one wants to replay the classic "Caddyshack" scene at the local pool this summer and I'd prefer not to be labeled "That Dad" as I fish for floaters while an army of angry moms and kids burn a hole through my chest.  I promise if that happens I'll A) be confused why I'm at a public pool and B) pull a Bill Murray.  Promise.

To prevent a pool poop disaster we have purchased swim diapers like the rest of the child bearing world.  To add a wrinkle to the swim time we use cloth diapers (I'll have a full length in depth cloth diaper post up in the next few weeks.  I promise) and will be using cloth swim diapers.   I'm not overjoyed with the idea of testing the swim diaper in public but I've heard enough good things about them to ease my mind.  Or at least trick myself into a solid false sense of security.

 Blossom?  I don't understand you joke dad.

We decided to ease baby Manni into swim time with a back yard baby pool (no diaper needed!).  We quickly learned that Manni HATES the cold water.  She shrieks like a banshee and clutches onto your shirt in terror.  She has the grip of a power lifter and he little fingers dig into cloth and flesh.  The must be warmed by the sun before she'll ease herself in.  Unfortunately once you make the mistake of torturing her with a cold pool she no longer trusts anyone to place her in a more comfortable pool. 

 Back off woman dis water is cold!

Manya also became leery of the quite abundant green grass surrounding us all.  She wasn't a fan of the unusual texture on her feet or her butt.  That is until she realized she could rip it out of the ground and throw it all around.  The grass ripping distraction allowed us to gradually move her closer to the pool which led to splashing from outside which led to major splashing, which led to sitting in the pool.... and success!  

 Mushroom Pool = Amazing

 That's my robe

Measuring cups for pool toys?  Baby don't care, just make my spa water warm!

She loves the water but still gasps when water hits her face...

Don't you just love the mushroom pool?

Twitter & Instagram : @babymanni

Monday, June 11, 2012

Baby Jail and keeping your baby safe

I caved and we bought a baby jail.

The goal of a baby jail is to keep your baby safe and confined to a specific location once they are mobile.  People have different concepts of what constitutes a baby jail.  Some parents have their kids strapped into their car seats, others put them in an extra saucer and let them bounce away.  A crib or pack 'n play could also be used to contain active children safely.  I've seen child gates put in doors to keep babies in their nurseries, or gates used to quarantine children to certain safe rooms.  We chose to purchase an octagon shaped Superyard.

The super yard was purchased to keep Manni confined in a safe place with a number of her toys for entertainment but allow her the freedom to see Mommy and/or Daddy in the room.  We the parents would be able to be productive with the freedom of being able to use both of our hands at the same time while having the piece of mind that the baby was safe and secure.  This of course was all in theory.

When we first setup the pen upstairs Manni enjoyed her new surroundings and even used the walls of the play pen to practice pulling herself up.

 


During the day I moved the jail to the basement.  This is what the safe zone looks like when setup downstairs for our baby Manni.


It looks great right?  Yea Manni loved it too for about six minutes until she realized that I was being productive on the couch and that she wasn't able to crawl freely.  She became unbelievable annoying and by annoying I mean she wouldn't stop crying.  Tears and tears and ugly face and red eyebrows and snot and total meltdown.  Mind you this complete breakdown is all happening no more than six inches from me by a baby surrounded by toys.

I'm the tough parent.  I don't fold under the cuteness and heartache of a few tears.  I wasn't taking her out of her jail because that would defeat the purpose of buying the walls to begin with.  I knew that if I let her out due to her crying that she would have won the battle and would gain the upper hand in the child-parent tug of war for authority.  Her crying and screaming would not sway my decision to keep her in the safe area.  She would not be granted the freedom to crawl anywhere she wanted, no siree!





So the baby jail gained a new occupant. 

I know.  Pathetic.

Trivia question - what's more exciting that all the toys in the world?

Answer - Whatever Daddy is playing with.

