Most Babies are Born Bald for Good Reason

Wherever we go, people stop us to comment on Lucy's hair. Since I see her all of the time, I forget that most babies don't come into this world looking like they're wearing a wig. Other mothers wistfully stare at the little bows in Lucy's hair. One even told me about using toothpaste to keep her daughter's bow in. And yes, at times like these, I feel lucky, special even.

You see, MY munchkin always stands out in a crowd. Each day when I walk through the door of daycare, it's easy to spot her among the other precious baldies. I'll usually spy her shock of dark brown hair right away, and I always feel as if I could burst with joy.

Yesterday, when I walked into Lucy's room, I looked around and immediately the phrase "One of these Things is not Like the Others" came to mind. I spotted Lucy and yes she stood out among the other babies. But for different reasons--MY little precious bundle was the ONLY baby in the classroom with socks on her hands.

When she realized I was there to get her, she looked over at me, attempting to put her little sock hands in her mouth. For an instant, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Her teacher looked at me with hesitation and even a bit of fear as she said, "We had to put socks on her hands to keep her from pulling her hair. She's got a strong grip." I don't know if they thought I would be angry or if they thought I would accuse them of some strange form of baby punishment. Really, I just wondered why I hadn't thought of that brilliant idea myself.

Now, I'm feeling confused. Do I invest in more socks in order to color coordinate Lucy's outfits? What rules of fashion apply? Should socks on both hands and feet match? Should I coordinate the color of the hand socks to her shirt and the foot socks to her pants? Is it still considered a fashion faux pas if the white socks you're wearing with black pants are on your hands rather than your feet? So many questions, yet so little has been written about hand sock fashion sensibilities.

The moral of my story? For all you mothers who wish your babies had more hair: be glad you only have to worry about what sticky substance you're going to use to get that little bow to stay in and not how to color coordinate your infant's hand and foot socks. :-)

Not a Fan of the Lobster

Before having Lucy, I was a smug single. I'd visit restaurants with various friends and enjoy my quiet dinners. If by some chance there happened to be a wailing child sitting in the vicinity, my disdain was evident. What nerve did THOSE people have ruining MY dinner? Last weekend, I became THOSE people.

Our Saturday started off pleasant enough. We drove up toward the mountains to a tiny little place called Pumpkintown for their annual fall festival. The drive was gorgeous. Lucy slept and continued to sleep as we strolled her around. She even slept through the annual pole-climbing contest, which basically involves a bunch of people attempting to climb up a crisco-greased utility pole to grab a flag--but I digress.

As we headed home, I suddenly felt the urge to "Set My Sails for Kingfish." But sadly, the only Kingfish restaurants are a good 400 miles away. Instead, I told Jamie I'd like to go to Red Lobster for dinner. Lucy sat in her carseat smiling and looking around while we waited for a table.

Soon enough we were seated. That's when things took a turn---a bad, bad turn. We'd been sitting for less than 5 minutes when the first whimpers began. I quickly offered Lucy her pacifier. Immediately, she looked at me, gagged, and spit it right back out. Her whimpers became louder, and the squirming began. Maybe she just needs her diaper changed, I thought. I ordered my food and then whisked her off to the bathroom. I wasn't too concerned. We'd been out to eat many times, and she'd always been perfectly pleasant.

I got back to my seat, planning to rock my little furry-headed angel until she drifted to sleep. But as soon as I sat down, what were once whimpers became loud cries. My face getting hot as others at the tables around us shot us subtle glances, I tried my litany of calming techniques. But nothing worked. My mind began to race:

Ok, I'll feed her, I thought. I can handle it. I'm armed with my cover-up. So what if this restaurant is right next door to a bastion of modesty? I'm a modern woman. We live in a free society. If I want to feed my daughter, damn it, I should be able to. It's perfectly natural.

I tried desperately to maneuver myself into place. Yet Lucy's cries became wails. And as I fumbled to offer her what she wanted, I looked up to find a very large and very unpleasant looking man staring at me. Forget it, I said. I scooped my screaming baby up and made the walk of shame out of the restaurant.

But an odd thing happened. As soon as we crossed the threshhold to freedom, Lucy stopped crying. By the time we got to the car, Lucy was looking around smiling. I fed her and eagerly anticipated going back in to finally eat.

