The other morning, I came out of the bedroom and left baby Maggie in her co-sleeper, wanting to greet Shay and give him a little "Mommy time" without holding the baby. He looked at me quizzically, and said "Hi, Mommy. Baby?" I told him that the baby was in Mommy and Daddy's room, and he ran into the room, stood on his tippy-toes to peer over the edge of the co-sleeper, and said, "Hi, baby." He then ran back out into the living room to play trucks.
Little buddy is doing such a good job adjusting to being a big brother that it makes my heart feel like it's going to explode.
In truth, many things make my heart feel like it's going to explode lately.
Baby Maggie was born about 10 days ago. She is a superstar. She was 1 week late, and since I didn't want to be induced, my doctor sent me in to the hospital for a non-stress test and fluid check, to make sure she was still doing okay -- and to my surprise, the doctors weren't pleased with what they saw on the tests and wanted me to be induced. I was shocked and disappointed and worried about the induction, but it turned out much better than I had feared. They put something on my cervix to help it start to soften, and were planning on starting pitocin when the cervix was ready, but just that one little jump-start was enough to make contractions come on their own. I labored for about three hours and the contractions started to get pretty intense, but no one -- including me -- guessed that things were progressing as fast as they were. Being in labor for the second time felt much less unknown and less scary for me, and I went into a place somewhere deep inside myself to deal with the contractions. Maybe this sounds hippie-ish and weird, but I was picturing the contractions as ocean waves as the tide is going out -- washing up over wet sand as they came on and washing back down and away as they faded. I suddenly felt the urge to push, and hit the call button as no one but Patrick and my mom were in the room. The nurse came in, and felt that the baby's head was right there in the birth canal (I hadn't been measured since three hours before, when I was dilated to a big fat zero still), and called other nurses in and they all started bustling around, getting the room ready for the doctor. Meanwhile, I was on my hands and knees on the bed, facing the wall, still in my own zone and sort of unaware that no one else knew I was really close to pushing the baby out. I had two massive contractions, one right on top of the other, and on the second one, Maggie's head and shoulders came out, and I heard my mom yell out, "It's the head!" and she reached out and caught the baby. So that's how Maggie's grandma delivered the baby, even though we were at the hospital, a story that strikes me at times as funny and at other times as so touching and wonderful that again, I think my heart will explode.
She is a good baby, nursing like a champ and sleeping pretty well. Shay has moments of jealousy, but all in all, he is doing really well. He reads books to his sister, pointing out the cars and trucks and hammers and ladders, and he gives her fist bumps, and he greets her in the morning and says nighty-night to her at night. When she cries, he brings her a receiving blanket, and sometimes even lets her snuggle with his security blanket. In many ways, he seems to be taking this all in stride even better than his parents are, what with his mom getting weepy every time he gives the baby a sweet little fist bump.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Conversations With Shay
Language definitely hasn't come to Shay as fast as running, jumping, climbing, putting together puzzles, and pretty much any other large- or small-motor skill, but it is coming! He started with some two- and three-word sentences late this fall, mainly stuff like "bye-bye Daddy" and "Mommy's nose" and "More pie" (appropriately, on Thanksgiving). Now we are starting to have conversations. Like, for example, this one:
Shay: "Peanana!"
Me: "Mmm-hmm."
Shay (excited): "Peanana!"
Me: "What are you saying to me?"
Shay (insistent): "Peanana!"
Me: "Peas and bananas? Are you listing foods that you like to eat?"
Shay (nods, smiles): "Corn."
Okay then. And yes, this is the kid who picks the vegetables out of the macaroni and cheese -- not to get to the macaroni and cheese, but because he'd rather just have peas and corn. Now, if only I could keep myself from finishing off the uneaten pasta, we'd be good.
Shay: "Peanana!"
Me: "Mmm-hmm."
Shay (excited): "Peanana!"
Me: "What are you saying to me?"
Shay (insistent): "Peanana!"
Me: "Peas and bananas? Are you listing foods that you like to eat?"
Shay (nods, smiles): "Corn."
Okay then. And yes, this is the kid who picks the vegetables out of the macaroni and cheese -- not to get to the macaroni and cheese, but because he'd rather just have peas and corn. Now, if only I could keep myself from finishing off the uneaten pasta, we'd be good.
Monday, August 15, 2011
What Should I Have Done?
