a day in your life

To Paul: this is how you spent the day you turned 8 months old.

You wake up at 6:20 or so, and Dad gives you a bottle. (We might have one more nursing session in us, but that chapter is pretty much closed.) He brings you downstairs to hang out while we do our morning chores. You grab my hair and squirm, and squeal when I toss you in the air. You clutch my fingers and practice taking steps. I read you a board book about sushi; you try to eat it. You sit in your highchair at the counter while Dad reads the paper beside you.

At 7:30, we bust into the room where Annie is just waking up, and she immediately requests that you sit in her crib. You pull yourself up on the bars and get hugged and kissed for a few minutes. While the girls get dressed, you and Dad romp around the floor and do a little playing with the big stuffed longhorn Gobka and Gamma gave Annie for her birthday.

I know---there's a lot going on here.

I know—there’s a lot going on here.

I take off, and Dad hangs out with you until it’s time for your first nap at 8:15. You sleep for two hours, as usual, and then spend the next couple with Charly, reading, playing, screeching with joy, whatnot. You nap again from 12:15-2:15. In the afternoon, you stroll down South Congress, and she reads to you from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

You're really into this table these days.

You’re really into this table these days.

At 4:30, she puts you down again, and you screech in your crib until after 5. At 6, you’re up again, and join  the family for dinner at the table. It’s a bottle of formula and tiny pieces of broccoli and pork chop.



After dinner, you tail Annie around the house, crawling after her as she races her lawnmower toy across the floor. I decide you crawl like an alligator, limbs wide and belly dragging, but lightning fast. Every time you encounter my legs, you use them to haul yourself up to standing. Safe money is on you walking by the time we’re doing your 10-month log.

Yeah, that's Annie behind you, drinking bath water out of a toy boat.

Yeah, that’s Annie behind you, drinking bath water out of a toy boat.

You enjoy bathtime as usual. Then it’s a clean diaper and time to chew on everything you can get your mitts on in your room, chiefly Duplos. You enjoy a nightcap while playing in the laundry basket.


You ignore my reading of Brown Bear, but go cheerfully to bed while your dad and I sing a clumsy lullaby duet and put both of you in your sleep sacks. You watch us quietly as we say goodnight, turn out the light, and back out of the door.


a day in your life

To Paul: this is how you spent the day you turned 7 months old.

At 12:15, you start crying. I hate to include this in your story since it is not at all representative of your nights these days, but facts are facts, the Trump administration notwithstanding. You cry for half an hour while I bury my head under a pillow and your dad watches you on the monitor, then go back to sleep.

At 5:15, you’re at it again, but wait—it’s actually 6:15 thanks to the time change. So I guess you can get up. Your dad picks you up, and you nurse for half an hour. When you’re full, you start making your new favorite noise at me, sort of a labored buzzing noise. You grin when I make it back. Pleasantries exchanged, you move onto romping.

You scuttle across the bed, and when that territory becomes too small, I lower you by the ankles onto the floor. You explore the room fully, including under the bed. When you tire of your solo adventures, I toss you into the air and we make noises at each other. I suspect your diaper is dirty and make the grave mistake of checking it with my finger. I change you. At 8, we head back into your room to say good morning to Annie, and snuggle you down for your first nap.

We see you again at 9:30. You drink a bottle of milk with Dad and then play with Annie.

We love watching you two play together, even though we have to constantly remind Annie not to step on you.

We love watching you two play together, even though we have to constantly remind Annie not to step on you.

Doug and Kalia arrive with Eleanor and Riley, who goes down for a nap while you play with the big kids. Kalia and Doug both spend some time holding you and marveling at how big and strong you are. You poop again. It’s Dad’s turn.

This picture sort of sums up our lives right now.

This picture sort of sums up our lives right now.

At 11:15, you’re down for another nap. (This is really a strange day for sleep—normally you do 3 regular naps, 8-10, 12-2, and 4-6. I’d blame the time change, but you shifted in the wrong direction.) At 1, you’re back up. You spend some time in Kalia’s lap while I grocery shop and Dad barbeques ribs. You play on the floor in the living room, and pass Annie again as she wakes up from her nap and you go down for your next one at 3. It’s a shorty: you only sleep till 4. We all load up and head to the playground.

