Before we had Peter, I would joke to my mommy friends how taking care of Pawlene was *just like* taking care of a baby! I was totally prepared for human motherhood! They would look at me in all seriousness and tell me that I was out of my mind. Today the difference between being Pawlene's mommy and Peter's mommy really hit home. Peter got his first shot today.
When I bring Pawlene in to the vet, she is suspicious from the moment I stuff her into the cat carrier. She KNOWS something bad is going to happen. Her eyes get all big, she meows a plaintive, unhappy, CONSTANT meow, and although she tolerates the vet's prodding enough for them to comment on her sweet, un-tortoise shell-like nature, when that shot comes, she wriggles away and yowls her unhappiness. It is as she suspected - cat carrier = pain. And then she's over it. I bring her home, release her, and she licks her wounds and looks for the food bowl. The experience is forgotten, and I am forgiven. Until the next time I come at her with the cat carrier.
With Peter today it was very different. He doesn't mind the baby carrier (car seat), and is content to just look around as we drive to wherever, and most of the time he falls asleep. He was his typical, happy, mellow self in the doctor's office today, cooing and wiggling, and even beaming one of his new smiles at the doctor. She immediately fell in love. "Is he always like this? Does he cry?" I glossed over the daily 5:00 grumpy hour and bragged about how sweet and mellow my baby is. Then the doctor left and the mean nurse came in to administer Peter's vaccination shots.
Peter continued to coo happily, even as she asked me to hold his little hands down. He looked up at me with a trusting, wide-eyed stare. "Aboo?" And then the first shot sunk in. His beautiful little face crumpled into a surprised and unhappy scream. Then the tears started and the shrieks increased in volume and frequency. My heart broke as I held his little hands. Three shots and it was over, but he screamed and cried for 20 minutes, then slumped exhausted into his car seat with swollen red eyes and a glazed, traumatized look on his face.
Such betrayal - I felt like the worst mother in the whole world. He trusted that I would not let anything bad happen to him, and as I was holding him and looking into his eyes, he experienced the worst pain of his short little life. If I weren't taking him on a germ-infested international flight in August, I would have run out of the doctor's office after that first, awful shriek. "It's for you own good!", I whispered lamely as I kissed his hot little head through my own tears, sounding suspiciously like a Mother.
Later at home, in between soothing a still upset little baby, I talked to my doula on the phone and confessed my horrible betrayal. "This is just the beginning," she reminded me.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Global Warming Gone Wild
It is 102 degrees in San Francisco as I type this at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. I have spent the entire day moving from one spot on the floor to another, seeking relief. Now, Erika is a Hot Weather Person. She went to school in Davis, where temperatures regularly rise to 105 degrees during the summer. But this is San Francisco! It's not right! The city (and Erika) are utterly unprepared for this kind of weather. Nobody has air conditioning, not even public transportation. Erika is digging through her normal summer clothing (wool sweaters and jeans) to find just one pair of cotton shorts. Peter is inconsolably cranky, even after a cooling bath. Erika is too hot to even think about walking down to Safeway for lemonade or ice cream. Bleah! Bleah! If only we were in a cabin next to a lake...now THAT's summer.
The one nice thing about warm (scorching, rather) weather on the coast is warm summer evenings. Erika and Martin escaped to Costanoa last night for dinner and a night in a cabin in honor of Martin's birthday. Costanoa is located just south of Pescadero, which is normally in the 40s this time of year and socked in with fog. Not this time. People were walking around in tank tops. A couple at breakfast who hailed from San Diego couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. They probably have a swimming pool. Can you imagine a house in San Francisco with a swimming pool?
In other news, from the "That was fast!" department, the new law that allows same sex couples to wed in California has lots of people excited. But nobody is celebrating more than the wedding industry. There is already a wedding chapel opening up in the Castro, and the other day Erika heard a Shreve's commercial on the radio featuring Steve and Ken..."You've waiting a LONG time for this - make it special with a ring from Shreve's". Imagine their glee - a whole new market of DINK (Double Income No Kids) couples can finally throw the fabulous wedding of their dreams... That's capitalism, I guess.
Lastly, Erika found a photo of me from my modeling days for Martin's birthday card to share with all of you. Now, back to sweltering...
The one nice thing about warm (scorching, rather) weather on the coast is warm summer evenings. Erika and Martin escaped to Costanoa last night for dinner and a night in a cabin in honor of Martin's birthday. Costanoa is located just south of Pescadero, which is normally in the 40s this time of year and socked in with fog. Not this time. People were walking around in tank tops. A couple at breakfast who hailed from San Diego couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. They probably have a swimming pool. Can you imagine a house in San Francisco with a swimming pool?
In other news, from the "That was fast!" department, the new law that allows same sex couples to wed in California has lots of people excited. But nobody is celebrating more than the wedding industry. There is already a wedding chapel opening up in the Castro, and the other day Erika heard a Shreve's commercial on the radio featuring Steve and Ken..."You've waiting a LONG time for this - make it special with a ring from Shreve's". Imagine their glee - a whole new market of DINK (Double Income No Kids) couples can finally throw the fabulous wedding of their dreams... That's capitalism, I guess.
