truman thomas hanson's personal web site, the place for family and friends to keep updated on truman's growing, smiling, laughing, cooing, eating, sleeping, loves, likes, ups, downs, friends, celebrations, and specialness of every kind. http://www.trumanhanson.com Truman is just a scoocher. He motors around with his little caterpillar action, in pursuit of whatever toy is always just out of his reach - a little ducky, perhaps, or (much better) one of his brothers' toys. The Thomas carrying case is particularly attractive, but the diecast Thomas trains are also drool-worthy. It always boggles my mind. Here he is, barely five months old... and I can leave the room for a few minutes, or lose myself in my blog post, and all of the sudden, he's three feet away. Sure, he's not going to set any land-speed records, but - hey, he's faster than an actual caterpillar. He's all about turning over, now, and his favorite thing to turn over toward is the white plastic wipes box. He reaches his arms out as if after Juliet in her moonlit tower, then, phwomp! he's turned his baby linebacker body over, he's grabbing the wipes box with gusto. It's getting harder, in fact, to change his diaper - because I have to keep turning him to his back again, four or five times per change. Good thing he loves his diaper changes or we'd have quite a fight on our hands. http://www.cafemama.com/oct/truman03_moooving.html 03 Oct 2005 15:42 PDT Five months is so long, but it's been the blink of an eye. I find it hard to believe that, only 150-some days ago, I was soaked in milk, aching everywhere, in a drug- and surgery-induced haze, itching all over from that allergic reaction and already falling in love with my tiniest of wrinkled babes. Now I have this gorgeous, soulful brown-eyed spitter, this boy of a thousand expressions, who can open his mouth almost as wide as his face, who loves to look at the faces of men and sucks on his fingers so vigorously that he gags himself. He's my good boy, the one who's almost-always happy, who goes down to sleep as if he actually likes the rest, who grabs toys with his whole body and focuses with such gobsmacked precision on the task at hand. He will happily go to anyone's arms, and never minds if mom sets him down for a few minutes... or goes out for an hour. He's equally happy in the sling, carseat, stroller, or floor. Today I layed him down in his cradle to play while I started dinner. I had to run upstairs for a while, and Everett asked me to sing a silly madeup song. I was singing when I came back down, and Truman was almost asleep, eyes rolling back into his head, when he heard me come in with my off-key tunes. His whole body reacted; his eyes shot open, he smiled with the most amazing happiness, and he reached for me with outstanding joy at my crazy music. And then he relaxed, and fell asleep. I love his happiness, his calm, his easy-going nature, his expressive face. I love the way his little monkey legs grab hold of me when I balance him on my hip. I love that he actually sleeps, that he giggles when I change his diaper. But most of all I love his brown, brown eyes, lit with just a tinge of mommy's green at the very center. He's so very much his daddy's boy - his daddy's eyes, and hair, and body - but he's got his mama's soul, I can see it in the way he looks at me. I can't wait to get to know him better. http://www.cafemama.com/sep/truman28_fivemonthbirthday.html 28 Sep 2005 15:42 PDT Truman finally perfected the roll-over, and he's decided it's a mighty fine thing to do. I lie him on his back on the letter mats in front of the TV, and minutes later I look up to hear his fingernails scritch-scratching on the bright dimpled foam. It's a fabulous developmental step, and I'm so proud - and HE'S so happy about his accomplishment (well, this kid is happy about everything...). But it's problematic for a couple of reasons. First... Everett is SO into little things, which will one day very soon need to be picked up. Second... he gets stuck. He flips over, and he's stuck on his tummy, and sometimes if I'm not paying attention, his little arms will give out and he'll be faceplanted in a puddle of drool. Poor kid. But it's so fun to watch. So fun, in fact, that I've taken to putting an assortment of toys around his head, just far enough away so that he has to turn over to get them. He loves reaching for a prize and I love how surprised he always is that he's done the flipper-oo. Talk about quality family entertainment! http://www.cafemama.com/sep/truman16_itsaroller.html 16 Sep 2005 15:42 PDT Sure, it's easy to be the good one when you're too young to say "NO!" or "I am not going to DO THAT!" or his most recent, "Dannit!" (oops). But Truman doesn't take the easy way out, no, he's a brilliant baby. My theory has become this: Truman had two routes to go as child #2. Either he could be wildly fussy, colicky, a screamer, forcing me to pay attention to him, or go crazy; or he could be unethically