Working in baby jail is difficult but can be feasible in small spurts.  We got into a rhythm and had a nice thing going until the dog got jealous that he wasn't involved in our baby jail party.  He whined and whined and paced back and forth.  He licked the sides and circled and his whine turned into a shrill.

It was unbelievably annoying.

Enough was enough.

This had to stop!









And then there were three.

For the record we do have a whole house.

So the baby and the dog played.   In the baby jail.  With me inside too.  All three in one little octagon with 400 baby toys.


Friday, May 4, 2012

Baby falls, sneezing baby and boogers!



Holy crap, last night the baby tried to kill herself.  Not in a Sylvia Plath or Kurt Cobain kind of way, no, she went directly for the 'overly excited about Daddy in my bedroom in the middle of the night, lets test the Laws of Gravity and Daddy's reactions while sleep walking' method of self-destruction.

I passed the test.   Somehow while facing the wrong direction with limited light and clad in just underwear, my cat like reflexes caught my suicidal baby and her delicate head.  There was no true logic to the event other than she was so excited that she wanted to "launch" herself into my arms from 5 feet away with my back turned.  Despite my success I had a brief but powerful heart attack, almost had to change my underwear, and decided not to tell my wife.  Yea I don't use the strap on the changing table because she wiggles and squirms her way out of it.  Never was an issue before.

Well at least we have hard wood floors to break the fall.  I feel like I should be walking around with 17 pillows to soften the blow from any fall.  Then again, wouldn't Darwin say 'survival of the fittest'?  That might work if you have fifteen kids running around, but when you only have one little rug rat who just smiles, coos and tries to launch herself into a full fledged NASA test of gravity you (as parents) tend to care about the well being of that infant.

Bottom line, no harm no foul.  She hasn't been dropped or fallen from any piece of furniture yet (not from lack of trying).  I assume its inevitable at some point, but I'd prefer the soft shell firm up a little more before we start testing it.

I'm funny!

Is there anything cuter than a baby sneeze?  It's amazingly cute.  Is amazingly even a word?  I'm pretty sure the smaller/younger the baby/creature/pet, the cuter anything is but sneezing is very cute.  Even the sound of a baby sneezing is cute.  You've all seen the panda sneeze.  I know I'm cheating by using a panda bear is my example, but you get the point. 

Baby + Sneeze = Cuteness

Well, it's cute until you see it in slow motion.  And it's cute when a baby does it until you realize there's a booger.  It makes sense there would be a booger.  People don't sneeze for any reason other than a tickle or blockage of the nose.  So finding a booger is entirely logical.  Logical and kinda gross because even though a baby is so teenie and precious, apparently their boogers are the same size as a full size adult.  And they're just as disgusting.

But babies don't use tissues.  And they tend to release their boogers as far away for a tissue as possible and/or in the middle of an activity where traveling to find a tissue is near impossible.  But you can't leave it on your baby's face because that's simply wrong.  So quite often I find myself walking around with someone else's boogers.  This is not fun.  In public everyone would think its mine and I'm just being a freak.  Imagine being at the park or the mall walking around with one nonchalantly looking for a tissue?  At home I could tell my wife to take the baby's booger from me but who's to say I'm not lying and just trying to get her to take my booger and not her baby's? (credit that line to Josh K)

As I'm sure you've deduced, the baby still has a stuffy nose which only occurs at night.  I spend my evenings in a world of boogers and sniffling.  It is the bane of my beauty rest and if I'm not beautiful in my old age I will forever blame Manya's stuffed nose.



Can we talk about the irony of fighting with the baby for forty five minutes to get her to go down for a nap.  After four separate attempts and finally getting the eyes to close and drift into a deep sleep the phone rings (land line, never happens) at full volume, and its the pediatric office!  Good times.

This is Manya's Peruvian outfit!

Manya on the swings for the first time ever!!!


Anyone ever notice that a baby crying kind of sounds like a cat?

We don't own a cat.  Just a baby.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Baby's first tooth, more sleep regression and more fun



We got our first toof!