Walking back into the restaurant, everyone marveled at the sweet little sleeping baby. I put my little pumpkin back into her carseat and began to eat my food which had gotten cold. For the record, tepid shrimp scampi isn't so tasty. Less than a minute after sitting down, Lucy's eyes opened. She scanned the room, took note of her surroundings, furrowed her brow, and immediately let out a wail. Just get the check! I told Jamie. We've got to get out of here!

We hurriedly packed up and made the walk of shame once again. Yet as soon as we crossed the magic line into the night air, Lucy stopped crying. This time, before we even made it to our car, she was sleeping soundly, which she continued to do for the next few hours.

Now, some may say that we just had a case of a baby fighting sleep. But I disagree. My theory? Red Lobster is some sort of portal into newborn baby hell. One thingI do know for sure: there will be no Red Lobster in our foreseeable future.

Memories of Starlight

Looking back on childhood, some of my fondest memories are of my mom taking my brother Patrick and I to Huber's Farm in Starlight, Indiana. Though I know we went during other times of the year, it's those autumn visits that were the most fun.

Back then, going to Huber's was a big deal. We would pack up the car and head out on what seemed an endless road trip. Winding around the mountainous roads, Patrick and I would work to find creative ways to kill the time-sometimes by picking on each other!

As kids, Huber's offered a feast for the senses. We would gorge ourselves on cheese, summer sausage, tart apples, and homemade pumpkin ice cream. We were perfectly content feeding crusty bread crumbs to the fish down at the pond while waiting for the next hayride to take us out into the fields to pick pumpkins (We usually didn't buy one. "I'm not paying Huber's prices for the same pumpkins the farmer down the street charges less than half for!" my Nanny was particularly fond of saying). After the hayride, we would make our way into the old-fashioned market. After being out in the chill, autum-in-Indiana air, the warmth of the market and scent of freshly baked apple fritters enveloped us. Mom would give us $5 each, and we'd peruse the store picking out $.10 candy sticks for grandaddy, a jar or two of apple butter, and a gallon of Huber's famous apple cider. The day was complete only when we were sufficiently stuffed, happy, and ready for a nap.

Last weekend, I went to Huber's again, only this time I was the parent taking my child. As we headed over to Huber's, I couldn't help but notice how quickly the trip went by. What used to seem like hours was merely 30 minutes. Those "mountains" I remembered from childhood, while still impressive in height for the Midwest, were nothing more than hills.

Pulling into Huber's grassy parking lot, my excitment grew. Yet as I looked around, I felt my heart would break. An intense yearning for my mom took my breath away. How much I wished she could be there with us. That she could meet Lucy and hold her and cover her with kisses. I wanted her to be with us as we took pictures of Lucy on the pumpkins, as we savored our ice cream out in the crisp autumn air. I wanted her to push Lucy in the stroller down by the lake and hold her in her lap on a hayride out into the pumpkin fields.

It's funny how motherhood changes you. How many times did I hear "You'll never understand until you're a mother?" And now I do. As we walked around Huber's making new memories, I thought about mom and how she must've loved watching our glee as kids at Huber's. And I thought about how difficult it must've been for her to know that she would have to say goodbye.

Nothing Sweeter

Yesterday, after a long, stressful 10 hours of work, Jamie stumbled home tired and deflated. He came through the front door with his usual greeting to the dogs and made his way into the kitchen where I was managing to put together salads while balancing Lucy in one arm. "How was work?" I asked, knowing full well what his answer would be. "Busy..." he responded, hardly audible. Suddenly, I felt a stab of guilt. Though being at home with Lucy can be tiring and even trying during times of extreme fussiness, spending hours cuddling my sweet little pumpkin is priceless. I thought of the contrast between my day and Jamie's day. While I nibble on little baby toes and lose myself in our daughter's slate blue-gray eyes, Jamie spends his time solving network problems. And while I'm confident in my connection with our baby, in the past few weeks as he's come home from work later and later, I know he has questioned whether or not Lucy even knows he's her dad. But all of that changed in one indescribably beautiful moment last night. When he bent down to kiss her head, he said "Hey little girl, daddy missed you so much today." But instead of looking past him, Lucy looked him in the eyes and smiled. Not the little half smile of newborns--this smile lit up her entire face as she stared into her dad's eyes. And she continued to smile as her dad scooped her up into his arms, saying, "You really do know I'm your daddy. That makes my day." Suddenly, all of the stress melted away and for the first time in the weeks since Lucy came, Jamie could soak up every ounce of the joy of being a dad.