My parents came into town today and whisked Shay off to the park and then fed him lunch and put him down for his nap so that I could have a little time to myself to get stuff done (ah, grocery shopping ALONE, is there anything better? I'm sure some people could think of some stuff, but today that sounded like the best imaginable thing...). I used to go to prenatal yoga all the time during my first pregnancy, but I haven't managed to get to a class this time, so since I had a little bit of freedom, I decided to walk over to the yoga studio in the morning to go to a class. It was lovely, and blissful, to have a little time to myself and some time to think about this new baby -- now that I am past the constant morning sickness, I'm not thinking about being pregnant all the time and so I find myself sometimes remembering "oh yeah, I'm pregnant!"... and then Shay climbs up on something precarious and I have to run to save him, or he asks for a snack and I have to go fix it, so the end of my "oh yeah, I'm pregnant" thought becomes just "well, I guess that's going fine and I'll just go over here and take care of this other thing." So anyway, it was nice to have an hour to just be pregnant, if that makes sense.
But the story that I actually wanted to tell is that as I was walking home, I noticed a disheveled looking man in layers of clothing and blankets standing by a storefront about a half a block away. He looked homeless, which wouldn't in itself have been a surprising sight on the street where I was walking, but what caught my attention was that there were two kids, probably 5 and 7, or 6 and 8, and a dog, with him. I passed by them, and then they started walking behind me. The man was muttering and swearing at people passing by, and cars, and trees. The littler child, a girl, was holding the dog's leash, and I gather that she lagged behind a bit, because I heard the man yell, "Keep up! Don't make me kick your f***ing a**." The swearing, at the kids and at stuff on the street, continued for another block, and I exchanged a horrified glance with a teenage boy walking in front of me as he turned around to see what was going on. I wanted to do something to help the kids, but I worried that anything I might say or do to try to intervene might just make life worse for them. So, hating myself a little bit, I kept walking and they turned the corner off the street where I was walking.
Afterward, I wondered if I should have called child protective services or something? Or, how might I have intervened myself there on the street? If you'd been where I was today, what would you have done?
But the story that I actually wanted to tell is that as I was walking home, I noticed a disheveled looking man in layers of clothing and blankets standing by a storefront about a half a block away. He looked homeless, which wouldn't in itself have been a surprising sight on the street where I was walking, but what caught my attention was that there were two kids, probably 5 and 7, or 6 and 8, and a dog, with him. I passed by them, and then they started walking behind me. The man was muttering and swearing at people passing by, and cars, and trees. The littler child, a girl, was holding the dog's leash, and I gather that she lagged behind a bit, because I heard the man yell, "Keep up! Don't make me kick your f***ing a**." The swearing, at the kids and at stuff on the street, continued for another block, and I exchanged a horrified glance with a teenage boy walking in front of me as he turned around to see what was going on. I wanted to do something to help the kids, but I worried that anything I might say or do to try to intervene might just make life worse for them. So, hating myself a little bit, I kept walking and they turned the corner off the street where I was walking.
Afterward, I wondered if I should have called child protective services or something? Or, how might I have intervened myself there on the street? If you'd been where I was today, what would you have done?
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Five New Words Today!
When I was in college, one of the best classes I took was an anthropology class on linguistics -- we studied the development of languages within cultures and also the development of language within children. Both of those ideas fascinated me, and I loved writing the big paper -- we had to interview people about their observations of their child's language development. My dad's cousin Lynn and I had some great conversations about her kids' first words and language development (and now her kids are both in college, which makes me feel very very old...)
So for a long time I have loved thinking about how and when children learn language, and how that corresponds with biology and culture and family culture, and how it is similar to and different from learning a second language later -- and of course one of my favorite things about being a mom myself now is getting to watch the day-by-day acquisition of language, first-hand. At first, I marveled at Shay's ability to follow directions and understand our words, even before he could talk himself. Then, I celebrated his first word, and kept track of each new word he could say. Suddenly, now, I can't keep track... my aunt and uncle babysat Shay today and when I got home, they said he said the word "strawberry," which I've never heard him say -- and he said it for me, too, right after pointing out a "ladder" on a fire truck, talking to me about how he was pretend-"digging" the carpet with his "wo-wel" (shovel), and announcing that his frozen teething ring was "cold." In an hour, I heard him say at least five new words that I've never heard him say before. Sometimes, he acts delighted with himself when he says a new word -- I can tell he is excited to be able to communicate, and to be understood. Other times, the words just come right out without him seeming to notice, which makes me think that he thinks he's been saying those words somewhere amidst the sounds that I hear as chattering and babbling -- and that that chattering contains a lot of words and ideas that I'm just not able to understand yet.