Lastly, Erika found a photo of me from my modeling days for Martin's birthday card to share with all of you. Now, back to sweltering...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Cooking with Babies
Erika is starting to get that old cooking itch again, now that she is sort of feeling like she has some semblance of control over a few aspects of motherhood. Maybe control is the wrong word. Some aspects of motherhood are becoming routine and predictable, at least for 2 or 3 days in a row or so.
To cook for me, she just pours nibbles into a bowl - perfecto! However, sometimes Martin appreciates something a little more complicated. This is possible, but not easy, while tending to an infant (even as one as sweet and even-tempered as Peter George). The first attempt was lasagna, and with the assistance of a postpartum doula, who prepped the noodles and spinach, the whole thing took about 3 hours (not including cooking time). But that was back when things were a little less predictable and a little more mysterious in the baby department.
Today we attempted Soup. The recipe is from Real Simple, one of the three magazines that Erika finds worthwhile to subscribe to (the others being the New Yorker (of course) and Orion). Nothing complicated, nothing that requires too long of an attention span. It went something like this:
Step One: locate torn-out recipe under piles of to-do lists and unopened mail. Scan to make sure we really do have ALL of the ingredients required. Check on peacefully sleeping baby at the other end of the house.
Step Two: Mmmmm, recipe requires BACON. Always a good thing. Open bacon, put 3/4 of bacon in lasagna pan in 400-degree oven (a trick learned from cousin Becky) and put the rest of it in a pan on top of the stove. Hear baby stirring. Quickly set timer for 18 minutes and retrieve baby from crib. Baby is happy to be held, falls asleep in Erika's arms with 4 minutes to go on the timer. Hmmm. Place baby gently in bouncy chair to avoid possible 3rd-degree burns, remove bacon from oven and stove, drain, and look for next step on the recipe.
Step Three: Recipe requires chopped onions, another cooking task that is best done without a baby in your arms. Pick four onions from bowl and place on cutting board...baby is crying. Determine that baby is hungry. Feed baby, and notice that baby desperately needs a bath.
Step Four: Run bath for baby, bathe and change baby, and wait until Martin comes home to finish prepping soup. Decide to go for a walk instead, in an effort to start shedding extra 20 lbs of baby fat. More calories burned when carrying a 14-lb baby (weight approximate) on a walk! Place alert baby in crib while putting on socks, shoes, and somewhat complicated Moby wrap. Ready to go! Find baby fast asleep in crib, with no desire to be stuffed into complicated Moby wrap for a walk. Give up on exercise AND soup. Decide to dictate blog post to Pawlene instead and nibble on bacon.
At least parenthood is compatible with Erika's attention deficit disorder.
To cook for me, she just pours nibbles into a bowl - perfecto! However, sometimes Martin appreciates something a little more complicated. This is possible, but not easy, while tending to an infant (even as one as sweet and even-tempered as Peter George). The first attempt was lasagna, and with the assistance of a postpartum doula, who prepped the noodles and spinach, the whole thing took about 3 hours (not including cooking time). But that was back when things were a little less predictable and a little more mysterious in the baby department.
Today we attempted Soup. The recipe is from Real Simple, one of the three magazines that Erika finds worthwhile to subscribe to (the others being the New Yorker (of course) and Orion). Nothing complicated, nothing that requires too long of an attention span. It went something like this:
Step One: locate torn-out recipe under piles of to-do lists and unopened mail. Scan to make sure we really do have ALL of the ingredients required. Check on peacefully sleeping baby at the other end of the house.
Step Two: Mmmmm, recipe requires BACON. Always a good thing. Open bacon, put 3/4 of bacon in lasagna pan in 400-degree oven (a trick learned from cousin Becky) and put the rest of it in a pan on top of the stove. Hear baby stirring. Quickly set timer for 18 minutes and retrieve baby from crib. Baby is happy to be held, falls asleep in Erika's arms with 4 minutes to go on the timer. Hmmm. Place baby gently in bouncy chair to avoid possible 3rd-degree burns, remove bacon from oven and stove, drain, and look for next step on the recipe.
Step Three: Recipe requires chopped onions, another cooking task that is best done without a baby in your arms. Pick four onions from bowl and place on cutting board...baby is crying. Determine that baby is hungry. Feed baby, and notice that baby desperately needs a bath.
Step Four: Run bath for baby, bathe and change baby, and wait until Martin comes home to finish prepping soup. Decide to go for a walk instead, in an effort to start shedding extra 20 lbs of baby fat. More calories burned when carrying a 14-lb baby (weight approximate) on a walk! Place alert baby in crib while putting on socks, shoes, and somewhat complicated Moby wrap. Ready to go! Find baby fast asleep in crib, with no desire to be stuffed into complicated Moby wrap for a walk. Give up on exercise AND soup. Decide to dictate blog post to Pawlene instead and nibble on bacon.
At least parenthood is compatible with Erika's attention deficit disorder.
