Skipping Town

It’s finally warming up. That’s a funny statement on many levels—mostly because the “cold” we’ve been having hasn’t been colder than low-40s, with most afternoons getting into the low-50s. But to this Californian—and by “Californian” I’m referring to the fact that my blood, now thin as water after two and half years, makes me so—it’s been cold, cold, cold. I can’t seem to warm up. It could be because it’s rained nearly every day for two weeks, making everything damp and chilly, or because I can’t seem to stop losing weight. (It was fun to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans again…and now they once again don’t fit—for the opposite reason). Whatever the case, Skeleton Mommy here is quite glad to see the sun for the second day in a row. I think Lucia is going through a growth spurt. Once a through-the-night sleeper, she’s now waking up twice to eat. And she’s been fussy the past couple of days, refusing to breastfeed—I think she’s just so hungry she wants a no-work-needed bottle. This makes m...

Tomorrow morning, Andrew and I (and Lucia) are going somewhere new and exciting: marriage class. Yes, marriage class—as in Catholic pre-marriage counseling classes, even though we’re already married. Well, to us and the government, we’re married. To the church, we are not. And so, as part of my “return to the church” (i.e., doing what I have to do to get Lucia baptized), Andrew and I are going to get a convalidation—an official recognition of our marriage by the church. And this will involve three sessions with the deacon. My meeting with the deacon on Wednesday actually went very well. He didn’t ask any probing questions about why I haven’t been going to church for the past ten-plus years, and there was, fortunately, no reason for me to discuss my views on gay marriage, abortion, or contraception. Get the convalidation, go to confession, schedule the baptism for Lucia—and that’s that. He’s making the whole thing quite easy, and so I can’t complain too much about the classes (I’ll leav...

Aside from when Lucia is napping or asleep for the night, there are very, very few moments during the day when Andrew and I are not interacting with her in some way. We play on her floor gym; we do tummy time; we chirp at ourselves in the bathroom mirror; we swat at things in our bouncy chair; we read; we make faces at each other on the couch; we feed; we walk around the house; we look out the window; we lie on the bed. But sometimes, sometimes, I deign to multitask. This morning, as Lucia played on her floor gym, batting around jingling objects, I ate some nut bread and tried to read the paper. I was right on the floor next to her, but, I admit, I was not gazing at her intently. Suddenly, the jingling stopped, and I looked over. Lucia was giving me a slight baby-frown. Then she turned her eyes to the newspaper, and I swear she gave it a dirty look. She was not the center of attention, and she was not amused. Later today, as she was breastfeeding intently, I slowly, surreptitiously, re...

I went to church on Sunday on a reconnaissance mission. Andrew and I have agreed (or, rather, I proposed and Andrew amiably went along with it) that Lucia should be baptized, and so I found a local Catholic church and went to check it out. The logistics of a baptism are challenging, seeing as how I’m a lapsed Catholic, Andrew’s not baptized at all, we were married outside the church, and we’re not members of a parish. And the reasons for pursuing it are murky, even to me, even though I do feel it’s the right thing to do—despite the fact that the things Andrew and I will teach her are at odds with most, or all, of current church doctrine. An unwise perusal of the Catholics Come Home website last night, where I read that not only are homosexual unions “disordered” but childless married couples are as well, reminded me that for a liberal-minded person living in 2010, being a Catholic necessarily means cherry-picking from the less astonishingly outdated and intolerant parts of the faith. B...

We’re hitting a kind of stride, Lucia and I. We have fewer fussy days than splendid smiley ones; we have a quasi-schedule of naps and playtime. We’ve even been getting out of the house together. And I’ve been getting lots of work done. It’s been a good week. The weak link in all of this is the feeding. For weeks we’d been doing wonderfully—and then, on Tuesday, for an unknown reason, Lucia embarked on a one-day nursing strike. She refused to breastfeed, would scream when she got anywhere near the breast, and generally did her best to give her mama a nervous breakdown. I pumped and bottle-fed her all day. The next day, she was back to normal. Who knows why it happened? In any case, I worry quite a bit about whether she’s eating enough, whether I’m producing enough, whether her naps are too long, whether she should be eating more frequently, for longer periods of time, and so on and so on. I feel mildly—well, not mildly; fully—obsessed with her eating, and each time she latches on and nu...

After weeks of screaming and blatant looks of hatred and disgust, Lucia has finally come around to tummy time. Her ability to roll over seems to have transformed things for her; whether it’s “fun” for her to roll over isn’t quite clear, but it’s certainly not unpleasant, and she even smiles now when she does it. This weekend, we also bought her a mirror to encourage her to keep her head elevated for longer periods of time—and she loves it. She stares at herself, smiles, gurgles. She and her reflection blow spit bubbles together. It’s adorable. Here's our first video uploading attempt:

We made it! Our first night sans-papa was uneventful—which, when Fusskins takes such pleasure in dramatically grand and prolonged entrances, is a good thing. Lucia was a little angel all day and all night. Thursday morning, we went to a baby-and-mama workout class, where she sat peacefully in her car seat while some of the other babies cried and cried (the roles, surely, will be reversed at some point). She was wary when Julie, the teacher, greeted her, giving her a serious, appraising stare that made her look older than twelve weeks. For the rest of the day she napped when I wanted her to, ate peacefully when she wanted to, and went to bed with nary a Fusskins in sight. Friday was fine as well; these regular naps—two hours each, morning and afternoon—seem to be working wonders. She’s more cheerful when she’s up, content to sit on my lap and read books, dance with me to a variety of songs, and roll over again and again on her blanket on the floor. It seems to be getting more fun for he...

Little Lucia, You’re three months old today, becoming more baby-like and less infant-like by the day. We’re marking your three-month milestone with a milestone for me, too: my first time alone with you overnight. Daddy’s on a business trip all day today and most of tomorrow, so it’s just you and me. Will you understand someday how scared I am about this endeavor? It’s such unreasonable anxiety—if you cry, well, you’ve cried before, and you always stop crying eventually. I’ve cleared my work schedule today so all I have to focus on is you. You, and maintaining my sanity. I’m fine so far and am determined to, as your dad so kindly says, “get out in front of it” should I start feeling overwhelmed. You have a new trick: rolling over from tummy to back. You did this once or twice before Christmas, but now you do it consistently. You always look a little surprised when it happens, but today you looked a little pleased, too. When you’re on your back you can roll firmly onto your side—surely i...

We’re back from the holidays, tired but happy after a lovely and lengthy two weeks in the villes of Jackson and Connell. Lucia handled the flights—all six of them—with as much suavity as an eleven-week-old can muster; she cried only a couple of times on the descent, but otherwise slept quietly in her sling for most of the time, occasionally waking up to nurse. She was all but invisible. It was fun introducing her to new family and friends, and she handled her change of surroundings quite well—even sleeping through the night for eight straight hours, which is more than she’d been doing here at home. And she’s all smiles these days, and a bundle of adorable coos, and everyone—in both of our families—is convinced she can say “Hi.” Today was a rough day—Fusskins seems to have found her way out of the suitcase and blessed me with a day of more or less constant fussing and crying—so I’m ready for bed. But here are a few pictures from our trip. A reluctant winter princess Zen master Molly, en...