Baby's in Print

Breaking news!

The babydaddy's getting famous on me. Caleb "Calvin Celeb Enter Your Fave Spelling Here" Sweazy is featured in Friday's Playbook section of the Commercial Appeal!


If you are around this holiday weekend, be sure to check him out this Sunday at the Memphis Music and Heritage Festival downtown. He plays at 3:15 and might very well possibly rock your socks off. Well, the metaphorical ones, because it's still too damn hot for socks.

Show info at calebsweazy.com

Seriously? Where did my time go?

With all the manic window display sketches and flickr boutique studying and power point presentations (no joke) in preparation for Mothersville's spa day, my poor little blog has been getting the shaft. So, to recap:

I still have a baby. She has lots of rolls. She fell off of the couch on Friday and lucky for me and my marriage landed on the boppy pillow and not the hard, noggin-busting tiles. I am really, really glad for those rolls.

Harlow is just a few days shy of five months. She doesn't know that she has a few months to go before its time to start crawling, walking, or standing, but I'm not going to be the one to tell her. She puts the roly in roly-poly. She's interested in checking out the world while upside down and especially NOT while in the car seat. The pumping has gotten easier. The bottle feeding? Not so much. Warm, soft, nuzzly mom or plastic? I don't see the problem here.



She really digs her exersaucer, spending the majority of her time gumming the poor Albi the dragon to death. But he's racist, so I figure he deserves it.

Bring All Your Dreams Alive

So I have another baby.

It’s been keeping me up at night. It’s making it hard to update this blog regularly, let alone fold some laundry or remember to feed the pets. But it’s worth it.

I’m a bidness lady!

I’m so thrilled to announce that in the glorious tradition of English major mamas with negligible retail experience, I’m the newest co-owner of Mothersville, a natural parenting store in Cooper-Young. I’ve recalled here how much the store came to mean to me in the foggy early days of postpartumpalooza. The Wednesday playgroup welcomed me and my snoozy baby with open arms. Then there was the owner Andria, nine months pregnant and still showing up to work every morning. Picture the wit of Hugh Laurie without the acid, the ratatat comebacks of a Nora Charles, the cool blonde of a Hitchcock heroine - AND a completely nonjudgemental attitude when it comes to Parenting 101, and you'll understand why she maintains such a loyal following. There was her plea to the universe for help, and the stunning realization that one of the coolest, most unique stores in Memphis - I'll be honest - one of the few reasons I was happy to have moved to Memphis, period - was going to be taken away from us. So, with a lot of thought but with a much stronger gut reaction, I decided to jump into the fray. I know it couldn't have been the easiest decision for her to take on a partnership with someone she is just getting to know, let alone someone with the spastic energy equivalent of a Scrappy Doo. (I do eventually simmer down. I promise!) But as I remind her every five minutes, I'm truly excited to help usher Mothersville into its next incarnation.

Which will be a Xanadu rollerskating themed boutique! Breastfeeding on skates. Disco balls and boobs. Hell, Michael Beck is from Memphis. We can totally do an in-store appearance.

It's gonna be magic.

Some serious catching up to do

Monday marked the anniversary of my gorgeous niece Avery's arrival on the planet, but because Monday parties are lovely in theory but trickier to arrange around work days, the Subers, Andersons and Sweazys converged in the Lakeland on Saturday for some cake eating (her first ever), present opening (she's already a seasoned vet) and allergic reactions (Caleb's). He managed to finagle his second allergic reaction in 2 months - there were hives, women clucking and a hectic doctor visit, and then the man went and managed to play a show later that evening without even incorporating his extreme discomfort into his stage patter.

Avery took the liberty of using the party to announce her first word. I promise to get the video footage uploaded so you can witness the moment yourself. In the meantime, here's a hint. George Carlin would approve. And as my sister swears on the tape that that word is not used in their house, apparently he taught it to her as well.

