Cutting our teeth

Julian's got a tooth! Well, he has about 20 that just haven’t grown in yet, but his lower right incisor is poking through the gums. It’s causing him some pain now and then, but in general, he’s handling it like a champ. Remember when you’d feel teeth coming in? I particularly remember molars hurting even when I was in high school! Growing up with GaGa, who’s a dental assistant in addition to a phenomenal grandmother, Chelsea and I learned quite a bit about teeth (and their care). I had braces at the unbelievably early age of 8 (on the bottom teeth only) and was always so excited to get the bands changed because I got to pick which colors I wanted. GaGa was always there, helping Dr. Asay put on the season-coordinated rubbers (pastels near Easter, black and orange near Halloween, red and green in December). Taking care of one’s teeth was so ingrained in me that I used to yell at Troy about chewing ice (one of his guilty pleasures) and I still ask Ian if he’s been flossing.

So, watching Julian’s teeth come in is going to be a trip. He’s only got the one coming in now, so we’ve taken to calling him Scraggle Tooth, and, to my pleasure, he hasn’t discovered the pain he can inflict with biting. It’s only a matter of time, I’m sure. Another update, we got a high chair and have been giving him a serving or so of rice cereal a day (little of which actually makes it in his mouth).

We had the Baker-Smiths over last night. Ruby can stand on her own! (Even if only for a few seconds, this is an impressive feat for a child of 7.5 months.) It’s been so neat to see how she and Julian’s personalities have been forming over the past months. They are such unique individuals already. We figured they began to diverge from the similar sleepy newborns they started as around 2 months of age. Now, Ruby has her own Rubyisms and Julian has his. They seem to “like” one another, whatever that means at their ages, but they are certainly curious about the other and are starting to interact more.

It’s so great to have Ruby’s parents as friends. They know what it’s like to have this wonderful new lifeforce around, and we respond similarly to parenthood, which is a feat on its own. Everyone reacts so differently to being a parent and, quite frankly, most of them drive me nuts. The micromanaging, the overplanning, the worrying. I mean, I can see how people lose themselves in their children, which to a certain extent can be a good thing. If you aren’t affected by having a kid then you shouldn’t have had him or her in the first place. But American parents in general go way overboard and forget who they were before the diapers and Onesies.

Having made the statement above, I’ve had an interesting observation recently. I realized that I have no desire to be the person I was before I had Julian. Wishing for the time before having him was something I was quite concerned about when choosing to have him. Would I miss the old Addie? You know, the self-absorbed, cynical, I-don’t-need-anyone-but-me one. The Addie who (well, most of you know that version of me well enough to insert something here). I think much of that person is still there. The good stuff, I’d like to think. But Julian (and Ian, I must admit) have done something to me. Affected a personal change that otherwise I would not have experienced. Or maybe would have experienced, just at a later date. And I’m just so damned grateful for it. Which is interesting. Gratitude was my first tattoo. The tattoo chosen by an older version of me. I guess some things never do change.

Momma wants a pleasure pen

It’s official. Julian is mobile. He gets around in his own crawl/scoot combo in a fine, fast fashion. Like a solider on a reconnaissance mission. You put him on the floor, step into the kitchen to pour yourself a cup of coffee, and he’s suddenly right behind you, checking out what’s underneath the refrigerator. It’s slightly maddening, I admit, and was a real source of tension in the house earlier in the week. Julian was always grabbing at cords, sticking Xbox controllers in his mouth, picking up leaves or dog toys and attempting to get them in his mouth. Julian’s newfound movement, not Julian himself, was driving us nuts. Finally, we gave in. Covered all the outlets, moved the flashing, cord-riddled electronics to higher ground, bought a play pen. (Which we agreed to not call a “cage.” “Pleasure pen” will be the preferred term.) Now we’ve got a leg up on the little guy, that is until he starts pulling up. That gives us about two weeks of having it together before he catches up.

The physical growth spurts will surely be followed by the emotional ones, which my mom assures me are likely more difficult. Once again, we’ll get what we can handle I guess. It’s weird enough dealing so intimately with my partner’s growth spurts in addition to my own. Now, we have another person whose growth patterns are so seemingly different than our own yet so intrinsically linked. It’s an interesting thing, this parenthood…

We celebrated my birthday earlier this week. Ian did an amazing job of making my first birthday as a mother so unique, including breakfast in bed and surprise margaritas with friends at Matt’s El Rancho, our new favorite place, followed by a trip to the Cathedral of Junk.

I took about 500 pictures with my new camera, which I edited down to 160. I won’t subject you to every single shot, but there will be some new galleries posted here in the next few days.

