Consuming Kate

The other day Mark got out of the shower and walked into our room to catch me saying to Kate, “I could just fry that cheek up in butter and eat it up!” Instead of grabbing the baby and running off to call Child Protective Services, Mark said, “What is that? Sometimes I want to eat her too!”

I guess our crazy baby love sometimes just can’t be contained by mere hugs and kisses (and believe me, we blast her with them regularly). I wouldn’t be surprised if other parents would also confess to wanting to eat their babies–you know, taking a bite out of one of those fat-rolly thighs, or nibbling off a sweet little toe or two. Mark and I tell Kate how much we love her ad naseum, but we also need to chomp on her fingertips, and squeeze our faces under her ears to nibble on that really soft neck skin. And when she laughs in response to it all, it just makes us want more.

I’m like an addict. Whitney Houston, I feel your pain.

I’m not sure which animals eat there young, but I know I’ve seen some Mutual of Omaha special or other about it. It seems like something some birds maybe do, but I was an English major, so please don’t take my word on it. At any rate, since giving birth to Kate I can empathize with those poor animals. I wonder if for them it starts innocently enough with a couple bird parents hanging out in their nest and marveling at how damn cute their bird baby is…

First Annual Mother’s Day

My first Mother’s Day has come and gone, and I realized that an unexpected by-product this year was that I didn’t mope around looking at everyone taking their mothers out to brunch and feel sorry for myself. It could be intepretted as egocentric, but be that as it may, it seemed therapeutic indulging in happiness about being a mother, rather than spending the day regretting that mine isn’t alive any more.

Generally on weekend mornings Mark and I conduct a groggy early morning bargaining session to determine who will get up with Kate. (Today’s unlucky person gets to sleep in tomorrow.) It’s a time when Mark’s midwestern upbringing leaves him at a terrible disadvantage. The conversation often goes something like this:

Kate: Waa waaa

Mark: Uhhh… Do you want to get her, or should I?

Me: Uhhhh. Um, I’ll get up. I’ll get her. It’s my turn.

Kate: Waaa waaa.

Me: Ugh…. Okay, I’ll get up in a minute.

Mark: Okay. Did you want me to just get her?

Me: Oh would you? Thank you so much, honey.

Invariably, in his half-awake state, my otherwise sharp-as-a-tack hubby reverts to the Midwestern Polite/Indecisive Conversation Format (TM). He manages to back himself into the job, even when the conversation started with me staking claim to it. Poor lamb. I lie in wait, knowing he will offer again, and when he does, I relent. I’m really just being a good wife. I don’t want to argue with my husband.

Anyway, a conversation very much like the one above took place on Saturday morning. I believe Mark had even gotten out of bed and suited up to go fetch Kate, when I explained (since I do have a heart, and it does sadden me somewhat to see him fall into my trap) that he’d also be getting up with her the next day, it being Mother’s Day. Hell if I’m waking up early that day. With that 411, he stripped down and hopped back into bed faster than you can say “return to REM cycle.” It was the closest I’d come to dodging duty, and then having to step up.

So, Sunday, I slept in. Mark made a bacony breakfast. In order to make it a dream day I hit up a few local yard sales with Kate while Mark finished concocting a fancy chicken salad. Then we packed up the Subaru and all went to Lake Anza in Tilden Park for a picnic. It was in the 80s and people were swimming. I don’t know much about lakes, but it looked like good clean fun. There was a 1950′s patina on the whole scene.

Kate clearly doesn’t get the “it’s Mother’s Day so I must treat thee like Cleopatra” thing yet. In fact, instead of changing her own diapers, taking extended naps, and just smiling prettily whenever I looked her way, she was kinda cranky.

Post-picnic I jaunted off for a hot tub and massage with my mother’s group cohort Sacha. It was part of my gift, along with some excellent cherry-pattern PJs and a scrapbook album (more on that later). But when I got back from the spa, the best Mother’s Day gift came when I rejoined my little family. Mark and Kate were on the front porch escaping the heat of the house. Kate took a look and me and absolutely lit up. She had a huge smile and was kicking her legs like she was going to jump out of her pants.