I have no idea when it came in but yesterday I caught a fleeting glimpse at a sliver of white surrounded by a darker gum bruise.  Upon closer inspection to has been confirmed, the Toof Fairy arrived!  This Tooth Fairy is original as she creates drools puddles and sleepless nights rather than leaving quarters and dimes under your pillow.  The tooth is barely breaking the surface of the bottom front gum but it's interesting and exciting to see the baby's mouth slowly transforming into a vicious sharp bottle opener.  I'm quite certain Sarah's nipples will shortly no longer cherish the bonding time of nursing.

The wonderful milestone of our baby's first razor blade has been coupled with the inevitable restless sleep.  This sleep regression is not as intense as our first bout of sleep regression.  Logic would dictate that teeth breaking the fresh soft innocent gums in a baby's mouth would cause extreme discomfort (check), excessive drooling (check), some bruising and swelling (check) and the end result would be a lack of sleep by baby (check) and daddy (check)... and mommy (check).  The teething has also arrived at the same time a frustratingly irregular nose cold graced us with its presence.  This cold is evil.  Pure unadulterated evil.  It only reveals itself once Sarah and my eyes close for the night.  All tucked in, parents in their bed, baby in her crib, dog curled up in his, lights off, house locked.  Within minutes the thick snot grows and builds, slowly suffocating our baby and resulting in fearful and unnerving snorting, gasping and choking.  Disturbing cries for help and Daddy comes running armed with the horrible blue booger suction ball.

During the day, clear nasal passages.

At night, thick swamp-like pipes and (possibly caused by?) a cute white baby toof.

To add insult to injury, our suction ball is received by Baby Manni the way most would welcome a amputation; with paralyzing terror and asphyxiating abhorrence.  This all too common pure hatred of the snot suction ball all but assures us that if the initial inability to breathe didn't wake her up entirely, then after the exhuming is completed, we are all but guaranteed full bright eyes, bushy tails, tear drenched cheeks and a generally quite agitated infant.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat every hour and fifteen minutes.

Good times.

Cue alarm clock...  miraculous disappearance of nocturnal booger monster.

Baby is still cute.



I must insist this isn't the norm.  With a clear nose, Manya sleeps in her crib for hours and hours.  Often from 8:30-9:00 at night all the way until 8:30 in the morning.  Of course just because the baby doesn't wake us over the course of an evening doesn't necessarily mean we don't create our own adventures.

Two nights ago Manya crashed immediately following dinner and didn't wake until hours after the sun rose the following day.  I on the other hand apparently have delusions regarding the whereabouts of my infant over the course of a full night.  At around 4:15AM I awoke in a panic.  For some reason I believed the baby was in our bed, but had been misplaced somewhere within our sheets and comforter.  I thrashed around under the blankets flipping pillows and yanking at the sheets, patting everywhere in search of the lost infant.  The lights were off and not a beam of light penetrated the shadow of darkness, but neither the unyielding blindness nor the illogical search ceased my panic.  It wasn't until a still sleeping Sarah mumbled, "You search for the baby?  Stop it.  She's in her crib." that I calmed, realized I apparently "awake thinking I lose the baby in the bed several nights a month" and returned to my much needed slumber.

I'm quite a fool when the moon is out.

...

Also quite a fool when the sun is out.

Hey, look, bunny ears!






Here are some videos...

Chewing on the feet




Exciting grandma time!

Grandpa singing in Polish


And a little in Hebrew















Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Alicia Silverstone, January Jones, World Hunger and Man Milk

You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car - hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father. – Keanu Reeves (Parenthood)

As a relatively brand new parent I fairly certain that we’re all quirky and weird. As a child, our parents are gods and goddesses. Parents are all knowing giant adults who can do no wrong (and of course, my dad can beat up your dad). To their children they are living legends and heroes. As daughters get older their parents transform into “jerks” and as sons get older their parents transform into “whatever”. They’re teenagers and they know it all. Obviously.