My almost birthday

July has always been my favorite month. Fourth of July is pretty much a guaranteed good time, even if it rains. Cicadas are in full force. Swimming holes are especially inviting. Lush greenery engulfs buildings, sidewalks and roads. But I like July mostly because my birthday falls in its middle. I’ve always loved my birthday and feel quite possessive of it. I imagine this is a shared emotion, except for you birthday-haters out there. I haven’t met too many of you that are down on your birthday just like I haven’t met too many people who have my birthday (or, whose birthday I have, depending on how you look at it).
I’m very aware that this is the first year I’ll see that Troy didn’t. I’m also aware that this is my first birthday as a mother, a fact that seemed to interest Ian more than me until just recently. My first birthday as a mother, who very recently experienced the birth day of her first child. But unlike birthdays from age 3 or so on, baby J won’t remember a second of it. I, on the other hand, can still feel most of the agonizing seconds of January 25.

Birthdays are such a nice way to celebrate people, but maybe they should also be a day to celebrate their mothers. It’s almost as if mothers, when celebrating the day of their children’s birth, are also quietly celebrating themselves. For the nine months they watched what they ate not to lose weight but to gain it in order to sustain, carry and eventually bear the child. For the hours and hours of what is widely accepted to be one of the most painful physical human experiences. For the months they were dedicated to being a human milk machine. Then for the years of making all of life’s boo-boos better and guiding this once wee thing into a well-rounded, caring, responsible and loving adult.

I’m still in the milk machine part of that equation, but I can imagine that in the future, when January 25 rolls around, I will be celebrating Julian, but I’ll also be celebrating me, probably more so than on my own actual birthday. Being a mother is really one of the biggest lessons in selflessness. Your kid really becomes more important than everything else. Even, most days, the all-important you. Now, don’t start sending me emails about how important it is to take time for me and don’t take care of others are my expense and all those other things we have to remind mothers who become slaves to their families. It is almost needless to say that I’ll always have a self-centered streak in me (just ask Ian if I’ve lost the ability to put myself first when needed), but being a mom has severely toned that down, for the better if I may say so myself. I am no longer the center of the universe. I’ve had to make room for others, and I love the company. But thank you all for making me feel like a queen, right now. And if you really want brownie points, email my mom and remind her that it’s also a day to celebrate her.

It's a good thing we have carpet

Eshhbt.....mmmmmmm ,ml,\md vcsdf ggfffffffffffffvb,…mmmmm’;l;loi ,fhhhhh8ugmnunnnnn
-jjuluiAn

Above is Julian’s first note to YaYa. (Translation: I looooooooove you. I miiiiiiiiiiissssss you. You’re the beeeeeessssssttt yaya in the woooooorld. And yes, I helped him sign his name.) We’ve played with pens and markers before, but this was his first time typing. He seemed to prefer his right hand. Mom and Dad are both right handed, as are Chelsea and YaYa and Grandpa, but who knows. He has hints of red in his hair, like his dad, so who knows what other non-Broyles genetic attributes will pop out.

The highlight of the day: Playing with my new birthday camera. It’s a Canon Rebel, (marketed for the renegade photographer in all of us, I presume) digital SLR, removable18-55mm zoom lens, built-in flash, big lcd screen—the whole kit ‘n’ caboodle. Through much rationalizing, which Ian and I are very good at, we decided to get it, and if anyone who usually gives me a birthday gift wants to contribute in lieu of said gift, we’ll put it toward the camera. I’ve had that Canon A-1 since I was in high school and it’s been with me everywhere. I won’t give that one up (maybe I’ll give it to Julian one day…), it just has too many stories behind it. But playing around with this new camera made me realize how much I love shooting. I think everybody has this hobby they secretly love and with they could devote their entire live toward. Everyone on the surface would say mine is writing, but photography is right up there. Speaking of secrets, I finally sent in a postsecret. Check out the link if you’re not familiar with this site. It was quite cathartic, and it’s a secret I’m willing to share that I’ve been contemplating and working on the postcard I sent in for months now. It’s harder than you think to do one. Try it, let me know if you have the same experience.

The lowlight of the day (and another thing I could keep secret if I wanted): Julian fell out of our bed this morning. I was catching a few more winks of sleep (see previous entry) and then I heard “thump” followed by a “waaaaahhhh” and I knew what had happened. Quick like lightening I was up and he was in my arms. And in a few seconds he was smiling and cooing again. I, on the other hand, was quite shaken up. Here I was, in my selfish mode, trying to sleep a little longer, and the little guy just wanted to explore and see what was going on on the other side of the mattress. I talked with both my mom and grandmother, and they had their own stories of children rolling out of car seats and falling down flights of stairs. I’m glad they were there to remind me that perfection is not an attainable goal in motherhood and to try to hold myself to that standard is futile and unfair. 

Before I sign off for today, I will make note that Julian has been trying out some different foods this week. First, I put an avocado in one of these little mesh bags things, and he seemed to love it. A few days later he tried a mango and seemed pleased. No signs of allergic reaction so far. Today, I think I’ll let him play with some bowtie pasta I’m getting ready to eat for lunch. Exploration, not sustenance, is the goal behind baby led weaning, a technique we are trying out.