20 November 2009

Eamon's World

Well, folks, we have finally gotten to that stage: the attachment stage. The stage where Eamon wants everything to stay exactly as it is right now and doesn't want anything to ever change. Of course, his right now changes constantly, so what he wants changes, too.

What I mean is this: if you are the person holding/cuddling/playing with Eamon, he wants you to be the person holding/cuddling/playing with him forever. The longer that you hold/cuddle/play with him, the more attached he grows and the stronger his sentiments when he is expected to go to someone else.

I get up every morning with Eamon, and after having breakfast and getting him dressed, we hang out. This involves watching sign language videos, cleaning the kitchen, exploring the house, etc.. And some mornings, it involves me holding him almost non-stop while I wander around the house doing things (his decision; sometimes he's just more clingy than others). He is perfectly happy, because he has his Mommy, and he never wants that to change.

Then my mother comes to pick him up around 7:15. He is happy to see her, but no, he does not want her to hold him. No, Grandma, Mommy is holding me. He is Mommy's boy and would be content to just stay that way all day long.

Of course, we manage to detach him from me and get him in the car anyway. Once in the car, he sort of accepts his fate and happily goes back to Grandma's house, where he plays with her all day long. They run errands together and have a grand ole time. And to Eamon, that is perfect. He never wants that to change. He loves Grandma, and Grandma is the only person he could ever need in his entire life.

Until Grandpa shows up. He loves Grandpa because Grandpa is awesome. They pry him off my mother and off he goes with Grandpa, and he's very happy with that, and nothing ever needs to change...

And then Mommy comes to pick him up from work. He has no interest in going home with me, because he is with his grandparents and that's fine with him. He clings to my mother or my father and sometimes pretends to cry when I insist on holding him. But once I whisk him out the door and buckle him in the carseat, he's fine. We go home, and hang out, and I am once again the center of his universe until Daddy gets home. Because I usually haven't seen him very long at this point, Eamon is happy to go to Daddy, and as long as we are both around, he will easily go back and forth between the two of us.

Don't worry--the bottle was sealed shut. I would never give my baby Diet Coke to drink (he prefers Mountain Dew).

But on the weekends when Daddy gets up with him so that Mommy can sleep, he is Daddy's boy, and only Daddy's boy. When I finally get up, he has little interest in Mommy until we finally convince him that I am okay, too, and then he is happy to be part of a 3-person family unit again.

And the same thing happens when his Oma and Opa come to visit. They pick him up, he warms up and gets attached, and then gets very confused when he is expected to go back to Mommy and Daddy after they leave on Saturday. Mommy who? Daddy what?

So even though it might break my heart just a bit when I go to pick him up in the evening and he cries and lunges to get back in the arms of his Grandma, I just remind myself that soon enough we will get home, we will start playing and hugging and cuddling, and I will once again be the center of his universe.

10 November 2009

It Had to Be You

I admit it, I wanted a girl. In fact, as soon as I started wanting a baby, I just knew that I would have a girl. She would be beautiful and perfect, and when she was old enough, we would get pedicures together and I would help pick out her Homecoming dress, and eventually we would be best friends and still talk almost every day (yeah, yeah, yeah, the same relationship that I have with my mom. Minus the pedicures. WHY DON’T WE GET PEDICURES TOGETHER, MOM? THEY ARE SOOOOOOO NICE).

Then, after only two months of trying, we got pregnant. (I was sure it would take months and months, or maybe years, and then whee—two months later there was that plus sign on the pee-stick. I was apparently wrong about a lot of things on the pregnancy/baby front). And within a week, I had a feeling: It was a boy. I knew it was a boy. The microscopic little creature in my womb just felt male.

Here was my first sign: I suddenly hated anything sweet. Sweet things made me sick, and I only wanted salty foods. One of my colleagues at work announced one day, “I brought you lunch!” and handed me a giant bag of Lays potato chips, and I was in bliss. A girl would never have deprived me of my brown-sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts, which I had faithfully eaten every morning for years, but suddenly turned my stomach mightily.