Giving Into the Dreaded "P" Word

As an inherently guilt-ridden person, I should have known that parenthood would bring about a whole new meaning to the word. Yesterday, after three days of watching Lucy attempt to force her little balled up fist into her mouth, listening as she made loud sucking sounds, and cringing in pain as my little "barracuda nurser" spent hours upon hours comfort nursing, I finally gave in to the dreaded "P" word. After what seemed to be a particularly dramatic crying spell, Jamie had taken our little raven-haired beauty upstairs in an attempt to soothe her. When the house became strangely quiet, I made my way upstairs to the bedroom only to find my husband lying on his back with Lucy vigorously sucking on his pinkie. In a moment mixed with desperation, frustration, a bit of disgust mixed with horror, and overwhelming guilt, I tore open the various packages of silicon goodness and popped the first of these objects into her mouth. Suddenly there was blessed silence--immediately followed by gagging, crying, and more gagging. For a moment, the guilt was crushing. As I reached down to cradle my little soprano whose voice is often at its finest at 4 am, I decided to give it another try. I reached for the next selection, this one sporting a fashionable turquoise trim and gingerly tickled her lips. To my absolute, albeit guilty, delight, the silence was golden. The three of us lay in bed for the next hour, Jamie watching old episodes of Heroes on his laptop, Lucy laying in between us contently watching her daddy, and me watching as my little one happily sucked on her Pacifier. At long last, I had given in.

Some musings on time...

Before Lucy arrived, everyone always told me to treasure each and every second of time with her because children grow up before you know it. And though I feel foolish saying this, yesterday I cried when I realized how quickly my two-week-old is already growing up. Yes, perhaps it's the hormones, but when I went to change Lucy's diaper and saw that her little dried (and a bit disgusting) umbilical cord had finally fallen off, I started crying. Yes, I know I'm being a bit dramatic. I mean, Lucy is only two weeks old. I still have plenty of time to savor each and every little toothless yawn and grin while she's sleeping. But seeing her cord come off, I realized just how precious this time is. On Saturday, she'll be three week's old. Before I know it, it'll be time for me to go back to work and then the time will really begin to fly. It's ironic that during my pregnancy, I couldn't wait for time to pass. I would mark each passing day on my calendar, silently urging them by. Now, I find myself willing time to slow down. I suppose all I can do is savor each and every precious moment with my little girl and not feel guilty for letting the dishes sit in the sink as the dustballs accumulate on the floor. The hours upon hours I sit in the recliner holding Lucy and staring into her eyes aren't wasted time. After all, as T.S. Eliot once wrote, "Time you enjoyed wasting is not wasted time." And I've thoroughly enjoyed "wasting" each and every second!

Baby's first Target trip awwww

Oh my goodness. The little lady isn't even a week old yet and she's been indoctrinated into the goodness that is Target.

Mom was a little worried about taking the little lady out but I think she'll be OK. We only let two homeless men hold her so she should be fine and free of disease for now. One of the men had a bit of an oozing sore but he assured me the folks at the free-clinic said it was nothing. He was nice enough so I figured what the heck.

Mom, a self-confessed Target-Fiend(tm) shed a tear as her little shopper-to-be crossed that magical threshold near the dollar items.

We're so proud.

In all seriousness, today was the second time we've taken her out because, well, we were getting a little stir crazy here in the house. Being the google-freak that I am, I tried to find opinions online for when it's ok for a proper trip out with a newly birthed earthling. And of course, since it's the Internet every whackjob out there can publish info (I'm not being elitist and excluding myself here :-) ). The info I found online ran the gammut from 6 weeks, to people talking about going to a Phish concert on the way home from the hospital (sweet).

So today Lucy got to meet her Great Grandpa Copeland down at the family hardware store in Clinton, SC and also spent some time with my own dad and my niece Lexie who was just about as sweet as she could be today.

Oh, and she went to Target.

-Jamie