My Pecky Pledge

Here we are in our new rainsuit, whipping Mommy mercilessly with a limp, wet clematis vine from the compost heap. What fun! Pecky also discovered that you can stamp your feet in puddles today. It was a good day.

But... the surliness continues and I find myself questioning my ability to mother competently. Where has my delicious happy baby gone? The one who smiled for everyone and everything? The world's easiest baby who garnered compliments and smiles wherever we went? In her place, a little elf with endless curiosity and verve, but also a lightning quick temper and a blood-curdling screech. And an insatiable need for teta. It. Never. Ends. She nurses more at 14 months than she did at 4 months. And if I don't whip that boob out the minute she yells for it, there is H-E-L-L to pay, my friends.

I've been mightily embarrassed by LP's carryings-on over the last month. I have hollered and hissed and become enraged mad more times than I care to remember. Well, if I do the math it's simple: every day, at least three times a day, she's screamed/whined/clawed me to the point where I feel like I'm going to lose my shit, so that makes it about... thirty-five instances of bad mommy. Deep breaths only help a little. Bach Flowers seem to help more. Running away forever would probably help a lot but I miss her the minute she's out of my sight. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

It's not all bad. There are moments when she's sleeping peacefully, curled into my armpit. Or when she runs to me, shouting, "MOM! MOM!" Or any of the other hundreds of wonderful things she does everyday that I take for granted. Watching her talk to her little bear as I crouch behind the door, marveling at her imagination play. At the end of the day, I love her more than life itself. I could squeeze her and kiss her beautiful face over and over again. But, the day is more than just its end, and I need to get my shit straight for the other 10 hours of my shift.

I see two things at work here. One, a baby who is teetering on the brink of independence, and is perhaps filled with conflicting emotions about this. Two, my own anger management challenges and feelings of inadequacy. It's hard to feel worthwhile without a completed project to cross off my to-do list. Apparently I need tangible evidence that I've been industrious all day. Even a clean house would do. And it's hard to stay excited about expressing my hopes and dreams through home hygiene. So when the kitchen is wrecked yet again and Pecky's firmly attached to my leg, demanding teta THIS INSTANT! I struggle to maintain integrity of body, mind and spirit. Clearly, I have work to do. But while I hammer out a plan for dispelling anger, I can at least commit to interacting with my baby with greater compassion.

So, instead of whispering to the other moms about how I'm worried that Pecky's a bit too whiny, or rolling my eyes when she cries when another kid messes with her, I'm going try to love my baby for exactly who she is. Not for who I think she should be, or who I am afraid I am not. She is an amazing person and I will strive to honor and support her as she flowers into her own beautiful realization. Damn, I love this baby. I don't know how to balance housework or errands with meeting Pecky's needs right now, but I am hoping that things will fall into place and lead us along a brighter path. Wish me luck!

Stormy Weather

Dudes, we are in for it these days. Nothing suits Little Pecky. She is cross, cross, cross. Today Lil Peck threw her first public temper tantrum. It was glorious! We were at Zoomcare for my ankle and she wanted to play with the carefully stocked pillboxes on some low shelves. So I redirected her to a book about puppy dogs and the screaming began. Of course, I was trying to handle paperwork and figure out where I was supposed to report for an X-ray at the same time. Anyways, I picked Pecky up and she screamed even louder, so I put her back down and she screamed even LOUDER (so we were at about 9000 decibals at this point, with earsplitting screams reverberating off every stupid, faux-mod laminate surface). She sank to the ground and commenced flailing with all four limbs- a breathtaking sight. I was once again, reduced to hysterical giggling as I tried to gather this banshee in my arms. That's when she managed to buck forward and bash her face into the floor, cutting her upper lip with her teeth.

Which got us to Level 10 of the crying scale. If you are a parent you know what I'm talking about. There's no way the crying could get louder, but then it does, and it's so terrible! Like when you strap your crying baby into a car seat and then accidentally pinch her chin with the chest strap. Not that I've done that. But I have.