Another sign: the baby sat on my bladder. The entire pregnancy. From beginning to end. There was never that second trimester don’t-have-to-pee-so-much break. I always had to pee. Always. Later, when it was big enough, the little creature would use my bladder like a beanbag, digging in comfortably (well, for the baby. Not comfortably for me). A girl would have more empathy for her mother’s bladder, I was sure. Men are generally more oblivious to things like that.

I also read a checklist about how delicate male sperm are. They are fast, but not as hardy as girl sperm. There are certain things that you can do to increase your likelihood of having a boy. They aren’t fool-proof, but without going into too many details, Aaron and I unintentionally fulfilled every item on that checklist.

So when Eamon Wolfe emerged into this world and the doctor pronounced, “It’s a boy,” I just kind of rolled my eyes and thought, “Obviously.”

So. A boy, huh? I had a boy. What the heck was I supposed to do with a boy? What if he liked sports? I don’t like sports, but Aaron is a fanatic. How would I possibly compete? Was I doomed to a life of getting pedicures alone? It was perhaps a little disappointing.

And then, I got to know Eamon Wolfe.

Who might be one of the best babies on the face of the Earth. Who, a couple of evenings ago, as he was sitting in his high chair eating Rice Krispies, shoved a Rice Krispy in my mouth when I leaned over to kiss him. He then laughed hysterically, like it was the funniest thing anyone had ever done in the history of dinner. This kid has a sense of humor. It’s no P.G. Wodehouse, but for a 10 month old, I think it’s pretty great.

He is such a happy baby (except, you know, when he’s not, like when he’s tired, and then all bets are off). He’s sweet and loving. He has so much energy, but even as much as he wants to crawl, crawl, crawl all the time, he will still stop and give you a quick hug or a kiss to let you know he cares.

And he wants to be good. He, like all babies, has a fascination with anything that could kill or seriously injure him. He especially loves outlets and cords. For awhile, we would tell him “no” in our sternest voices, and he would just laugh. He didn’t understand people being angry, especially not at him. It took awhile for him to finally figure it out.

But he did. And now, when he crawls over to an outlet and thinks about playing with it, he stops and takes a long look at it. When he successfully resists the temptation, he looks at you, breaks into a big smile, and claps for himself. He is proud because he did not break the rules and wants your congratulations, too. Which we of course always give.

Eamon also likes to share. He will happily hand you whatever toy he is playing with, whether you have asked for it for not (of course, he often expects it back, because it’s not The Sharing Game unless BOTH people will share). When he eats his Cheerios, he takes a few bites and then always offers me some Cheerios, too. This of course means that I have to act excited about Cheerios soaked in baby-slobber. MMMM, THANK YOU, EAMON.

Okay, so I never imagined myself having a boy. But now? Now I can’t imagine having any baby but Eamon Wolfe. This kid is truly my world, and definitely the most perfect baby out there for me.
Hooray for Eamon Wolfe!

01 November 2009

The Many Faces of Eamon Wolfe

Eamon Wolfe wore many costumes on his first Halloween...

His first option was a Calvin Klein underwear model (Diaper Division), but that didn't seem quite right...


So then he tried going as a competitive eater (Rice Krispy Division), but that just got too sloppy...


Then he went with uber-photogenic baseball player...


Maybe with a little lip curl thrown in, too (Elvis Plays Baseball?)...


But in the end, he went with the costume that we originally bought him from Old Navy because it was more of a sleeper than a costume. And yes, he was comfy, and yes, he slept in it. Before that, he helped to answer the door and scare (okay, melt the hearts of) the Trick-or-Treaters.


And next year, he'll actually understand why Mommy insists on dressing him in weird clothes and snapping hundreds of pictures. Sort of understand, anyway.