as only half of baby x's tea went into his lap *and* he seemed to enjoy the bit of it that went into his mouth, the baron declared their adventure a success. woot.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
tea for two
as only half of baby x's tea went into his lap *and* he seemed to enjoy the bit of it that went into his mouth, the baron declared their adventure a success. woot.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
the big game
the baron is obviously not talking about the super bowl. she knows what she'll be doing on sunday.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
goodnight baby x
the husband and baby x have a very well developed bedtime routine. each night, the husband and baby x select two books, which the husband reads aloud while holding the books with one hand and baby x with the other. once the books are finished, the husband recites 'goodnight moon', from memory, always ending with 'goodnight baby x'.
the baron isn't sure - or can't remember - why 'goodnight moon' is the book that is repeated night after night. it's short and rhyme-y, certainly, which gives the book an easy-to-memorize quality. but then, so is 'i love you, goodnight', another book in baby x's library. 'goodnight moon' is not even the most delightful of baby x's 'please, please go to sleep now' books (the baron favors 'guess how much i love you', which is so lovely to look at and to read that her heart breaks a little every time she finishes it).
there is something charming, and kooky, and amazingly clever, about 'goodnight moon' though, something the baron only figured out after reading the book a countless number of times. once she spotted it, 'goodnight moon' really started to grow on her.
it's that, in 'goodnight moon', margaret wise brown is self-referential, ridiculously so. 'goodnight moon' and another of her books, 'the runaway bunny' (also lovely in a makes-the-baron-cry-every-time kind of way), are all over 'goodnight moon'.
to wit:
the book on the little boy bunny's bedside table? 'goodnight moon'.
the only book on the bookcase with a readable spine? 'the runaway bunny'.
the painting on the wall behind the quiet old lady whispering hush? an image from 'the runaway bunny' (it's the scene where the mommy bunny fishes for the baby bunny. no, really, fishing, like in a stream, with a carrot as bait).
the quiet old lady whispering hush? the mommy bunny from 'the runaway bunny'!
the little boy bunny in bed, to whom 'goodnight moon' is read? the runaway bunny from 'the runaway bunny'!
it's all very cute and very meta, but here's the thing: these hidden asides aren't immediately obvious - at least they weren't to the baron - and that makes the baron love them even more. they're super-secret jokes, put in by author and illustrator, for reasons hard to immediately discern. no doubt, with a little help from her friend google, the baron could learn all about 'goodnight moon', for the gentle winks contained within it have no doubt been cataloged by someone, somewhere on the interweb.
but, reader? the baron probably won't bother with trying to find out the whys and whens and how-many-other-times about 'goodnight moon'. it's kind of delightful enough, just the way it is.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
breakfast and some things to do today
it's another grim and dreary day where the baron lives.
the baron's bastardized version of a cafe mocha is a good way to get the day started... especially since she has a long day in the kitchen ahead of her (see that to-do list below).*
*reader, this is baby x's menu for the next week or so. is it weird that baby x is eating like a king - a tiny, tiny king - while the baron eats protein bars and water with the occasional piece of whole wheat toast thrown in for good measure? sigh.
Monday, January 31, 2011
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?
*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?
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
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?
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?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
