Family ties

Among many activities and adventures of the past two weeks, the most monumental was a trip to Fort Worth and Waco to visit Ian’s family. It was my first time to meet his brother and sister-in-law and their two beautiful children, Jenna and Michael. We ate and chatted and played an awesome game of tag baseball in the backyard (even Julian got to participate! He laughed and laughed and just couldn’t get enough of running around with me to tag the kiddos.). It was the quintessential family get-together, full of all kinds of love and positive exchanges. 

To top it off, Erin was in Dallas for a job interview, so she got to meet Julian. She was pretty blown away by the whole Addie-as-mother thing. Seeing it firsthand is quite different than hearing about it on the phone or reading about it here. She is going through all kinds of life transformation herself, and it’s cool to see how much our lives are still the same even though on the surface they are very different.

After a day and night in DFW, we headed to Waco to have dinner with Ian’s mom and stepdad. We hadn’t seen them in awhile. To say that they have had a troubled relationship is an understatement, and neither is without fault. But a grandchild is a grandchild. They want to watch him grow and love on him like they do the other grandkids, so Ian arranged the meeting, not for him but for Julian to reconnect with them. The outcome Saturday was totally unexpected. Little did I realize what amazing healing powers sweet Julian already possesses. Something else happened while we watched a naked Scooter Boy do his gorilla walk around the patio, gave him a bath in the sink and ate Lavonne’s delicious homemade dumplings. It started to feel like a family should. Ian and his mom genuinely hugged each other. He earnestly expressed his love for her. She accepted us and our way of raising Julian with open, nonjudgmental arms. Somewhere during the course of the night, an old, rusty, well-used hatchet was buried. Everyone had tears in their eyes as we drove off and headed back home. 

Now it is my turn to share Julian with my family. I’ll be back in Missouri over the weekend. I can hardly wait.
 
So, kid update: Julian, who will be 8 months old in a week or so, is pulling himself up whenever he can. Not quite standing on his own just yet, but he’s starting to cruise (walk with assistance) along the couch. Ian will hold his hands and he takes steps, so he’s definitely making progress in that area. He’s sleeping pretty well in the night. He still gets up around 4 every morning for a snackerson (ah, the Troyisms are still being passed) and has been taking great naps (like the one he’s enjoying now so I can take care of some Web site business). He just ate a plum, one of his favorite big people foods. I scrap off most of the skin and remove the pit and he eats the rest. He is still way into bread and bananas. 

And I watched a DVD on baby signing and lost my cynicism that the concept was bunk. We’ve started using the signs for food, milk, more and up, but we won’t see the results for at least another 6 weeks. It’s one of those things that you have to put the time in at the beginning, but it will pay off many times over in the end. Just imagine a 15-month-old who doesn’t have to rely on the point-and-cry method of telling you what’s wrong. Or the 20-month-old who can tell you what’s so damn exciting in that picture book you’re flipping through. I’d heard plenty about it delaying their verbal skills, but I think that’s just unfounded hearsay. They will replace signs with words as soon as they can, but there’s a good dozen or so months in between the desire to communicate and the well-developed ability to speak. 

Overall, Julian is characterized by his charm and personality that are really starting to show. You can get him in a laughing fit just by running around with him or making funny noises. He is starting to want to show off what he is playing with or what he can do. His face lights up when he sees someone he recognizes, including girlfriend Ruby, who is showing him her new top teeth and first unassisted steps.

So, all is well. Love is in the air. We can’t wait for our trip to Missouri. Wish us luck with planes and airports!

Erin Eve

I forgot to mention last week that La Tomatina was happening. It's this huge tomato fight in Bunol, just outside Valencia in Southern Spain. A big mess. A lot of crazy drunk travelers. Too much fun to capture in a few sentences here. Of course, had no camera, but these photos will have to do for now. I'm working on a gallery of my photos  from Europe, so keep your eyes peeled for it in the photo galleries section.

Dear friend Erin, an Eve, celebrated a birthday this week. Here are 5 Things about you, guapa, that I love:

1) Your kookiness. I'll never forget the dancing Britney that helped Rachel and I through our finals studying or the pigeon dance at the Murcia festival pigout. And, don't forget, it was her idea to streak on the beaches of Playa Postiguet in Alicante on Leap Day 2004.