Solid hat.

It’s an eclectic outfit, but I think it works.

Dad wears you around, and the two of you head home early to finish up dinner preparations. You poop a third time. In your highchair for dinner, you eat a whole mess of lima beans and suck on a cheese roll. We put you down for a catnap at 6 and wake you up a few minutes past 7. Dad feeds you a big bottle, and we take turns supervising as you rove around the house, sneeze, clutch the table edge to stand and step, spit up, and put everything you can find into your mouth. We finish the day with three rounds of the Curious George Pat-a-Cake book, and I lullaby you into bed. You grouse and howl off and on but finally fall asleep.



a day in your life

To Paul: this is how you spent the day you turned 6 months old.

At 6:03am, your dad picks you up, and you start your breakfast. You’d been coughing—we’ve all been coughing for about three weeks now—but made it past 6am before firmly waking up, thank goodness. Mornings have been a little dicey lately. You lie beside me and munch in determined fashion, then settle in to eat the Sunday paper.

delicious, delicious news

delicious, delicious news

It's a full bed these days.

It’s a full bed these days.

When you grow bored with the news, you begin your calisthenics: kicking, followed by more kicking, then grabbing things and pulling them into your mouth, then finish with kicking. We tote you around for various morning chores, and you join the three of us for breakfast around the table. I feed you morsels of smoked salmon off my fingertips, and you help yourself to half a cherry tomato.

A few minutes before 8, it’s time for your nap. You go right to sleep, snooze until 9:40 or so, and then wake up for second breakfast. We pop you in your car seat and drive up to IKEA to buy you your very own crib. Happy birthday!  What you really wanted was something to chew on.

teaching consumerism

teaching consumerism

You spend the car ride and shopping trip gazing at things quietly while Annie does the talking, but you spice things up at the end by moving your bowels in a significant way. We impulse-buy a dish towel in the checkout line so Dad can soak up some of your exploded poo before it works its way into every pore of the baby bjorn. We maneuver our multiple carts and children to the car, and I mop you down in the hatch.

You remain perfectly chill for all of this.

You remain perfectly chill for all of this.

We drive through In N Out Burger for lunch, and you eat a french fry on the way home. It’s half an hour past your nap time, so Dad races you inside to put you to bed before you slide into over-exhaustion.

We let you sleep for three hours. At 3:30, Dad gets you up and into a clean diaper, and I feed you. We join Dad and Annie in your room, where they’re hard at work building your crib. Well, Dad’s building; Annie’s playing with the hardware and occasionally handing him the screwdriver. You writhe around on the floor, sweep things into your mouth, and watch the action.

This afternoon you are sporting the Keep Calm and Carry On onesie, the emergency outfit that lives in the diaper bag in the event of blowouts.

This afternoon you are sporting the Keep Calm and Carry On onesie, the emergency outfit that lives in the diaper bag in the event of blowouts.

Annie loves you a lot.

Annie loves you a lot.

Once your crib is completed, Annie takes over entertaining you, presenting you with toys and blowing her lips for your amusement. At 5:30, you go down for another nap while the rest of the family eats dinner, and you’re up for a final round at 6:45. Dad plays with you while I give Annie a quick bath, and then you and I adjourn for a final meal. You prefer to nurse on your hands and knees, like a pig at a trough, and when you’re not doing that, you’re grabbing hard fistfuls of my face with your strong little hands. I don’t think I’m going to be all that wistful about the end of the breastfeeding, let’s just say.

In our last hour, you squirm around the bed, sucking on a toothpaste tube, a hair clip, dental floss, and some actual toys. Because it’s your birthday, I give you tiny drops of ice cream. You grab the spoon and slowly draw it to your mouth, then grimace but look at me for more. I bounce you on my legs and hold your hands so you can stand up and practice taking steps. You love this. At 8, Dad changes your diaper, reads you a story, and lullabies you into your brand-new bed.

a day in your life

To Paul: this is how you spent the day you turned 4 months old.