Anyways, it was a rough day, but we got through the rest of it. And with the help of our dear friends, I was able to get those glamour shots of my ankle and not worry about what to do with my baby at the same time. I mean, what DO you do with a baby when you're getting x-rayed? Hide her under the lead blanket? Hand her off to some random person in the waiting room? I'm thankful for good friends today. Here's a parting shot of Little Pecky and Little Bear practicing their routine to Like a Prayer. Or whatever kids these days are listening to.

Blood

The theme of the past few weeks has been blood. Everywhere, a constant dribble. For me, it's been broken glass and rose thorns. For Little Pecky, it's her own good work, as usual. Pecky has discovered that her finger fits perfectly inside her nostril and is constantly reaffirming the fit. She sticks her finger up there and cranks her wrist so fast that her little finger looks like a drill bit. It's hysterical and totally disgusting. Especially because she hasn't connected the deep-earth mining with subsequent bleeding. Last week at the Niketown outlet we found ourselves locked in a battle of wills: she ramming her pointer finger over and over into her poor nostril, smearing blood all over her face; me trying to hold her hand and lightheartedly distract her while stifling horrified giggles, and trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the middle of that crowded hellhole.

Anyways, this picture is of LP sitting down to lunch with MY blood smeared on her face. Nice, huh? Somehow in the rush to get her out of the kitchen after a catastrophic glass explosion, I either dripped right on her or she found a dribble on the floor and tried to eat it as she is wont to do with anything on the ground these days.

Little Pecky is One!

Little Pecky is one! We had a super fun birthday bash for her. I meant to have a small gathering, since we're broke-ass broke, but the circle of invitees kept growing and growing. Kind of like when you're cutting someone's bangs and you don't know what you're doing: snip, snip on one side, then a bit more off the other side to even it out and so on until there's nothing but a tuft of hair at the forehead. However, in our case, more people was merrier. Ten babies and twenty adults in a little house makes for great fun.

Little Pecky was on a roll. One by one, she led each of our guests on a circuit around the house. Or rather, had them lead her since she wasn't totally comfortable walking on her own yet. It was so funny to see her get all set up for the tour. She'd take someone's hand, then carefully select a finger to hold on to, with the care of a cigar connoisseur choosing a cuban. Then she'd choose the side she wanted to walk on and head off into the hallway, guest in tow.

The birthday cake was a success. I was busy cutting slices for guests and missed snapping a shot of her slow-motion face plant in the cake. She just lowered her entire face into the frosting. Then she signed "MORE!" The rest of us ate chile verde, salsa and empanadas de fruta. Good stuff.

So Terribly Dumb, So Help Me God & Also, My Baby is Amazing.

okaaay...
It's only been like half a year since I wrote anything, and I was feeling pretty done with the whole bloggy thing before I even really got started. But tonight I went to catch up on some entries in Little Pecky's baby journal and discovered that I have NO IDEA where her precious baby calendar went. I thought I was being really clever by just writing her milestones on our wall calendar, except when 2011 rolled around, I brainlessly swapped the calendar out for some dumbfuck Humane Society calendar with puppies on it. It's not the puppies' fault that I'm such a retard, but I do hate them right now. So here it is, almost 11 pm and I'm quietly shitting my pants and tearing the house apart while LP and her papa snooze peacefully upstairs.

I've decided that perhaps it's best if I stop wracking my brain and just let the location of the damn calendar percolate up in my sleep. Please, please don't let the answer be "in the recycling you took out to the curb two weeks ago." I'm terrified that in my zeal to keep the house clean, I tossed it without a second thought. Except... I know I set it aside because I thought LP would like December's picture framed. (SEE? I'M SO DUMB I WAS ALREADY THINKING ABOUT REPURPOSING THE CALENDAR. MY BABY'S FIRST FUCKING YEAR CALENDAR! AAAUGH!)

Ok. Deep breath. It has to be around. Right?

Anyways, here we are in the last week of Little Pecky's 11th month. And my, how month 11 has rocked. So many changes, big and small. She started saying a few words like "ball" and hooting like an owl. So hilarious. She just exploded with ability at the beginning of January. And my heart is just exploding right back with love and pride.