Grandma Sue stayed the weekend with us, so there were dates to be had! But in order for their to be dates, I had to pump which, unfortunately, has become a problem over the past several weeks. Three visits to Mothersville and various shields and membranes and tubing later, I got it working. I don't know what did it, but there was milk for the baby and Matt Damon for me. And we had dinner! Sans baby! We cruised over to Spindini and had some excellent wine, some not so excellent toasted ravioli and some pretty decent pollo parmigiana. I was just psyched to see the place packed on a Sunday night.

Which brings us to last Monday - and another giant milestone that slipped by quietly and unnoticed.

It's been a year since we moved here.

One whole year of misgivings and extreme doubt and la craigslist surfing and sad emails and wouldn't you know it? I was too busy with projects and baby wrangling and new friends to even notice.

And before I dive into what has gotten me so preoccupied as of late, some baby recaps:

Harlow took a spin in her first exersaucer. It creeped me out to no end to be purchasing something with the words Baby Einstein on the box, yet, at the end of the day after she played in it happily for 45 minutes, I was considering redoing the entire house so that it is one giant Baby Einstein obstacle course.

No toof, no proof - YET - I swear that child is teething. It's the gumming everything within 2 feet, the buckets of drool, the waking up 3 times a night and the tiniest shadow of a bump that's got me thinking.

4:13 AM

Dear Baby,

Please stop waking up.

I know you are capable of sleeping through the night.

You've done it before.

Seems like weeks ago.

When you woke up at 1? And it's now 4:13? And I've watched every minute tick by in between?

That felt like weeks ago too.

Hopeless

Yep. Still a crappy baker.




At least I have an adorable sous chef.

Cool

It only occurred to me today that trying to take a picture of Harlow with my camera phone while she was nursing because I thought from that angle she looked like my mom - and then sent it to her - might be kind of weird.

Today, from a similar angle, I thought she resembled Sam Eagle. Didn't get a pic of that one.

Milestone recaps of the week:

Murphy made her giggle for like five minutes straight. I don't know how rushing up to her car seat and taking off again was comedy gold, but he made her laugh. So he gets to stay.
She has discovered her feet. She seems to think they will taste good.
She rolled over from back to front, which isn't exactly new, but this time she actually pushed herself up into her tummy time position.
She was called a boy only 37 times this week, down from the average 59 or so.
Someone called me a cool mom. It's kindof my own milestone. I didn't think you could really qualify as one until word got out that you let your kid sip some wine with dinner or that you stock the pantry with contraband sugary cereal. Not sure if I really did anything to warrant such praise, but I'm taking it.

Nephews

And for my final catchup post of the day...

We were very excited to have Caleb's sister Lara and her boys Max and Thomas hang out with us in Memphis for a quick trip. Max is seven and sly. Extremely observant, almost scarily so. Thomas is fond of animals and asking questions. LOTS of them. Here are some of my favorite from the trip:

1. Do graveyard dogs exist?

2. Has Murphy ever bitten anyone? Has Harlow?

3. Can dogs get black eyes?

4. Does Murphy have one human tooth?

5. If a mosquito bites you and it dies, does it hurt?

6. When you die, can I have your guitar?

Four Months Status Report

Dear Harlow,

You are four months old. You are 17 and a half pounds and 26 inches long, making you the most handsome 6 month old boy Memphis has ever seen. They've broken me, sweet baby. You wear a lot of pink these days, and flowers. I even found a bow on your skirt the other day, buried as it was under the mountains of ruffles. And they still address you as Lil Buddy. I don't know. Maybe baby business cards are next.

You are in the 95th percentile for weight, height and head size, so it should come as no surprise that I have guns that outmuscle Linda Hamilton. Need me to help move your couch? Your car? Your 17 and half pound baby and their carseat? I'm your girl. I am officially no longer worrying about your size as you are truly one of the strongest, most energetic, happiest babies I've ever seen. I will choose to worry about that self-inflicted cut on your tongue instead.

You are drooling. A lot. I was absolutely convinced you were teething until the doc said those little white specks on your gums are cysts. And that's ok. I've never heard of the Cyst Fairy but I'm sure he or she would be thrilled for the work. You love to sing, especially when your dad sings and plays the guitar. Sometimes you sound like a baby owl, and then you do this screechy, excited squeal, which is what I imagine a baby pterodactyl sounds like.