Now that I’m the parent I understand that being ‘all knowing’ and a ‘living legend’ is more akin to ‘deer in headlights’ and ‘bizarre’. Children are little experiments governed by a variety of oddball parents, some who are fantastic and wonderful, but many of whom have no business raising and educating children. These ‘parents’ most of the time do their best to keep their quirkiness quiet but occasionally they reveal themselves in public, to the public.

As many have heard, bizarre actress and mother Alicia Silverstone recently posted a unique feeding video on youtube for the world to watch. In a quite surreal detailed blog post and totally wild video the star of Clueless (great movie) takes weird and creepy to a whole new level. I understand mashing or blending food for a baby so they don't choke while learning to swallow. I understand cutting food into smaller pieces for toddlers to prevent them from choking. But chewing food for my kid and spitting it into your youngin's mouth? What the hell? I hear she's a big animal activist and even named her kid Bear, but you've got to draw the line somewhere. I found the line quickly. It's right there next to SPITTING CHEWED UP FOOD INTO YOUR TODDLERS MOUTH FOR THEM. That's my line.

For Bear, it's just plain lazy.

It also looks like Alicia is making out with her son.

In other news January Jones ate her placenta. Yes the Mad Men actress had a baby via divine intervention (she's not telling who the baby's father is, cough cough home wrecker), but I'm more intrigued in her fat suit on Mad Men, is it makeup or does/did she really look like that?



I'm sure it's makeup but dear lord does it look wild! I digress.

Although this has been accepted by many people and cultures, eating your placenta blows my mind. Maybe it's Strange's pronunciation of her perfume "AfterBirth" in the film Boomerang? Maybe it's my strong aversion to blood and mucus? Maybe it's the concept of transforming something hospitals label as a bio hazard into Andrew Zimmerman's next quick lunch, or the secret ingredient in Iron Chef Extreme Doula edition (A La Cuisine! as Morimoto looks at Bobby Flay in shock while Kat Cora gets to work!) It simply does not sit right with me.

Many people swear by the purported benefits of ingestion of the placenta. Despite the liverish looks, organ-like texture (I'm assuming) and unique smell, the placenta does feed the baby until birth, and if ingested by the mother may help stem postpartum depression, help contract the uterus, and promote mother-child bonding. Mothers who chose to eat the placenta don't need to devour it via fork and knife on a bed of greens as placentas can be swallowed in pill form after the fact.

Although I am not a mother, I just cant grasp the appeal of a placenta meal and/or the the uncomfortable possibility of accidentally forgetting your 'doggie-bag' in the communal lunch refrigerator. Remember to ALWAYS label your leftovers.

In other news there are freaks who aren't famous. A teacher at a nearby school reportedly (by my anonymous source, yes, I have sources. ;) stunned the teachers lounge recently with a revolutionary new strain of bizzaro! This groundbreaking practice in freakdom was incredibly well intentioned and focused on abolishing world hunger. Apparently, in order to save the world we all should take estrogen supplements.

The estrogen in her mind will allow all the women AND MEN in the room to begin lactating. Once brimming with estrogen, and the philanthropic horde of full breasted teachers have begun lactating, they can pump, bottle their collective finds and ship them to Africa to hungry children.

I'll just let that sit in for a second.

...

...

...

Got it?

...

...

...

Good.

We just solved world hunger via man milk, a movement of lactating grandmothers and small boobed male gym teachers with nipple guards and breast pumps. That could very well be a world I would love to raise a child in.... ehh?

Yeah, mind officially blown.

Lets stick with the lactation theme.

When Sarah was pregnant we attended a number of baby classes. Lamaze and Breast Feeding were the main ones. The breast feeding class was at 8 in the morning and I had an awful time sleeping the night before (not at all related to the breast feeding class). Our teacher, a nurse from the 1700s invented breastfeeding and due to this fact, was very knowledgeable in every aspect of the art of breastfeeding. Unfortunately I was exhausted and accidentally slipped into a brief nap the likes of which most men save for Shabbat morning services.