You sleep downstairs, in a pack-and-play in the TV room; we moved you out of ours about a week ago to begin sleep training, and you’ll be rooming with Annie as soon as your nightly schedules align. I hear you crying at 3:20 am, but we’re on The Program, so I just watch you squirm on the baby monitor until you fall asleep again at 3:40. We repeat the drill from 5-5:20. If you’d cried for a few minutes longer, I would have gone down to reassure you that you are not alone in the world, but it’s really better for everyone if you can find your own way back to sleep. Your ability to do this is developing rapidly. Your parents are almost normal, rested human beings again.

This is what breakfast looks like most days.

You’re wearing a bib because you drool, A LOT.

At 6:15, almost 10 hours after you went to bed, you are up for the day. We cuddle up in bed for your breakfast as the sun rises. You kick and coo as I read you snatches of the paper; then I take you down to Dad while I get myself together. The rest of the family eats breakfast while you hang out in your pillow throne. Annie and I leave for school/work, and Dad puts you down at 8:15, a little early for your first nap. An hour later, you’re up and eating, and then you head to the pediatrician with Dad for your 4-month well visit. You weigh in at 16.5 pounds. Your head remains in the 95th percentile.


on the exam table

Our usual doctor is out, so Dad has a long conversation with the nurse practitioner while you sit on him and peace out. You handle all your poking and prodding well, but your mood is beginning to fray by the time the nurse shows up with the shots. Oy. You do not approve of being stuck with needles. Your Dad describes your reaction as “absolutely the worst scream I’ve ever heard him make.” Much jiggling later, you’re falling asleep in the carseat, headed home to Charly for an overdue nap while Dad dashes off to work.

You have a rough day with Charly, probably due to shots and short naps. Standing in your bouncer for the first time distracts you from your rage, and you manage a decent afternoon nap.

Dad and Annie come home a few minutes after 5 to general chaos. Sous freaks out; Dad rushes around to make dinner while toting Annie, who refuses to be put down; Charly holds you and feeds Sous dinner. At 5:30, you fall instantly asleep for your scheduled nap. You wake after 45 minutes but stay in bed for another 15 while Dad finishes Annie’s bath. (I am away all evening at a work event.) On the way down to rescue you from bassinet-prison, Annie misses the last step on the stairs, bonks her head, and starts screaming. You, too, are screaming. Dad rescues you both. He gives you a small bottle while Annie sits on the couch with you and tries making video calls.


Dad is a rockstar.

Annie goes to bed at 7, and you have Dad all to yourself. The two of you hang out on our bed, and you work on your furious kicks. When you’re too cranky to stay awake any longer, Dad puts you to bed with The Belly Button Book and a song. It’s 8:20.

Fifteen minutes later, I get home and scoop you back up. You’re more than half-asleep and all instincts, but you know what to do, and drink until your belly is taut. I lay you back down and tiptoe out. 9pm.

a day in your life

To Paul: this is how you spent the day you turned 2 months old.

Four hours after grudgingly agreeing to sleep, you wake at 1:30am for a first meal. Your Dad does transport and diaper changes; I provide the grub. You slip peacefully back to sleep after 20-30 minutes, and so do we. We see you again at about 4:45 for another meal, and eek out another hour or so of sleep after that. You wake for the day at 7:45, protesting loudly from your bassinet in the closet, where you’re cocooned in our sound-dampening clothes and comforting scents for the nights.

Halfway through your meal.

Here you are halfway through a meal. When I straighten you up to switch sides, you simultaneously growl-belch and poop. You are kind of disgusting.

I feed you your third breakfast in the armchair in the corner of our bedroom. Everyone visits: your sister climbs onto a footstool to pet your head; Sous stops by to give your face a quick swipe with her tongue, and Dad checks in to make sure we’ve got everything we need. After he and Annie leave for school, you and I coo at each other, wander around the house doing a few chores, and bounce along to Creedence Clearwater and the White Stripes. At 9, you’re in your swing, zipped up in your swaddle sack with a fresh diaper, and falling asleep.