cute, happy, good, impossible to resist. Never before has a baby received so many kisses and exclamations over his cuteness. Truman's goodness, in stark contrast to his brother's impossibility, makes me wonder: will he always be so good? Will he always have such a happy, cheerful, giggling temperament? Will he always make me smile or will (sometimes) I decide he, too, is an impossible son? The verdict is out, at least for the next 30-some months. But the general consensus is that he is unstoppably good, that I will always have Truman, the good son. http://www.cafemama.com/sep/truman4_mygoodson.html 04 Sep 2005 15:42 PDT Truman has discovered the beauty of bringing everything he can grab into his mouth. Whatever it is that comes within his eyesight, or he brushes accidentally in one of his frenetic handwaves - straight to his mouth. My hair is his especial favorite, but he'll also give drooly love to toys, blankies, clothes we leave lying around, balls, hands (his, mine, his brother's), plastic bags, the buckle on his sling, or - yum! - my chin. Dangle something in front of him, it's going into his mouth. His new favorite toy is the Oball, a brilliantly-designed flexible plastic ball made from interlocking octagons (or, some sort of -gons, I don't have one in front of me as I type this). It has sooo many places for both fingers and lickety-luscious tongue action. The Oball + Truman = luuurrrve. http://www.cafemama.com/sep/truman2_handtomouth.html 02 Sep 2005 10:42 PDT Happy four-month birthday, Truman! I can't believe how old, old, old you're getting. You're so strong and sturdy that people rave about your muscular legs, your amazing ability to stand on my lap, weeble-wobbling from your torso but with rock-solid legs. The way you grab my arm or my hair to pull yourself in when you're hungry or needing a cuddle is both endearing and terrifying - because if you're this strong now, will I ever be able to get you in your car seat when you're two? Sometimes I look in your eyes and, for the smallest bit of a second, think I can see the brain of a four-year-old peering back at me. Today you said "hi" to Father Stephen, as clear as day, when he greeted you enthusiastically. Patty and I looked at each other in shock, there was no doubt. No gurgles or coos or squealing, just "hi." Do you understand everything I'm saying? Can you read the books along with Everett and I? I can't help but believe that it's true. You haven't been sleeping as much as usual for the past week, and today, you never slept more than 20 or 30 minutes at a time - and only two of those catnaps. You were happy and hungry, and spent a lot of time in my lap. At one point around 9:30, I was tired from our day together and wishing I could put you down and peck away at my trusty laptop. And you started grinning at me, in your wide-open crooked-mouthed wild-fisted way, and weeble-wobbling, and grabbing my hair with glee. And I just wanted to cry with happiness, and hugged you, and giggled teary-eyed and got myself a cup of coffee. And we sat there, talking and laughing at each other, and I covered your wobbly happy sleepless head with kisses. I know that some days I'll be angry with you, and that you and I will have power struggles just like your older brother. But I'll never stop having this feeling that tears the air out of my lungs and makes me cry from the pit of my stomach, this moony complex love. Four months, and already I can't remember life without you. http://www.cafemama.com/aug/truman28_sleeplesslove.html 29 Aug 2005 00:08 PDT Truman almost turned over today, with mama typing at the computer just a few feet away. But just as he scooched from his back onto his side, Everett swooped in and flipped him the rest of the way. I did my best not to be angry, I was so excited for his little milestone. Of course: the living room is so not ready for a movable boy. Guess I'd better get organizin'. http://www.cafemama.com/aug/truman24_turningover.html 25 Aug 2005 00:37 PDT While Everett's been in preschool, Truman and I have taken the opportunity to do some other things. Thursday we went to baby mama yoga, and today is the second time we've hung out at Random Order Coffeehouse (19th and Alberta, about a half-mile from preschool), drinking coffee and eating pie and breastfeeding and reading the Times (oooh, ahh, ohhhhh!) and typing like crazy. Truman lies, stands, or bounces on my lap while I read and eat and type. He loves to look around over my shoulder while I keep my fingers busy. It shouldn't work, but it does, somehow. I have to take some uncomfortable liberties - like, leaving my laptop alone while we go to the bathroom together - but the noisy coffeehouse, filled with other laptop-toters and and unusually large number of pregnant women and other new mamas, is somehow very conducive to my focus and Truman's calm happiness. He is bouncing, and spitting, pushing off with his outrageously strong muscles and making a series of wet spots on my right sleeve