all this useless media

reader, can you pick out all the unfashionable media* in the photo below?

*that'd be: records, laserdiscs, magazines, tapes, tape deck, record player (under that blue cover on the right side there) and laserdisc player (under the record player). also pictured, though only glancingly so: compact discs (baby x is marshaling his considerable skill and concentration to extract a cd case from the shelf).   new media what now?

wherein the subject of breasts is visited

baby x is now nearly 10 months old (!), a fact for which the baron and the husband are grateful.  he's healthy and happy and wanting to explore more and more of the world.  he's now eating solid food, real solid food, the kind of food that makes the husband occasionally say, as he looks longingly into baby x's food bowl, 'that looks good.  if he doesn't finish it, i will.' 

the baron spends at least two days a week planning and cooking and freezing meals for baby x, and he's now into adventurous fare like broccoli, rice and cheese casseroles and indian spiced lentil stew.  it's an exciting time for the baron and the husband, watching baby x taste new things FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME, and for baby x, for whom everything is exciting and potentially the best thing he ever ate.  he mostly likes everything, even (or especially) the addition of herbs and spices to his meals. 

however.  all this excitement comes with a seemingly insignificant side effect, seemingly insignificant if you are anyone but the baron.

because baby x is now eating three meals a day plus snacks, the baron doesn't nurse him very often anymore.  she went, in rather short order, from nursing him 10-12 times per day to their current schedule of no more than 4-5 nursing sessions per day.  nine months ago, when her breasts weren't in great shape (you know, reader: tearing, bleeding and other kinds of baby-induced traumas), she would have given anything for the nursing experience to be over.  she often thought, in those early days, that breastfeeding for an entire year (as is recommended by the american academy of pediatrics and also EVERYONE ELSE THE BARON ASKED ABOUT IT) seemed like a ridiculous goal, one that she was certain to fall short of.

but.

now nine months on, she's quite good at nursing; it's become second nature for her, and for baby x.  now, breasts healed and anxiety about 'is baby x eating enough?  AM I STARVING HIM?' mostly abated, she's a bit sad about their diminished bonding time.  it's normal, she knows: as he eats more solid food, he drinks less breast milk. 

she says to friends that she's looking forward to baby x's first birthday, the one year mark, the day she can start him on dairy milk.  this is partly true: it will certainly be easier to provide dairy milk to him on a long trip - or even a short one - than to breast feed him.  except that there's a part of her, a not-very-small-part of her, that's looking forward with sadness, waiting to mourn the end of this special time.  crazy, eh?

on the move

no, really.

baby x is on the move.

that time at the orthopedist's office

the baron and the husband and baby x spent a good part of their morning yesterday at an orthopedic surgeon's office, in way-far-out-there maryland. they were there on behalf of baby x, by way of referral from his pediatrician. the fat folds on his chubby legs are asymmetrical, which may indicate a wee bit of trouble in his hips.*

in the waiting room, baby x crawled about on the floor upending magazine baskets and chewing on backpack straps. also in the waiting room was an elderly woman and her black-and-blue eyed son (upon whom, apparently, a tree branch fell). the woman sat down near them, opened her bag, and extracted a small beanie baby toy. this beanie baby - a floppy eared dog - had seen better, cleaner days.

'can i give this to him?' she said, gesturing toward baby x.

with as much grace as she could muster, the baron offered the woman effusive thanks for the kind gesture, but said that the toy was a bit on the small side for baby x. in her mind, in her in-my-mind-voice, the baron thought, 'WHEW. bullet dodged THERE, eh? well done, the baron! no strange toys from strangers for baby x!' she cast a sidelong glance at the husband and imagined him giving her a psychic pat on the back.

but.

the woman had a counter offer, one that the baron could by no means have anticipated.

she said, 'i have a plastic bag full of toys in the car. i have a very big teddy bear in there, would he like that? would he like a teddy bear?'

the baron said, '...', followed by, '...'

in her mind, in her in-my-mind-voice, the baron thought, 'what the what?!'

[reader, let's pause this scene for one minute. usually, the baron isn't so much a fan of people. just in general, people in general. in a waiting room, you'll often find her in a corner with a book and her sunglasses on. this morning's waiting room was no different; left to her own devices the baron would have taken baby x to a corner of the waiting room and tried her hardest to convince him to play quietly.

but.

babies rarely want to stay quietly in a corner, and baby x is no different. also, babies are kind of old lady magnets. and this woman, with the past its prime beanie baby, was old. 72 years old, she said. and it seemed as though she, like the beanie baby, had seen better days. during the brief time she spent with the baron and the husband, she mentioned that her middle son died 14 years ago and that her youngest son had terminal liver and pancreatic cancer but had been refused treatment by everyone and was 'pretty well using'. 'using', in this case, meant to indicate drugs, as far as the baron could tell. also, her oldest son, did the baron mention, had been attacked by a fallen tree limb and had black and blue eyes?

it seemed that, in this case, this woman needed to gift a gently used stuffed animal to baby x MORE than the baron needed to heed her own instinct to avoid strangers. the idea that baby x
might appreciate and delight in a very large second hand teddy bear seemed to genuinely make this woman happy.]

the baron said, 'if you're sure and you don't mind, then he'd love a teddy bear.'

she made off to her car at a quick clip and returned with a black plastic bag from which she pulled a very large teddy bear. and a frog.

the woman said, 'i give away a lot of toys, at mcdonald's or arby's. i get them from friends. i give away a lot of frogs especially. see?' at this, she opened her jacket to reveal her sweatshirt: a cartoon frog, underneath which read Forever Relying On God.

[reader, let's pause this one more time.

ok. this was the moment when the baron began a mental retreat. without looking at him, the baron knew the husband was doing the same thing. baby x, on the floor with his new bear and frog - because, oh yes, she gave him one of those too - couldn't have been happier or more oblivious to the extreme religiosity happening above him.]

the baron, being not especially religious herself, made a series of oohing and aahing sounds while her brain whirred away trying to find a natural end to the situation, a graceful escape to the conversation. none came, but luck was with them:

they were called into an exam room by the nurse.

*trouble in this case having to do with hip dysplasia. the pediatrician thought baby x's hips felt fine, but based on baby x's fat folds suggested the trip to the orthopedist to be sure. the orthopedist, after a full physical examination and x-rays of baby x's hips, felt that baby x is perfectly healthy.**

**baby x needed to stay perfectly still during the x-ray; the husband and the nurse held baby x on the table to keep him still. the baron hovered outside, waiting for the x-rays to finish, and over mild grunting heard emanating from the from the room heard this from the nurse: 'this is a strong baby!'

in the 2011

reader, it's been a good long while since.

since what?

since the baron has come to this place to check in.

she has no good excuse. excuses. life and baby x are, it seems, perennially in the way.

sigh.

the baron wants to ease in slowly, so:

baby x has just now taken down the next highest row of cds on one of the two cd towers in their sunroom. this is not a particularly sturdy cd tower and needs anchoring to the wall, but in truth, the baron and the husband perhaps did not anticipate their son standing and reaching and grabbing at just 9 months old. they maybe thought they had a wee bit more time to figure things out.

the cd tower is safe for the moment, however, as baby x is now trying to reach the telephone charging cords on top of the telephone table. in the process, he has become stuck underneath the telephone table, trying repeatedly to stand up straight and finding repeatedly that the underside of the top of the table will not allow him to do so. another long day ahead.