It turns out your eyes are blue. Who knew? said your hazel-eyed parents. They are this gorgeous shade of sapphire that truly isn't causing any feelings of jealousy in me to stir at all. Really.

Missouri

Dear Harlow,

In the four months you've been a citizen of the planet, you've already traveled to five states: Arkansas, Illinois, Florida, Colorado and Missouri. If only the state of bliss you travel to when you've managed to lure myself or your father into the backseat to keep you company was part of our country's glorious union, you'd be up to six by now. This recent trip to Missouri was bittersweet: a memorial service for your great grandparents, the stunningly gorgeous Idabelle Brown and her handsome, adoring husband Robert Rushin. I'm not being generous.



The Ava Gardner lookalike second from right? That would be Idabelle. That rock you occasionally try to chew off of my finger? Robert gave that to his bride who in turn gave it to your dad for me to wear. When he pulled it from his pocket, he said some words that were almost as pretty as she was.

The memorial service was held at a small wooded cemetery which apparently doubles as a vacation spot for our planet's sun. The car said it was 105 outside. I think it was being polite. Within minutes I had an impressive river of sweat running down both legs, but I was too busy trying to hold the umbrella over your head, sneak a few shots with the camera, and retrieve the bulk of my hair from my mouth as a gale force wind decided to kick up right as the pastor began to speak. Your great grandfather served in the military, so he was given a military sendoff, complete with a gun salute. You barely jumped when the rifles fired off. But honestly, we were more worried about the older gentlemen doing the shooting in polyester black slacks.


What truly was worrisome was the scarlet shade of red your face turned after I got you back to the car. Turns out you're not so good with the sweating thing yet. You eventually reverted back to a pleasant shade of cream, just in time for the Celebration of Life. With very yummy cake.




You're doing this thing now, where you squeal and wiggle and divebomb the necks of whoever's holding you like you're a baby vampire. Rather than expressing alarm, most folks at the party found this to be rather charming. I think a few of the older ladies almost came to blows rather than take turns holding you. I briefly got to eat some cake, chat with fellow new mom and dad Darcy and Mike and follow your squeals around the auditorium. You've got a pretty kickass family. They even reluctantly handed you over so we could make the trek back to Tennessee.

Roller Buggy!

Holy Crap! I. Must. Own. This.


More pics here.

Babycam

What the babycam sees

Rocky Mountain Babies

One of the things I love about my dad, in addition to his being a Mac and digital Nikon enthusiast happy to pass along the scraps, is his utter contempt of all things hot and humid, which is why you won't see him in Memphis in August. Instead, he and mom chill out in the Keystone pad in Colorado where humidity is banished at the gates, night time temperatures hover in the 40s and bakers with dreams of giant, buttery goodness offer up chocolately, butterscotchey cookies a mere scenic drive away. For the first time in two years, the whole family with babies in tow converged on the house for a week of hiking, eating, fly fishing, hottubbing, Harry Pottering, and generally doing nothing. Except working on my Memphis Magazine fiction contest entry when everyone went to bed, or when there wasn't a Flight of the Conchords episode on, or more cookies that needed to be eaten...

The weeks leading up to the trip found both of us stressed to high heaven, worried about the altitude's potential affect on the bebe. The Keystone house is at 9500 feet - anything above 8000 is considered high altitude. I know I feel like crap the first day or two after getting there, but what about the bebe? Screaming doesn't tell me if her head hurts, if her nose is dry, if she's dehydrated, if her brain is swelling and about to explode... You can pretty much find what you are looking for online, so a few keystrokes informed me that swelling of the brain is indeed a potential threat travelling from sea level to altitude. Several panicked phone calls and emails later, mom informed me that she had polled the Colorado neighbors who swore up and down that their grandbabies had visited when they were brand new - and no, their brains didn't explode.

And neither did Harlow's. Aside from eating every couple of hours around the clock like a newborn, all was well. I have pics to prove it, although it looks like we never even left the living room.