2) Your fashion sense (and willingness to share!). Every time I get a compliment on my earrings, I have to explain that they aren't mine, they are really my cool, very fashionable friend Erin's and that she gave them to me when she was tired of them. Same with belts. And scarves, but Ian gets those now ;).

3) Your blog. Did I mention that Erin is an awesome keeper of tabs on what is hip and cool online? For instance, she led me to this site, where I took a test to figure out what my personal DNA is. (Benevolent leader. Anyone surprised?)

Benevolent Leader

4) Your questions. Erin has no fear to ask the tough questions as a way to call you out on your shit, or at least call you out to further explain something. This scares most people. This makes me love her.

5) Your fearlessness. Erin went to Spain without the protection of a university study abroad program. She went just because. She moved to Miami on super short notice to go to a prestigise ad/marketing school. For the past few weeks, she's been making her way in New York, meeting more people and doing more things than most would hope to in a year. She acts and reacts with aplomb.

For these reasons and many more, Erin is and will always be one of my Eves. Happy birthday, Erin!

A cooler shade of September

In line with the crazy year of weather we’ve had so far, the beginning of September is feeling like what September is supposed to feel like. Usually, Central Texas is still sweltering in triple-digit heat right about now. But this morning, we woke up and the morning held a noticeably cooler temperature. After months and months of hot, day and night, a break in the heat feels wonderful.

I noticed yesterday that the sun is now crossing the sky at a height that signals it’s almost Fall. It’s a little lower, a little less direct, a little more orange. It has always amazed me how the way the light changes during the day can almost immediately give away the time of the year.

I’ve noticed in the past few years that our emotions do the same thing. Well, maybe not as perceptibly as the sun, but several months of the years, May and August come to mine, everyone seems to vibrate just a little differently. It must be the habit of ending and starting school that is still so engrained in all of us. August, especially, is such a time of change. I’m kind of glad September is here so things can level out a little. Summer is such a rich time (and don’t get me wrong, this is why I love summer), but sometimes it’s nice for things to get back to “normal.” 

Normal for us around here is always changing a little bit here, a little bit there. A second tooth is joining Julian’s snagle tooth, and another one on the top seems to be poking through. He’s been pretty fussy about it. He’s lapping up the baby oatmeal with mix with soft fruits, such as bananas, nectarines or avocados. And the bread. Julian loves to pick up little pieces of bread we set out for him. Just like feeding geese. That keeps Julian occupied for hours (in baby time).

We moved his crib down to the lowest level so he couldn’t reach the posters on the wall (He already pulled one off and ate its corner. ‘Sounds like my cat’ a coworker remarked last night. Meow.). He pulled all the books off the bottom shelf of the bookcase yesterday (with Ian’s help—who then showed Julian how to put them all back :)). And I found the best tickle spot ever: his thighs right above his knees.
Separation anxiety has surfaced a little. Even though I’m not the stay-at-home caregiver, he still sometimes gets upset when I leave the room. I’m sure he does this with Ian, too. It must be the nursing, which he still loves so dearly. Mommy still loves it, too, so we’ll keep up with it for awhile longer.

We’ve been going back and forth on the thumbsucking. Sucking his thumb has been the best blessing for him to comfort himself to go to sleep, but he likes it so much that he’s started doing it quite a bit even when he’s not about ready to fall asleep. Don’t blame him, really. It’s a pretty gratifying thing, I’m sure, but I figure if we let him get into the habit now we’ll just have to break him of it later. But hell, I chewed my nails into high school and a friend of mine sucked her thumb into junior high and we’re fairly successful, well-rounded people. I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. It’s pretty cute, actually.  

And these are the days of our lives

The sand is falling too quickly in the hourglass! Julian seems like such a little boy now, interacting with us, doing his own baby talk, standing up more and more. Ian captured this great video (see the end of this entry) of him pulling up in his crib yesterday. I can't tell who's prouder, Julian or his parents (and grandparents!).

Speaking of, my dad just celebrated his birthday. His present will be coming next month when we go to Missouri for a visit, but for now, the inagural 5 Things birthday list. (p.s., if it's your birthday and I don't make a list for you, please don't be mad.