as I type. It's not perfect, but it's really nice, and if I were the sort of mama who wanted to hold onto an age forever, I think this would be the one. http://www.cafemama.com/aug/truman22_babypluscoffee.html 22 Aug 2005 11:42 PDT Truman's been working on that all-important turn over for the past few days. When I lay him down on his back, he wiggles and arches and kicks and squirms, turning himself around like a spinner, scooting himself a foot or two in whatever direction his head happens to be pointing. He's no longer immobile, but he's not yet dangerous. As Everett and I cheer him on, I'm not sure if I should be encouraging, even helping, him, or just letting him spin happily on his chunky little axis. We've had a good run in this immobile time. I don't know if either I or my house is ready for mobility. http://www.cafemama.com/aug/truman20_turning.html 20 Aug 2005 23:02 PDT It was a hot, hot day, and we were hiding out in our living room, navy blue linen curtains imperfectly blocking out the sun. As usual, I was having trouble leaving Truman alone. You see, the thing is, he loves to talk to his mama, and it's so unbelievably charming...well, you try ignoring a little human who reacts to every word you say with gigantic crooked smiles and wild waving of his hands. "Whoa, ooomm!" he says, so happy that you think his heart is going to burst out of his chest and his cheeks are going to crack from the joy. And how can you not leave that? I did it, though, I set him down at his frog gym, and went into the kitchen for coffee, or water, or a crusty piece of Como bread with cocoa-hazelnut spread. It was something, anyway, and I was gone for a minute. When I came back, he was playing with his frog and his turtle, batting them and pulling them inexpertly towards his mouth (the little turtle has quite the attractive feet, just right for little mouths). And I realized...he was figuring out his hands, right there, right then. As I watched him, he was overwhelmed with the thrill that he was making these beautiful primary-colored amphibians move. It was, well, the time of his very life. "Your hands, Truman, those are YOUR HANDS!" I exclaimed, so proud. Everett joined in, giggling, jumping up and down, squeaking, "Truman, your hands!" And we were all so happy because Truman, he has hands. http://www.cafemama.com/aug/truman13_hands.html 13 Aug 2005 23:58 PDT If you really want to know, the reason my water bill is late this month is because I spend ALL my money on photo developing. How can you not? There is no more worthy subject of the magic of light images on thin sheets of metal than a baby. And no more baby more worthy of being said subject than mine, with his thousand nuanced expressions, his millions of adorable cells. You'll have to click for more photos; I'll give you two progressions here: I wondered, when Truman was born, if I'd either (a) stop taking photos of Everett, and instead spend all my time with the baby; or (b) never get as many great, varied, obsessively-adoring pics with Truman as I did with Everett. But instead I've been taking rolls, and rolls, developing seven or eight at a time, producing wild and exuberant piles of color, smiles, frowns, baby skin and hair, children and water and sand and green, green grass. I can't believe my good fortune at producing such beauty, both of the human and of the photographic type. And I can't imagine how to ever do justice to the stunning wonder of it all. I have dreams of bookshelves filled with fat photo albums of giant 15" prints, long halls and playrooms and living rooms filled with white-matted frames. Does anyone have a house they'd like to fill with stunning pictures of my kids and their friends? http://www.cafemama.com/aug/truman11_photolady.html 11 Aug 2005 10:42 PDT Truman visited the beach for the first time (out of my tummy, that is) yesterday. It was also our longest road trip to date with the two of my babes. All indications are that it was a success. Truman spent long hours sleeping in his baby wrap (we're trying my own wrap for a change) while I chased after Everett in the waves, sat by a bonfire, ate s'mores, cooked delicious eggs benedict and bacon and drank lots of good coffee, walked in the brilliant sun and driving sand that is Manzanita in the late summer. Even though I've been the mom to two boys for over three months, now, I'm still amazed at my frailty. As I tripped over sand dunes, in pursuit of Everett (who was hell-bent at reaching the waves) and his friend Guthrie, bouncing Truman in the wrap, I wondered - what would I do if Everett and Guthrie got sucked into an undertow? Would I swim after them with Truman attached (surely losing my knot in the process)? Would I just scream at the top of my lungs for help? No one got drowned, although Everett got drenched. I had him take off his shirt and run back on his own as the sun sunk behind the clouds slinking low on the horizon. He froze, Truman bounced, but all was well and everyone