Sarah politely nudged me awake after what I thought was 8-12 seconds but apparently I was out for much longer and now found the lecture/interactive discussion group had moved into extraordinary directions. Margaret Sanger was explaining a story about a man with a newborn trapped on a raft at sea. The newborn was starving, but with no mother or bottle the father could not comfort the child. After some time the man allowed the baby to suckle on his nipple to give him some sense of ease. Due to the unique situation his body began to produce a type of milk and satiated the newborn. They were on the raft for several days until they were rescued and although they were both dehydrated the MAN MILK was able to keep the newborn alive!

At first I thought I was dreaming because no one in the class seemed to bat an eye at this story. Dudes were writing in their note pads. What were they writing?!?!?!?

Dear Breastfeeding Diary, I don't know why I'm taking notes but uhhh, if trapped on a raft for days without my wife I can create my own Man Milk to save my baby. I'm going to be the best dad! The End.

Really? So no comments from anyone in the class? No one thought this wasn't the craziest thing they ever heard! I was in shock. I had three things rolling around in my head.

1) WTF
2) Jeff Goldblum's Chaos Theory Speech (yes I'm a big dork)
3) But mostly Stewie

And luckily I haven't had to test the prevailing opinion that all men can create the coveted MAN MILK.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Baby food, baby poop, and baby monitor fun

Poops officially stink. After seven and a half months of unpleasant textures and physics defying explosions, Manya poop has taken on a whole new dimension: smell. And by smell I mean stinky. Stinky smell goes hand in hand with solid foods. As you can (maybe) see here:



Not sure if the video worked...

We've had a little issues with Manya's willingness to attempt and accept the gum and swallow method. After numerous attempts she has gotten enough down to warrant a gas mask and goggles during diaper changes. Simply put, if I change a diaper with socks on, the elastic loses its elasticity.

The other bodily function that has progressed - or should I say recessed - is farting. The decibel level of baby farts was one of the most surprising things of newborns. Like a fog horn, a loud toot signaled to the entire block that a diaper needed to be changed. I feared the power fart was a quality unique to Manya and may last her entire life (yes I understand my brain has issues and my fears are dissimilar from any normal father) but once I heard the cacophony of noises other newborns make I was put at ease.

All of these progressions are due to the beginning stages of solid/pureed foods. The numerous techniques to get her to take a bite is a whole other story.

Have you ever while trying to show you baby how good a mouthful of pureed squash and breast milk can be, accidentally shoved a spoonful of pureed squash and BREAST MILK into your own mouth?!?!?!

Yea, me neither.

Ever made that mistake three times in one day?

Subject Change: Hey lets see a picture!



Cute ya think?

Where were we? Oh right, moving on...

Like most parents we like to spy on our child while she sleeps. The reasoning behind the spying may have something to do with being raised in the Reagan Administration but most parents seem to share the extreme paranoia we get when we can't see our child at all times. If a baby is making noise we complain that they need their rest. If a baby is silent, we're afraid they can't breathe. This insane paranoia increases ten fold if a child has a cold or a slight fever. It's illogical, it makes no sense but I swear especially during the first three months Manya was alive, I checked her breathing at least five times a night. Who am I kidding? I checked her breathing three times last night.

In order to hone down our paranoia, we gratefully accepted my Aunt and Uncle's offer to give us their Summer Infant Night Monitor which they used to spy on our child's namesake. Due to the fact that this particular monitor was used to spy on multiple generations of Manyas we have dubbed said device, "The Manya-nitor".

This is the Manya-nitor in action.



If there was ever a doubt as to whether or not the baby will be spoiled, this is where the baby goes during meals at grandma and grandpa's house.

Baby on a pedestal.



Just wait until she's able to say "G'ampa, I 'ant dose toos!" or "But G'ama, peez, I 'ant dat!" We're screwed.


Chillin in the couch



Monkey time on iPad