My mind is pretty full lately and we all know that pregnancy brain is slow to recover... )

1. I know it's bad for him, but I love the smell of my dad's pipe tobacco wafting out of the garage or blowing out the window on an early morning car ride.

2. I love my dad on the telephone. He knows exactly how long to visit and what to visit about.

3. I love that my dad is such a great example of a leader for everyone in our family, the Cooks, the Welches, the Gonzalezes, everyone. He is the definition of patriarch (in a good way, not the neofeminist, crazy way).

4. My dad has got some crazy zen going, even though I doubt he even realized it for a long time. He's always strived to keep a balance between work and play, duty to others and self-fulfillment. He's the wise man that everyone goes to for advice, for good reason.

5. I love how passionate he is, and how animated he becomes, when he starts talking about something he loves. Music, canoeing, books, Julian, adventures, the yard, Days of our Lives (shhhh, don't tell anyone), his job and (most importantly) my mom.

Happy birthday, Dad!

(see video with this post at http://www.addiebroyles.com/babyblogjunethroughseptember07.html)

Julian plays guitar with Dad

Baby's breath

I was putting Julian down for a nap just now and noticed his breath. These short little ‘haa has’ interrupted by little burbs or a wee gurgle. You could just imagine his tiny lungs filling up to their capacity and slowly pushing the air out through that tiny mouth. Over and over and over again. On their own. Independent of me. Inside their own unique, individual being.

Then we said goodnight to John, Paul, George, Ringo and another Paul. I laid him in the crib, and he grabbed Bear-Dog, his singing, colorful, light-flashing crib companion. “Whheeeeeee….I love you,” the strangely lifelike voice said. Julian chuckled and I rubbed him on the belly. Sweet dreams, Julian. “You’re my friend,” Bear-Dog exclaimed as I turned and quietly closed the door.

We love you and support you on this journey

Friend Sarah lent me a book by this Missouri woman called “Mutant Message Down Under.” It’s a true story by Marlo Morgan of 4-month walkabout in Australia with an Aboriginal tribe. It’s a nice, short little novel full of spiritual observations and truisms of this tribe, called Real People. Kindof a modernized version of The Alchemist or The Prophet. A couple of lines stood out.

“We love you and support you on this journey.” Those are the first words a newborn hears and the last a dying person hears. They welcome you and bid you farewell with this statement of upmost support and compassion. How beautiful is that? Ritualistic sayings that our society has are unique in their own right, I guess, but do they really hold such deep meaning? From marriage vows to children’s night prayers, we have these sayings that are embedded in our life cycles, but how many of those are an all-encompassing and genuine as this one?

It reminds me of when we were kids and said a prayer every night before we went to bed. “Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray to the Lord my soul to keep. Guide me by the starry night; wake by the morning light.” Every night. No fail. Mom, usually, would come in as we said this, usually as fast as we could, slurring the words and phrases together. We became more entranced with how the syllables sounded running into one another and doing it all in one breath than the words we were actually saying. As we got older and started actually exploring the idea of “spirituality,” I think Chelsea and I both tried hard to make the words mean something. And they probably did. What daily words will I share with Julian? A prayer? A rhyme? A statement of unyielding compassion from some Aborigines? We shall see.

Another, more complicated concept in this book was this. “There should be no suffering by any creature except what they accept for themselves.” The author went through some mind-boggling challenges on her journey, most of which she never dreamed she would be able to overcome. But the only way she was able to come out on top during these episodes was to connect with this suffering. It’s very Buddhistic, this idea of embracing suffering, and I quite agree with it. To suffer is to be tested. The mere taking of the test indicates personal growth. You have to accept the test when you’re ready for it. Or face being perpetually stuck in that dread of what is to come. Yuck.

As I was recalling another passage I’d read to a friend the other day. Some years are for questions; some years are for answers. I’ve been quite vocal about last year being one of the former. This year is definitely one of the latter. I think it’s my year in the Chinese astrological sign. Holla, all you pigs out there.

I said I’d write about Ian and I getting out own, baby-less outing to the Greenbelt last week, but alas, I have run out of time before ANOTHER trip to the Greenbelt this morning. This time, Blythe and Julian will be my adventure mates. Mmmm. What a wonderful feeling…

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.