After an unconscionably short nap (30 minutes), you pry your eyes open. I cower in the corner of the room, stuffing pads into your cloth diapers and hoping you’ll drift off again. When you don’t, I get you up and feed you breakfast #4 at 10, now to the tune of Charles Mingus and Willy Nelson. Our housecleaner Alicia arrives about half an hour later, so I take you out for a walk in hopes that you’ll nap again in the carrier. You do.

You are the pink lump.

You are the pink lump with the tiny toes.

At 11:45 I hand off your care to nanny Charly. She gives you a lunch bottle and hangs out with you for an hour. When it’s time for you to sleep again, she puts you back into your swing, and you nap peacefully in a dark room until a loud noise (Sous?) wakes you at 4. I change your diaper and feed you dinner #1 while entertaining you with tidbits about the presidential election (Hillary Clinton now has an 88% chance of winning, thank the stars).

hanging out in my lap

smiling in my lap

Annie gets home and immediately wants to visit you, so she and Charly join us on the bed for cuddles and romping. Then Charly hangs onto you for a bit while the rest of us work on dinner.

Charly and Paul

Charly shows off your chunks. You weighed in at 12 lbs 10 oz at your 2-month check up, a bit above average. Your head is still in the 96th percentile.

At 5:15 Dad takes you upstairs to start another nap, and you scream bloody murder at him for 15 minutes before nodding off. You wake up in time to say goodnight to your sister. Then you (surprise!) eat, and you and I hang out on the bed, cuddling and smiling, mainly. A few minutes after 8, you’re drifting off to dinner #3, so I set you up in your closet palace and rock the bassinet for 10 minutes until you’ve stopped squirming. Alas, you are not asleep, so Dad tags in and heads off fussing with 30 more minutes of rocking. At 8:45, we call it.

a day in your life

To Paul: this is how you spent the day you turned 1 month old.

At 1:30am, you start to squawk, and Dad lifts you out of your bedside bassinet for a diaper change. You’ve been asleep for nearly 5 hours—not bad at all. Dad lays you down next to me in bed, and you nurse frantically, then steadily, for a solid half hour. You get another new diaper and zipped into your swaddle sack on your way to the other side, and spend another half hour there.

lounging in bed as the sun rises

lounging in bed as the sun rises

By 3am, you’re back to sleep, but up again at 5:15 after some raucous pooping. You nurse and doze beside me; we both nap, cuddled up in bed; and then you’re awake again for more feeding, and pooping, and wet-burping. You’re in that fluid-focused phase of life. When it’s finally a civilized time to get up, we head downstairs, and you sit in your swing and make eyes at the ceiling fan while your Dad and I have a quick breakfast. We relocate to the dining room when your sister joins us, and you sit in the crook of my leg, up against my chest, and cradled in my arms as we finish breakfast and read the paper. Annie points to you delightedly every few minutes (“Be-ee?”) to remind us that you are here, and you are a baby.

We typically try to get you to sleep after you’ve been awake for an hour or so, when you’re starting to get sleepy but aren’t yet angry about it, so at 8:30 I zip you into your sack, put you in your bassinet, and start you rocking. Fifteen minutes later, you’re asleep but need to keep rocking to stay that way.  It took you a few weeks to arrive at this point, but you are now officially a subscriber to the Always Be Jiggling philosophy. You nap for 45 minutes. Dad mows the lawn; I do a little yoga and return to find your eyes open. They say, “yeah, I could eat.” You do.

first nap of the day in your puppy bassinet

first nap of the day in your puppy bassinet

Dad takes over your care and attempts to rock you into a second and hopefully longer nap. You do not cooperate. We spend the afternoon rocking you into submission, feeding you, and entertaining ourselves as best we can. At 3 or so, you finally drop into a sound long nap.

your daily log (today is Monday)

your daily log (today is Monday)

At 6:45pm, you wake up, and Dad feeds you a bottle (I’m off at a Board meeting) The two of you hang out and have another little nap before a final top-off meal. You make your goodnight at 9; we zip you into your swaddle sack, lay you in your puppy, and you drift off.

I feel pretty confident that next month’s log will be more interesting.