Memories, Like the Corner of My Mind

Yesterday we all went to visit a friend who had her second baby, a girl, 5 days ago. She and her husband also have an almost 3-year old daughter. I had a chance to hold the wee one for a little bit. She was all scrunched up and wrinkly, eyes shut tight and fast asleep after having some milk. She was a "big" baby - born at 9 lbs, 8 oz - and yet, I felt like I could barely feel her in my arms as I held her. I can't remember Bry ever being that small, even though he got down to 6 lbs, 14 oz after leaving the hospital and before my milk came in. I had also forgotten how sleepy and quiet newborns are. Watching Bry next to this teeny infant made me long just a little bit for the days when we didn't have to keep an eye out every second for Bry who might just be eating your shoe right now, or making a break for the cat's food dish. And the days when Bry wasn't trying to STAND UP while nursing, which makes for some chaotic feedings. Also, ouch.

I know that Steve doesn't see eye to eye with me on this reminiscing. I think when he looks back to Bry's early days he mostly remembers how fragile he seemed, especially as compared with his current daredevil ways. And in the end, I agree - I have no desire to push rewind and get back the itty bitty Bry whose entire repertoire of activities were eating, sleeping, pooping, and crying. The past few months have been a flurry of growth and other developmental spurts, the result being our amazing little man, who may still keep us up at all hours of the night, but who has won us over with his charm and wit. Pretty much every day Steve or I will turn to the other, smile, and say, "Bry was cute today." Because he was.

Preparing for his Abercrombie photo shoot.

x = v(0)t + 1/2 at^2

Can you believe I pulled that formula up there off the top of my head? That four-year physics degree has really come in handy when it comes to explaining the motion of projectiles that Bry has launched at any number of different angles from his high chair to the floor.

Wanna spoon, mama?

Too slow. Um, could you get that for me?

Not My Fault

The attempting-to-pull-myself-up-on-anything-that-is-remotely-within-my- reach-and-then-bob-around-trying-to-get-at-things-I'm-not-supposed-to injuries have begun in earnest. Only this time it was under Steve's watchful eye, not my own. And the boo-boo is a lot more visible.

I was off at the dentist this afternoon, having the time of my life, while Steve and the boy were at home living it up. We have installed exactly one baby gate in the whole house, between the kitchen and the living room, the purpose of which was mostly to keep the cat from using our house as a litter box, as he had become accustomed to doing while we were out of town. Being the gymnastic all-star that he is, Bry likes to use the gate as pommel horse. (I have no idea what a pommel horse is, but it's more interesting than saying that he pulls himself up to stand using the gate.) I'm not clear on the details, but Bry was again pulling up on the gate when there ensued a tumble, some whimpering and CRYING, followed-up by an impressive shiner:

The post-fall bath made everything OK.

Chicks dig scars, right?

When I got home from cheerfully having two cavities filled (is this what happens when one approaches 30 - everything falls apart?), Steve was cowering behind the couch.* He was holding Bry out in front of him like some sort of baby shield, as if I might be distracted by his cuteness long enough to not notice that Steve had allowed Bry to end up looking like a prizefighter on a bad night after I had been gone for less than an HOUR away from home. I just kissed Bry, and laughed at Steve while mouthing two words: vindication, baby.

*OK, he was actually giving Bry a bath.

Our Little Foodie

Bry has made leaps and bounds from the early days of trying out solid foods. He eats three squares a day now, and is working his way through a growing list of new foods. Steve and I have gone all crunchy granola (well, maybe just crunchy) with the feeding process, relying on the crunchiest of all baby feeding books: Super Baby Food. While we don't necessarily share the author's fervor for things like making our own baby wipes, we do use the advice on making some of our own baby foods. So far, Bry's enjoyed (to varying degrees) carrots, green beans, peas, squash, sweet potatoes, avocado, apples, bananas, prunes, pears, oatmeal, brown rice, barley, millet (which I had never heard of), tofu, egg yolks, and yogurt. His favorite, by far, is yogurt mixed with pureed fruits. The food that most often gets the scrunched up, "Is this really food?" face is green beans. The kiddo's diet is definitely more healthy than my own, as it consists mostly of foods plucked directly from the refrigerator that don't require heating of any kind, since time always seems short between preventing Bry from storming the kitty and steering him clear of electrical cords. To be fair, Steve has been doing a great job of cooking up healthy meals on the weekend that we can enjoy throughout the week. So it's really just extreme laziness that's keeping me from eating better.

So far, we've continued with the cautious rule of only introducing new foods to Bry every three days, so that if any allergy signs show up, it's clear which food is the culprit. We haven't figured out exactly when we can relax on this rule (OK, we've consulted exactly nobody about it). Extrapolating, Bry won't get to try burritos or General Tso's chicken until he's about 75.