Mark, on the other hand, looked glassy-eyed and exhausted–and chagrined to see Kate being so chipper. He’d spent the better part of the 3 hours I was gone trying to get her to stop crying. Even though Mark had wanted to do all the parenting chores all day, I told him he should take a nap while I fed her. Poor guy could barely keep his eyes open.

I sat on the floor and fed Kate some summer squash puree and she bit down on the spoon with every bite. This doesn’t make for easy-going, but that day I was just loving it. It’s what *my daughter* does when she eats. What a lucky person I was. My sweet husband sacked out in bed, exhausted from putting his all into making my first Mother’s Day perfect. And my little gnawing baby, rubbing squash into her hair and eyebrows and filling her mama with love and gratitude.

Back Home

The road trip with Kate was soooo great. From the moment we pulled away from the house it was clear we were on an adventure. The fact that it was a sunny weekday when the rest of the world was toiling over hot computers made it all the more liberating and indulgent. I intentionally didn’t pack a lot. Megan had some baby stuff of Ella’s she said we could borrow, and I figured what we didn’t have we could do without.

On the three-day sojourn Kate was a wonder-baby. She was so easy to be with and care for–she seemed incredibly centered and happy. On our drive home when she started to cry, I realized that she hadn’t cried for days. It sort of jarred me into the reality, “Oh yeah, she’s just a baby.”

It’s cool being able to take her out of her usual surroundings and routine and see her not only adapt, but thrive. She loved meeting people, and seeing new things–all the amazing foliage and birds around their house, Katie the dog. She made her own connections with people too. Despite their year age difference, Kate loved rolling around on the floor while Ella marched around her and handed her toys. And from the moment we pulled into the driveway, Megan’s baby-lovin’ dad, Rog, wisked Kate into his arms and chatted with, tickled, and smooched her up like she was his own grandchild. She loved the attention and genuine affection, and never once acted tentative or needed to check in with me.

It makes me sad for the parents who don’t want to take their kids away from home because they fear they won’t do well in a new environment. Sure, I was worried that her great sleep patterns were at risk, and she did wake up more than usual there. But Kate is all the better for having gotten to know the fabulous Heathcotes, for having slept in a foreign Pack ‘n Play in an incredibly quiet rural house, and for having bathed in an inflatable tub with a whole slew of different bath toys.

For all the time we already spend together, our little trip was a bonding experience. Oh how I love that little girl! (Yes, I’m planning to go off to college with her and live under her bed.)

As Rose from Chaparral House mutters–somewhat fragmentedly–when looking at Kate, “Not for a million dollars.” I’m not sure what the complete thought there is, but I assume it refers to Kate’s pricelessness. Indeed.

Kate is 7 Months Old

Today Kate turns 7 months old. I never thought I’d be one of those parents who tells their child’s age in weeks (when they’re 7 years old…), or who thinks for a few seconds when asked their child’s age then says, “He’ll be 11 months on next Tuesday–no, no–next Wednesday!” I mean, can’t they round up and say he’s almost a year? Are they really fearful that we care that our understanding of their child’s age might be a day off?

Ah, how foolish I was! Just this weekend someone asked me how old la bella Kate is and I proudly proclaimed, “She be 7 months on Monday!” I’m sure she was thinking, “Oh, I have to remember to schedule my next teeth cleaning.”

At any rate, this weekend when Mark was showering and I was trying pitifully to entertain Kate while getting dressed myself, I took a stab at teaching her to say, “Hi Dad.” I figured this would be faily easy since DaDa is one of her favorite words. Sure enough by the time Mark walked into the room she was saying Hi Da! My God, have I become an incredibly boring person? Yes, this was exciting to us. I guess that is why it takes 2 people to make a baby. You have someone else to gush with over things that anyone else would not give a rat’s ass about. Except maybe another parent.

Speaking of our little linguist, I should get dressed and ready to take on the day while she is napping.