Your Spitty Baby

Some pregnant ladies are all about the childbirth classes. I, for one, focused on the childcare classes. I figured (rightly so) that I would be surrounded by medical professionals when the time came. When we came home with the kid, however, all bets would be off.

I also indulged in a few childcare books. Sheryl gave me the apparently government mandated What To Expect In the First Year Book (which she scored at Goodwill for $1), but the book I bonded with the most was Your Happy Baby. The subtitle of YHB is, Massage, Yoga, Aromatherapy And Other Gentle Ways to Blissful Babyhood. I know, I know: it just screams Flakey. I surprised myself, however, with how much difference the aromatherapy advice made, at least to me and Mike if not to the kid. Also, the baby massage techniques, while not having the dramatic results described in the book, were helpful to a 40 year old woman who had never even played with dolls much less babysat. I needed advice on and permission to handle my kid and the book made some good suggestions.

So when Donny was fussy tonight--one hour after a bottle and 20 minutes after a nap, I decided to try Tiger in the Tree pose. This is where you hold your baby on his stomach with one wrist between his legs and that hand on his belly, the onter wrist alongside his neck, hand spread out over his chest. From there you swing him gently back and forth. It worked really well and he quieted right down. And then he spit up at least 1/2 a bottle's worth of formula, all over me, himself and the kitchen floor.

Parents; don't let your kids overdrink, liquor or Enfamil.

"Awwww, Applesauce!"

My husband and I are both big music geeks; the running joke, in fact, is that I/he had to marry him/me as we did'nt know anyone else who had as many albums. That's vinyl, for all you cool, cool kids out there.

It should come as no surprise then that having a kid is our excuse to go nuts on the music. Granted, its a new world now where if you only want one song you only need to buy one song. No more collateral vinyl damage cluttering up the back room, alas.

That all being said, I've been working hard on two mixes for the boy. One is The Sleepy Baby Mix and the other is called "Applesauce!" which is yet another Little Rascals/Our Gang reference. "Applesauce!" is all old songs either by the original artist or, if that wasn'nt possible, by a good old vintage sounding artist. All of these songs are available on either eMusic or iTunes.

But will someone please explain to me why Ray Charles' country western stuff isn't available online? I know it's a time of war and all but that seems a rather extreme sacrifice to make to digitization...

Anyway, here are the lists--please feel free to copy cat as necessary:

"Applesauce!"
Swinging on a Star/ Doris Day with Les Brown and his Orchestra
When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin' Along/ Claude Sweeten
Yes Sir, That's My Baby/ Cliff Edwards
The Yodeling Cowboy/ Roy Rogers and the Sons of the Pioneers
Ain't We Got Fun?/ Edwin LeMar
April Showers/ Claude Sweeten
Big Rock Candy Mountain/ Roy Rogers and the Sons of the Pioneers
By the Light of the Silvery Moon/ Ray Noble
The Sheik of Araby/ The All Star Sextette
Shine on Harvest Moon/ Jerry Gray and His Orchestra
Drill Ye Tarriers Drill/ Cisco Houston
Home on the Range/ Pete Seeger
Wabash Cannon Ball/ Doc Watson
Don't Fence Me In/ Gene Autry
Deep in the Heart of Texas/ Gene Autry
Dry Bones/ Elder Charles Beck
Keep A Knockin' But You Can't Come In/ Milton Brown and His Orchestra
Rag Mop/ Ames Brothers
Ain't Nobody Here but us Chickens/ Louis Jordan
Yes, We Have No Bananas/ Louis Prima
Jingle Jangle Jingle/ Sons of the Pioneers
The Teddy Bear's Picnic/ Hal Hall and the BBC Orchestra
On the Trail of the Lonesome Pine/ Laurel and Hardy

Uh oh. Kid's squawkin'. More later.

My Son The Gorgon

I decided to steal my friend Amy's idea of having a blog about her baby (see the Stelladot link that I've thoughtfully provided in the link list on the right) as it seems like a great way to keep people up to date on how this crazy new life of ours is going. I can sum up that craziness by saying I mistakenly bought shampoo with conditioner thinking I was just buying shampoo and, let me tell you, those extra 45 seconds I save every morning not doing conditioner separately--it makes all the difference, my friends.



So to jump right into the overshare: Donovan decided last week that he was done with the breastfeeding. Before you judge my 3 1/2 month old son too harshly, understand that his old mother is has not proven to be the Hoover Dam of Breastmilk that she thought she would be. Apparently, low milk production is a side effect of high blood pressure (note to self: take high blood pressure pills before you go to bed). Add to that the fact that all the feedings he's getting at day care are bottle based and you can understand why he might decide to forgo. What got me, however, was the face he would make anytime I'd try to breastfeed him. Mike and I call it "The Face of Abject Horror" and it reminds me of this:

The good news is that, all of the sudden, he's decided breastfeeding is not fatal. I get the feeling he's just doing it to be polite, but that's better than Abject Horror.



Last week, Mike and I went out to a tapas bar for our anniversary and left the boy with the Pittsburgh grandparents. I don't know what magic fairydust they mixed with his Enfamil but the fussy baby we left on their doorstep was'nt there when we went to get him. In his place was a happy, smiling baby who was babbling away to his grandmother, kicking at all the plush bugs dangling above his playmat. He has'nt stopped babbling since--I like it.