In some ways, watching him learn language makes me remember my first experience learning French, when I was 12. We moved to France for six months, and although I knew a few phrases and words of French, when I attended my first days and weeks of the local middle school in our little town, I couldn't understand anything -- I couldn't feel the rhythms of the language yet, and I couldn't understand questions or directions without accompanying sign language. For example, on one of the first days of school, a girl in my class (who remains a good friend to this day) said something to me as we were walking into a classroom -- it was a friendly tone, I could tell, but I couldn't understand the meaning. She repeated herself several times, slowly. I still had no idea what she was saying. Finally, she repeated herself again, slowly, pointing at herself, and then a desk, and then at me, and then at the adjoining desk. Relieved, I nodded, and sat next to her. She tried her best to help me understand with hand gestures and slow repetitions -- and over the next few weeks as she spoke and the other people around me spoke, I slowly began to be able to hear the beginnings and ends of sentences, and to distinguish questions from statements. Then, before understanding the meanings of words, I could hear the beginnings and endings of words. Then, I could understand some of the words -- and then, suddenly, with a click, I could understand everything.
If that "click" of understanding happens with babies learning their first language in the same way that it did for me learning a second language, then I know that I have already watched it happen for Shay -- he has understood and followed complicated ideas and directions for a while now. But I feel like I am watching a new explosion of language happen for him that I can't compare to my own experience learning French. He is exploring his ability to imitate new sounds, to use words to make things happen and get what he wants, to get our attention and to make us laugh. He seems to be learning communication, just as much as he is learning the particular language that we speak in this house.
I can't wait to talk to him tomorrow, and three weeks from now, and three months from now, and three years from now. He seems to have some stuff to say.
So for a long time I have loved thinking about how and when children learn language, and how that corresponds with biology and culture and family culture, and how it is similar to and different from learning a second language later -- and of course one of my favorite things about being a mom myself now is getting to watch the day-by-day acquisition of language, first-hand. At first, I marveled at Shay's ability to follow directions and understand our words, even before he could talk himself. Then, I celebrated his first word, and kept track of each new word he could say. Suddenly, now, I can't keep track... my aunt and uncle babysat Shay today and when I got home, they said he said the word "strawberry," which I've never heard him say -- and he said it for me, too, right after pointing out a "ladder" on a fire truck, talking to me about how he was pretend-"digging" the carpet with his "wo-wel" (shovel), and announcing that his frozen teething ring was "cold." In an hour, I heard him say at least five new words that I've never heard him say before. Sometimes, he acts delighted with himself when he says a new word -- I can tell he is excited to be able to communicate, and to be understood. Other times, the words just come right out without him seeming to notice, which makes me think that he thinks he's been saying those words somewhere amidst the sounds that I hear as chattering and babbling -- and that that chattering contains a lot of words and ideas that I'm just not able to understand yet.
In some ways, watching him learn language makes me remember my first experience learning French, when I was 12. We moved to France for six months, and although I knew a few phrases and words of French, when I attended my first days and weeks of the local middle school in our little town, I couldn't understand anything -- I couldn't feel the rhythms of the language yet, and I couldn't understand questions or directions without accompanying sign language. For example, on one of the first days of school, a girl in my class (who remains a good friend to this day) said something to me as we were walking into a classroom -- it was a friendly tone, I could tell, but I couldn't understand the meaning. She repeated herself several times, slowly. I still had no idea what she was saying. Finally, she repeated herself again, slowly, pointing at herself, and then a desk, and then at me, and then at the adjoining desk. Relieved, I nodded, and sat next to her. She tried her best to help me understand with hand gestures and slow repetitions -- and over the next few weeks as she spoke and the other people around me spoke, I slowly began to be able to hear the beginnings and ends of sentences, and to distinguish questions from statements. Then, before understanding the meanings of words, I could hear the beginnings and endings of words. Then, I could understand some of the words -- and then, suddenly, with a click, I could understand everything.
If that "click" of understanding happens with babies learning their first language in the same way that it did for me learning a second language, then I know that I have already watched it happen for Shay -- he has understood and followed complicated ideas and directions for a while now. But I feel like I am watching a new explosion of language happen for him that I can't compare to my own experience learning French. He is exploring his ability to imitate new sounds, to use words to make things happen and get what he wants, to get our attention and to make us laugh. He seems to be learning communication, just as much as he is learning the particular language that we speak in this house.
I can't wait to talk to him tomorrow, and three weeks from now, and three months from now, and three years from now. He seems to have some stuff to say.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Big Brother!
We're excited -- and I'm joining in the excitement more and more as I begin to feel less and less sick. I wasn't sick for a single day when I was pregnant with Shay, so this all-day morning sickness, heaving every time I encounter a toothbrush, shampoo, or soap, feeling nauseous at the thought of a vegetable or something whole grain or something containing protein, or even just at the thought of entering the kitchen and preparing food, kind of caught me by surprise. Don't get me wrong: I still gained a few pounds in my first trimester, because plain white bagels with butter and plain white pasta with butter and ice cream still sounded just fine.... But I've been able to expand my repertoire of foods this week, which feels good, and the nausea is only in brief passing moments, instead of all the time -- which feels great, as I have to chase around an active toddler all day no matter how I feel!