We had a great Christmas in the Northland. Pecky got to play in her first real snow, while sporting a super-stylish Wintergreen snowsuit. Baby gots fancy tastes. We skied, hiked, ate and ate and ate. It was wonderful. Pecky reveled in the doting attention of 7 adults, especially her grandmother, Sisu, who kept her extremely well fed at all times. Her Grandpop is the only family member who merited a name, "Bop Bop" and the rest of us are jealously anonymous.

On the flight back home, Pecky made the "more" sign and I nearly passed out from excitement. In the next few days, she added about 10 more signs and a few more words. The best was the day we went to a farm to get some milk. She spotted a few chickens and out of the blue, POW! Chicken sign. One I hadn't done in weeks.

What else... we kicked the bottle last week. I got up and didn't feel like washing another damn bottle, so I didn't. And that was that. Unfortunately, all the rest of our donor milk appears to be freezer burned, and LP won't drink it. So we're reluctantly doing the last bit of formula and then it's on to goaty milk, I guess.

My sister sent us a Plan Toys woodpecker walker wagon that is possibly the greatest gift ever. Around and around we go, whappity-whap, circuiting the house. Such fun. And the big news is that LP took a few steps two nights ago. I was busy looking for something and wondered how she'd gotten from point A to point B without me noticing her crawling. Then a few minutes later, I saw her wobble across the kitchen floor. So exciting! I'm kind of looking forward to the end of the pants-pulling-down era, in which she's constantly hanging on my legs. But I'm sure I'll miss it terribly when she's at an age where she won't acknowledge my existence.

And she's awake! Off to nurse into the night.

4.5 Month Update

I started this blog because I thought that I'd be rocking the Kanoe with one hand for the next year or so while Little Pecky napped. As it so happened, about a week after I started blogging, I started putting her down awake, and she's been sleeping like a champ for 2+ hours ever since, no rocking required. So now I have less time to type since I'm actually able to do a little yard work while she naps. Joy!

Lil Pecky is gloriously gigantic these days. In the 96th percentile for length, at 26" and fifteen delicious pounds. And I'm pumping 4-5 oz extra a day for her, which means we can cut down our donor milk quota a little bit. I'm going to start experimenting with more nursing and fewer bottles, maybe 12 oz, rather than 15, of the donor milk. After last week's nursing strike, I'm feeling like I need to phase out the bottle as much as possible.

LP's discovered the pleasures of screaming, and most of our activities are accompanied by an impressively high "eeeeeeeeeeeee!" I think it's adorable. She's also very adept at grabbing, now. She loves to press her limp-bodied Furnis doll to her mouth and scream into his spineless torso. Pretty much everything is going straight into her mouth these days. In fact, last night, I pushed her toes into her mouth et voila! She got a perfect latch on her big toe. So, screw that expensive Natursutten pacifier that I bought for the plane ride, toes are where it's at.

Flowers! Flowers! and My Truck

Another quickie garden entry.
Today I seeded:
Marigold (African) - Crackerjack
Rudbeckia
Butterfly Flower
Cosmos - Candy Stripe and Bright Lights Blend
Delphinium - Pacific Giant Blend
Zinnia - Persian Carpet & California Giants
Fenugreek
Snapdragon - Tall Maximum Blend
Calendula - Flashback

All this made possible by my main man, who kindly watched over Little Pecky as she slept. AND, who cleaned out my trucky in preparation for donation. Here's what he unearthed from its hay-strewn depths:

1 Styrofoam bird with real bird feathers
A miniature replica of the space needle, machined by Shop 38 at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard
A chunk of obsidian
A lava pebble
Unprocessed black and white film
10 earplugs
About 17 pens
Disgusting old pedicure kit
My missing Led Zep III CD
Tragic Mulatto cassette from I don't even know when- 1993?
University of Oregon lanyard (why??)
A stack of gold bangles that I wore the day I got married
Half a roll of quarters (that the thief didn't bother to take whilst ripping my stereo off)
Broken Om Mani Padme Hum bracelet
Unflattering sunglasses
Bells Beer sticker
Macanudo box containing a laminated loteria card depicting el corazon

Amazing! Amazing to me and no one else, I mean. These were the treasures that I transported across the country as I traveled from Seattle to Minnesota to Virginia to Toronto, back to Minnesota, and finally to Portland between 2004 and 2006.