Monday, June 9, 2008
City Mouse, Country Mouse
I love mice of all kinds. When our Substitute Grandma/Angel Marci came over last week to watch Peter and let Erika get a little shopping done, she straightened up the whole house AND made Erika and Martin dinner. And she did not neglect MY needs either - she organized my entire collection of mice into one easy-to-select-from pile. I have quite the mouse collection! Red ones, grey ones, green ones...furry mice, sheepskin mice, wool mice...it's pretty impressive.
Erika was thinking about mice this weekend too - city mice and country mice. There is a story called Town Mouse, Country Mouse about two mice who yearn to live in the opposite place from where they grew up. Erika has always used this phrase to describe people who live in the city (and love it!) and people who live in the country, and couldn't imagine living in a city. After a simply wonderful trip to the country this weekend, Erika has realized that she has a split personality.
Reading the Chronicle this morning, Erika was pleased to discover that 2 of the restaurants who won big in the latest James Beard awards (Tartine and Delfina) are walking distance from her apartment in San Francisco (and one, Gramercy Tavern, is walking distance from her last apartment in New York City). In fact, as she has discovered in the last 7 weeks of not driving, there are all kinds of good things within walking distance if you aren't afraid of a few hills. It is a clear, sunny morning in this sparkling, mellow city and Erika finds herself completely in love with San Francisco. In fact she is on her way to Tartine this afternoon to meet another new mother and talk babies over chocolate pudding. Or maybe a lemon tart.
However, this weekend was another story. Erika and Martin toured Mendocino County all the way from Potters Valley outside Ukiah, to Westport (on the coast north of Mendocino) to Boonville in the Anderson Valley. They stayed on a hippie commune turned bed and breakfast and dreamed of their own homestead as they watched the sunset from the windows of a cottage that sat just 300 yards from the ocean. Then they discovered Boonville and were smitten. Not only because of the houses that ring the airport and boast their own personal hangars right next to the 2-car garages, although that was a heavily influencing factor for one of us. In Boonville, one could purchase several acres of land with an old farm house, room for goats and bees and a BIG garden and REAL field mice for less than the price of a flat in San Francisco that doesn't even have a yard. The Anderson Valley is warm and peaceful and the rolling golden hills that surround it are beautiful and quintessentially California. Erika and Martin could not imagine returning to a freezing cold, dirty, crowded city where the closest they come to nature on a daily basis is watering the tomato plants on the deck (still no sign of tomatoes, dad - it isn't looking good).
Are we city mice or country mice? Do we want Peter to grow up going to the opera and museums and yoga classes or do we want him to learn how to milk a cow and feed chickens and pick carrots right out of the ground? Me, I'm happy anywhere there is a sunny spot and few mice (real or otherwise), but Erika and Martin have some hard thinking to do...
Erika was thinking about mice this weekend too - city mice and country mice. There is a story called Town Mouse, Country Mouse about two mice who yearn to live in the opposite place from where they grew up. Erika has always used this phrase to describe people who live in the city (and love it!) and people who live in the country, and couldn't imagine living in a city. After a simply wonderful trip to the country this weekend, Erika has realized that she has a split personality.
Reading the Chronicle this morning, Erika was pleased to discover that 2 of the restaurants who won big in the latest James Beard awards (Tartine and Delfina) are walking distance from her apartment in San Francisco (and one, Gramercy Tavern, is walking distance from her last apartment in New York City). In fact, as she has discovered in the last 7 weeks of not driving, there are all kinds of good things within walking distance if you aren't afraid of a few hills. It is a clear, sunny morning in this sparkling, mellow city and Erika finds herself completely in love with San Francisco. In fact she is on her way to Tartine this afternoon to meet another new mother and talk babies over chocolate pudding. Or maybe a lemon tart.
However, this weekend was another story. Erika and Martin toured Mendocino County all the way from Potters Valley outside Ukiah, to Westport (on the coast north of Mendocino) to Boonville in the Anderson Valley. They stayed on a hippie commune turned bed and breakfast and dreamed of their own homestead as they watched the sunset from the windows of a cottage that sat just 300 yards from the ocean. Then they discovered Boonville and were smitten. Not only because of the houses that ring the airport and boast their own personal hangars right next to the 2-car garages, although that was a heavily influencing factor for one of us. In Boonville, one could purchase several acres of land with an old farm house, room for goats and bees and a BIG garden and REAL field mice for less than the price of a flat in San Francisco that doesn't even have a yard. The Anderson Valley is warm and peaceful and the rolling golden hills that surround it are beautiful and quintessentially California. Erika and Martin could not imagine returning to a freezing cold, dirty, crowded city where the closest they come to nature on a daily basis is watering the tomato plants on the deck (still no sign of tomatoes, dad - it isn't looking good).
Are we city mice or country mice? Do we want Peter to grow up going to the opera and museums and yoga classes or do we want him to learn how to milk a cow and feed chickens and pick carrots right out of the ground? Me, I'm happy anywhere there is a sunny spot and few mice (real or otherwise), but Erika and Martin have some hard thinking to do...
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