But I'm sure that taking care of an active toddler and a brand-newborn, and dealing with all that sleep deprivation, will be just fine, right? Right?
Friday, June 24, 2011
Language, and laziness
There is an explosion of new words around here. Lately: tea, bubbles, kid. As in: "I wanna watch that YouTube video of the kid and the bubbles and pretend to drink tea out of Mama's empty cup," which is what is happening as we speak. So yes, this language and this desire stems out of me letting Shay sit on my lap at the computer and watch YouTube videos on one side of the screen while I try to look at e-mail or play my scrabble moves or update this blog on the other side of the screen. I feel mildly guilty about this, like, I know I should be reading to him or taking him to the park or something -- but then, sometimes Mama needs to drink tea and read email for a sec. And, apparently, my lazy behavior is helping him learn new words, right? Right?
Okay, my short companion is shouting "Car!" now, so off I go to the other side of my computer screen to watch the "Cars" trailer for the eleventy millionth time. Hope your summer is educational so far!
Okay, my short companion is shouting "Car!" now, so off I go to the other side of my computer screen to watch the "Cars" trailer for the eleventy millionth time. Hope your summer is educational so far!
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
June so far: reading, and truck-watching
This morning, just after Patrick left the house, I noticed that Seamus was being very quiet, and I couldn't see him from the chair where I was sitting, which can sometimes be a bad omen. But, luckily, nothing precarious was being climbed, nor anything important being shoved into the depths of the diaper bin. Instead, he was sitting in his room by himself, surrounded by a pile of books, reading.
That's my boy! (By "reading," of course, I mean pointing at pictures of fire trucks.)
Now, he is back out in the living room, where he can see trucks and men doing work on the street. About a month ago, some city workers came and dug a huge hole/trench on one side of our corner, exposing a big pipe/water main thing. It took them days and days to dig it up, and every day they would put a big metal slab over their hole and seal the edges with concrete, and then come back in the morning, pry it off, and dig some more, then stand around surveying their work for a few hours, and then dig a little bit more. Then, there was work done on the pipe thingamajig while the nearby fire hydrant sprayed a bunch of water all over the neighborhood, the hole was filled in and resurfaced, and the trucks drove away. Then, two days later, they came back and started digging trenches up the hill and working on pipes up there, and finally got all that filled in a few days ago. This morning, the jackhammers and diggers and dump trucks were back, and they're tearing up a different side of the corner. It seems like poor planning to me; wouldn't it have been more efficient to all the jackhammering/digging at once, and then all the pipe repair work at once, and then all the resurfacing at once? But it is like entertainment central for a toddler: week after week after week of real live trucks, right outside our apartment. Shay keeps running from the front window to the side window, surveying the work. He has two little steps he can stand up on to see out better, and sometimes he has one at each window, but then sometimes he picks one up and carries it to the other window, so that he can have two side-by-side for a while. Variety is the spice of life, I guess.
Anyway, that is what is going on here. That, and I'm staring at about 8 more portfolios of writing that I still need to read -- they are the only thing standing between me and summer vacation, so I know I should just power through them and get it done, but I am at the point where I feel like I can't possibly read any more student work until I've had a vacation.
That's my boy! (By "reading," of course, I mean pointing at pictures of fire trucks.)
Now, he is back out in the living room, where he can see trucks and men doing work on the street. About a month ago, some city workers came and dug a huge hole/trench on one side of our corner, exposing a big pipe/water main thing. It took them days and days to dig it up, and every day they would put a big metal slab over their hole and seal the edges with concrete, and then come back in the morning, pry it off, and dig some more, then stand around surveying their work for a few hours, and then dig a little bit more. Then, there was work done on the pipe thingamajig while the nearby fire hydrant sprayed a bunch of water all over the neighborhood, the hole was filled in and resurfaced, and the trucks drove away. Then, two days later, they came back and started digging trenches up the hill and working on pipes up there, and finally got all that filled in a few days ago. This morning, the jackhammers and diggers and dump trucks were back, and they're tearing up a different side of the corner. It seems like poor planning to me; wouldn't it have been more efficient to all the jackhammering/digging at once, and then all the pipe repair work at once, and then all the resurfacing at once? But it is like entertainment central for a toddler: week after week after week of real live trucks, right outside our apartment. Shay keeps running from the front window to the side window, surveying the work. He has two little steps he can stand up on to see out better, and sometimes he has one at each window, but then sometimes he picks one up and carries it to the other window, so that he can have two side-by-side for a while. Variety is the spice of life, I guess.
Anyway, that is what is going on here. That, and I'm staring at about 8 more portfolios of writing that I still need to read -- they are the only thing standing between me and summer vacation, so I know I should just power through them and get it done, but I am at the point where I feel like I can't possibly read any more student work until I've had a vacation.
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