We also tried "finger foods" for the first time a few days ago. All this really consisted of was me putting a very small chunk of banana on the table in front of Bry, only to watch him mash it in his palm and then wipe it all over the high chair. I guess he still hasn't perfected the "pincer grasp," which is needed to maneuver little bits of food more deftly. Maybe we'll take him to the tank at Red Lobster for some inspiration/instruction.

Stand in the Place Where You Live

Keepin' it real. Under the table.

Thermodynamic Equilibrium

Bry has felt kind of flushed since last night, causing me to wonder if he might have a fever. I asked Steve this morning whether Bry felt warm. His helpful response: "Bry is a living creature and will not be at thermodynamic equilibrium with his surroundings, so yeah, he probably feels warm." Nerd.

Updated to add: Bry does not have a fever. He's apparently just been doing laps in his crib, or something.

A Day at the Museum

Yesterday was overcast and rainy, thereby negating our earlier plans to take a long hike with the Bry. Instead, we took advantage of the Twin Cities awesome library program that allows patrons to check out free passes to all kinds of museums throughout Minneapolis and St. Paul. We loaded up the Bry and headed to the Science Museum (surprise). About 70 hundred other parents apparently had the same idea, so the place was packed. Bry identified his favorite exhibit early in our trip:

Bry, the dinosaurs are behind you.

Crawling underneath display tables and checking out the stroller tires were definitely the highlights for Bry. He wasn't even aware of the peril that awaited him at the formidable T-Rex skull display:

Baby = T-Rex Popcorn

Crawling with The Bry

Stevo here. I just discovered Windows Movie Maker on my computer. Check out my new video: Crawling with the Bry.

Foreign Ghost

This past weekend, we all trekked out to Wisconsin again for Bry's belated hair-trimming party. In case you're not Chinese, or at least not up-to-date on major Asian celebrations, the hair-trimming party is supposed to happen when the wee one is one month old. Family and friends get together and take turns snipping until the babe is bald. I'm not entirely clear on the origins of said ceremony, but according to one source, since infant mortality used to be so high in China, families wouldn't announce the arrival of children until they were a month old, and reasonably sure to survive. The superfine baby hair was then fashioned into calligraphy brushes used when the child started to learn how to write. Another version, put forth by Grandpa E. is that the hair trimming party is an excuse for everyone to get together to eat a lot. Sounds like most Chinese celebrations I've been a part of.

Bry's party didn't happen at one month because neither Steve nor I could fathom driving our tired, tired selves and our new baby (who admittedly would have probably been easier to handle in the car at that time) 5-6 hours to Milwaukee. So we waited for a convenient time. In hindsight, waiting until Bry was just old enough to start being freaked out by strangers, and then introducing him to a room of 50 strangers was probably not the best-laid plan.

All in all, things went astoundingly well. Going in, we assumed that the party might take on the tone of defusing a bomb, in that we were working with an unstable entity (overtired, overstimulated Bry) that might go off at any minute. At first, he greeted most of the people in the room by clinging to me and chewing my shoulder. He cheered up quite a bit later on, and was willing to do the crowd diving thing (i.e., get passed from stranger to stranger) for awhile .

Before Bry was born, Steve and I spent a few hours with his family trying to determine Bry's exact ethnic make-up. My side of the family was easy: I'm essentially 1/2 Chinese and 1/2 German, with some sprinkles of French and British heritage tossed in on the non-Chinese side. His side took more deliberating and consulting of elders before Steve finally determined that he's approximately 1/2 German, 1/4 Irish, and 1/4 Dutch. So, if we've done the math right, Bry is 1/2 German, 1/4 Chinese, 1/8 Irish and 1/8 Dutch. It works out well that his name, Bryson Dane Hing-Li Sanger, is also 1/4 Chinese. His Chinese name, Hing-Li, means happiness and prosperity. Lucky guy.

The hat stayed on for an amazingly long time.

Upon viewing Bry in his traditional clothing, the so-called Chinese contingent at the party (all of our Chinese friends) laughed amongst themselves and said, "Oh, he's a ghost." (The Chinese sometimes call Caucasian individuals "Foreign Ghosts.") Apparently Bry's working his non-Chinese side a little stronger than his Asian side.

Bry wasn't the only ghost at the party...
(It was too dark in the room to take high quality pictures.)

P.S. Bry's gonna have to rely on #2's when he goes to school. No actual hair trimming happened at his party.

Oops

Just in the past week or so, Bry has started to pay more attention when we read to him. He still consumes books via taste more than he does through other sensory channels, such as, say, listening. But recently, he will sit for longer periods of time as we read him books, and it's clear that he's familiar with some stories we've been reciting for months like Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and Hippos Go Berserk! because he'll smile in anticipation of what comes next. His new favorite is Blue Hat, Green Hat.

