Email me


Journal entries:




Sign up for email notifies:




Check out:

Shining, the new family comedy.


This is how they wait for JB to get home. Even CAT. Who feeds you every day at 5, motherfuckers? Can I get some love, here?







Friday, September 30, 2005

Riley is now one month old, give or take 24 hours, and I can hardly believe how the time has flown by. It's a little heartbreaking to think how I will be saying the same thing to myself a year from now, how I'll be holding him and remembering how tiny he used to be. How some day, if I'm very, very lucky, I'll be looking at a man, not a boy, and marveling that he ever was so young, that we had this time together, once upon a time.

At one month, Riley can lift his own head for brief periods. He often demonstrates this while submitting to JB's preferred burp method (which involves sitting him upright and pitching him forward with his chin supported in JB's hand, looking for all the world as though he's being choked to death), or while lying on his belly.

He doesn't cry very often, and he's usually easily soothed. Often times his crying is a series of short, angry bleats, before whatever indignity being forced upon him has ended. He frequently sports a solemn expression, his little forehead crumpled, eyebrows drawn low. A regular noise now emanating from his bassinet is a grouchy "ENNNH", somewhere in between a grunt of effort and a complaint - this can signify that he's winding down at night from a feeding, or slowly waking back up and signaling for attention.

He eats about 3 ounces, every two to four hours. He poops every other day or so, but produces a spectacular number of farts on a daily basis.

Riley doesn't smile yet, nor does he display any visible sign that he's happy to see us, but he responds greatly to being held or sung to by calming immediately and entering a zenlike state. When he's most alert, he will pinwheel his arms and legs and pant when his belly is tickled, and he'll smack his lips when his neck is nuzzled.

He almost never spits up, but occasionally succumbs to a startling choking fit when he drinks too quickly. His burps are repulsively loud and juicy, and they thrill us to no end ("Good boy! I bet that feels better, doesn't it?).

As of this Wednesday, Riley weighs 8 lb, 7 oz, up from 6 lb 13 oz at birth, and a few of his 0-3 month outfits actually fit now (although, see below: how do you keep their feet where they're supposed to be in those feetie pajamas?).

He is getting cuter every goddamn second, and that's the truth.



It's been a month since I went on maternity leave and became, just like that, a stay at home parent. I can't say I miss my office, really, but I do miss interacting with people. I miss having a day's worth of activities to talk about with JB in the evening. I sometimes feel jealous when I hear about his busy, important work day and wonder exactly how fucking boring I have become when in response I can only offer up a lame anecdote involving Riley's diaper contents or describe how I vacuumed up, like, a whole pound of dog hair today.

This job, my new job, is the most challenging responsibility I've ever had. It isn't always rewarding or fun to spend so much energy on a creature who offers little in the way of positive feedback. It's unbelievably difficult to get up in the middle of the night, every single night; it's hard to fill a day's worth of hours in a productive way when you're constantly interrupted.

And yet, and yet, here I am, exactly where I want to be, near my son. And my day is filled with a thousand tiny moments that shatter me, that crack me open, that peel me like a grape; these transient shutterflashes: the warm drowsy weight of him in my arms, the down of his hair, his smell, his wide open flowery face, the grip of his fingers wrapped around my own, the droop of his eyes as I whisper stories in his ear:

I will take every good moment life has to offer: wet puppy noses, the sharp green smell of a fresh-mown lawn, the feel of sunlight on your face, and more, so much more, and I will weave those into a magic blanket for you to ride into the night sky, where the stars will sing you a lullaby, and I will be by your side to kiss you, and every happiness will be yours, forever and ever, my baby boy.



« back ::: next »