Always Look on the Bry Side of Life

The hot, sticky weather hanging around Minneapolis has finally given way to at least one day of cooler temperatures. Bry and I took advantage of the non-melting conditions to walk to the park. He's still working on his swinging technique.

Mmm...swing.

Bry is a laid back swinger.

Solutions

One of the first lessons Steve and I learned as new parents is that there exists a product for every baby-related scenario imaginable. We made many, many trips to a certain baby superstore in the early days, often in search of just the thing we needed to make parenting as easy as say, caring for a cat. We own the obligatory swing to help Bry sleep (he screamed the instant we put him in, every time), a "soothing vibrations" baby chair also designed to lull Bry to sleep (see results of the swing), a baby carrier, play gym, exersaucer, travel crib, multiple strollers, etc. The sheer volume of stuff is frankly starting to get embarrassing.

But some of the products are too ludicrous to ensnare even these foolish first-time parents. For instance, even though Bry started working on his double gainer last week, I think we'll pass on the Baby No Bumps Safety Hat. I'm thinking for the next kiddo though, the Zaky Infant Pillow is a no-brainer.*

*The next kiddo is not arriving any time soon. Certainly not before I can call myself Dr. Mommy.

Boo-Boo

Bry took his first real tumble today - on my watch. All along, I was expecting Steve to be the one on duty when Bry inevitably got his first bump or bruise. Chalk it up to maternal hubris, I guess.

Bry's favorite game recently has been "Mommy and Daddy jungle gym." In other words, he likes to crawl all over us. Today, I was lying on the floor, and Bry was trying to pull up to stand using my legs as leverage. He put a little too much oomph into it and did a front flip over my knees, landing squarely on his head and then tumbling bum over teakettle (this is a G-rated site, right?).

Bry, not quite understanding the purpose of the ice pack.

I'm pretty sure Steve is never going to let me forget this.

Stranger Danger

Eh-Eh-Eh...Ahhhh...AHHHH!

Behold the call of the baby who has suddenly gained the cognitive skills to realize and care that mama is no longer within his sights. Or being pinched between his pudgy fingers. Majestic, is it not? Watch and listen carefully, and you may just hear his pleading cry the instant mama vanishes around the corner to prepare a gourmet meal of squash and oatmeal that he will later spit all over her with an exuberant thhhhppphtttssssss of his tongue.

I do believe we've entered the land of separation anxiety. Over the past few days, Bry has wanted to be strongly affixed to my hip and will desperately try to scramble up over my shoulder, using my shirt as leverage, if I so much as hint at putting him down. He's kind of like a 20-pound modern art accessory: baby as scarf, draped across my shoulder. If babies are the new black, I'm totally in.

Oh yeah, Bry's pretty excited to see Steve right now too. Non-family members get the evil eye, though.

Superfly Bry

Bry has really been working on his crawl over the past few days. He started all army-style, guerrilla baby in the jungles of the living room. That progressed into attempts to crawl on his hands and feet, his rear jutted up into the air.


The most recent efforts have involved using one foot and keeping the other leg folded under, as if he were sitting cross-legged. I think he's decided this is the most efficient route for sitting mid-crawl. Which he does a lot.


He gets tired. Or maybe just distracted.

Can't a guy get a little chewing break?

Turns out he's also got some wicked breakdance moves. He would like to be addressed by his street name: Masta B. (Superfly Bry is also acceptable.)

Word.

Operation: Pet Kitty

It's only taken 7 months, but Bry has finally acknowledged the existence of our fourth family member: Casey, the cat. The first few months Bry played it cool, pretending he didn't notice the furry beast lounging in front of the space heater, lounging on the couch, lounging underneath the kitchen table...well, you get the idea. Turns out he was collecting surveillance in support of his current mission: chase down the cat and gleefully grab fistfuls of cat hair.

Bry is extraordinarily enamored with Casey. Every time he hears a plaintive meow, or a demanding MEOW!, Bry pauses whatever he's doing (which is usually putting something in his mouth or reaching for something to put in his mouth), looks up, and uses his baby radar to pinpoint the direction of the sound. Having gathered preliminary evidence that the KITTY! is possibly within lunging (and now "crawling") distance, Bry sets off to pet the kitty.

KITTY!

The kitty, however, does not share mutual loving feelings with Bry. Mostly he tolerates him. Usually he eyes him up warily, plotting his escape. As soon as Bry gets within reaching distance, Casey trots off and Bry looks up all surprised. Where did he go? He was right there. And now he's not. Oh, what a crafty kitty. I'll catch you someday, kitty. Someday.

I'm outta here.

Standing: The Evidence

I told you so. He pulled himself up. Scout's honor.