slept like piles of driftwood. Although he's only a tiny one, still, I feel as if I'm successful in nature-ifying Truman. He spends several hours a week lying under the gigantic pines at various Portland parks; he's felt the cold salt air of the beach at night, and the sandy hot wind of the day; he's sniffed roses, and lilacs, and peonies, and butterfly bushes, on our walks from home to Trader Joe's; he's been rained on, sunned on, dunked his little feet in the big big wading pool at Kenilworth Park. He's shopped at all manner of farmer's markets. Tomorrow we run on the riverbank, his first ride in the jogging stroller. He's one of the lucky ones, for sure. http://www.cafemama.com/aug/truman5_beachbum.html 05 Aug 2005 10:42 PDT It struck me the other day what a huge, huge change Truman has experienced in such a short time. It wasn't so long ago that he was all snuffles and those tiny, stiff kicks. Now he's smiling, cooing, loving me in the best, best way. On Wednesday, Everett was jumping on the bed and I was so angry at him. It was just defiance central around here. I picked up Truman from his cradle, as he'd awaked from the noise and bumping. And prepared to be very, very angry. But Truman opened his mouth so wide I thought he'd break it, and laughed with unbearable glee at his brother's antics. I started laughing too, and Everett, encouraged by our nonstop happiness, jumped a thousand times wilder, sillier, higher. We were all giggling, happy, zany, in a nonstop cycle of pure joy. It was five minutes, or more, of this cycle and I thought my head would split open from happiness. n.b. - Everett shortly thereafter jumped on Truman and I, and got one heck of a punishment when he wouldn't stop, then followed me in the living room just to hit me and get another punishment. But that's another story. So we were at the wading pool today, and there was a new mama. Her little daughter, Conscience, was 18 months and a total cutey. Everett was playing chase with her and boy, did she want my coffee. New mama and I struck up a conversation and she gave me a rundown on my family's numerology (her friend was writing a book). I'm not what you'd call a true believer but she had me amazed at how right-on she was with me, Everett and Jonathan. She says Truman will be expressive, creative, want to work with his hands. He'll need structure and organization, won't do well unless he has it (I have these traits, too, and the structure one is my biggest problem - evidently that's my "challenge number"). I'm supposed to help him with that, ya know. http://www.cafemama.com/jul/truman28_expressive.html 28 Jul 2005 10:42 PDT Was it today? Was it yesterday? Time goes so fast. Yesterday, I think it was, out of the blue Truman said, "GAH!" clearly, perfectly, like a bell. Everett talked to God, too, when he was little - but he was almost one year old by the time he pointed at the big tree in our side yard and gave a salute to the big guy. Truman? less than three months. I wonder how often God visits without mama overhearing their conversation. And then, today, I think, I was in the kitchen cooking up coffee, or some such thing. Everett and Truman and daddy were all in the bedroom when Truman says, "mom!" as clear as a bell. Everyone heard it and there wasn't even a question. Truman's first words: "God" and "Mom." Now that's a lovely baby. I think I'll keep him. http://www.cafemama.com/jul/truman24_mom.html 24 Jul 2005 10:42 PDT ...I swoop him up to the changing table and set him down gently. As soon as his head touches the pad, he starts in on his grins, waving his arms in enthusiastic support of the diaper-changing mission. he loves his diaper changes! Strange but true... ...I hear him fussing, waking up from a long nap. I pick him up, high in the air, then down to hug against my chest, where he snorts and nuzzles like a fat sweet-smelling piglet, eyes closed, starving, and continues to snort desperately unti the nipple has been placed in his mouth. Then he gulps, deep stomach-jolting swallows, snuffling frequently until his hunger has been mollified... http://www.cafemama.com/jul/truman18_impressions.html 18 Jul 2005 10:42 PDT Have you ever seen anything so cute? My sweet little double-chinned baby is giggling like crazy. And he laughs (or, well, smiles crookedly while cooing and burbling) at the oddest things. Today he was just giggling up a storm...like the time I pulled the sling out from under him while he was lying on our comforter. And when I said "peek-a-boo-boo-boo!" And when I looked at him with wide eyes. And when I talked to him, and when I got half-way through his diaper change. How wonderful is it to go from diaper changes causing full-on-top-of-lungs screaming to diaper changes causing these cute cooing giggles? I love it. Oh, this child of mine, he's gorgeous, just look... http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman15_giggles.html 16 2005 02:15 PDT Truman has discovered his kickers. And may I say, ouch. There are better ways to wake up than to have the feet of a future football player jammed into your c-section scar at 5 a.m. And again, and again, like he's doing that drill, you know the one, with the tires? Only on your c-section scar? At 5 a.m.? Owwwee. Such is the payback for the substantial benefit of being good at nursing while (mostly) sleeping. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman13_kickers.html 13 Jul 2005 10:42 PDT I neglected to update on Truman's two-month checkup. He weighed in at 13.2 pounds, and is 24 1/4 inches - moving up from 25th percentile at two weeks to a respectable 90th percentile. Yep, he's his daddy's son. He screamed bloody murder during his vaccinations and was easily comforted - without even breastfeeding. Dr. Vestergaard pronounced him exceptionally cute and, in all respects, perfectly normal. And out with it: our dark secret. Sweet Truman has a third nipple. Which isn't as dramatic as it sounds - it's a teensy dimple a few inches below his right nipple. Evidently they're quite common. I've heard of three nipples before but someone I always imagined it in the middle, between the other two. And, looking a little more scary than this. So now the question: do I tell him about it? Dr. V said that she was told of her own third nipple when she was a teenager by a nonchalant pediatrician. She was immediately struck with the fear that she was a freak. If we don't discuss it, he'll probably be an adult before he asks about it. If we do, can we preserve the "no big deal at all" aura? Will all his friends and girlfriends be that progressive? I guess I've got some time. But in all likelihood, I will mention it, I'm sort of a full-disclosure type of parent. What would you do? http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman7_twomonths.html 07 Jul 2005 23:42 PDT Today I was surfing around some new mama blogs. And remembering. New mamas saying things like, "the baby loves going on outings!" and "he will never let me put him down, ever." And I remembered those days when Everett was tiny, and everything was BIG. He had this gigantic personality around which we centered our lives. Everything we did was HUGE and IMPORTANT and was the way we were going to do it, always. We were so smart, and so overwhelmed with our importance in this little guy's life, and so thrilled that we were his chaperones. So what's changed? Mostly, everything. This laissez faire mama is way, way more laissez now. While his overwhelming sweet cuteness is nothing to be sneezed at, I'm laughing at myself way more. I'm laughing that I could presume to have any clue what he's thinking, or whether he is even thinking, much, after all. I'm laughing that I call him "smart" when he accidentally bonks the little turtle on his frog gym. I'm laughing that I can't put him down, and missing him when I do and he totally loves it. And I'm taking it very easy on myself, not imagining that my choices today will have all that huge an impact on him three years from now (except, of course, for the kisses - no one can have too many kisses, and judging from Everett's trails of kisses up and down my arm, they do have a huge and long-lasting effect), not beating myself up about letting him fall asleep with a pacifier or take a bottle "too early." (as someone smart said to me tonight, nipple confusion my a$$, just give them a bottle!) But do I love him any less? No, no, no. Impossible. I love them both to pieces, each in a more complex and deep way than the other. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman7_secondchild.html 07 Jul 2005 22:42 PDT Truman has been needy lately, and much of that need involves mama either feeding or "slinging" him, all the time. On the days he's fussy (like today), there's none of that lying him down stuff. No, not for this baby. Like any completely sadistic person, of course, I can't get enough. After a pretty difficult day in which I nearly lost it because of a 20-minute, seemingly baseless, screaming jag in the car, I nursed him to sleep around midnight. Jonathan was on the computer and I'd left my knitting at Larissa's, so there wasn't much to do. So...I held onto Truman, cuddling him and enjoying his soft warmth. My shoulder was hurting from too much slinging and my back was uncomfortably positioned. And still, I couldn't bear to give him up. He's just that good. http://www.cafemama.com/jul/truman4_cantstopcuddling.html 05 Jul 2005 02:42 PDT As I've added some pumping to my routine, I've had so much less time to blog Truman. I've been trying to build up a frozen store of breast milk for the time I hand my sweet baby over to someone else for hours at a time. On Thursday, Truman had his first experience with the bottle when I went out for a meeting. He wasn't too pleased and wouldn't let either Everett or Aunt Erin feed him. When I arrived home, he was sitting on the couch slurping a bottle that was propped in his mouth with an elaborate system of pillows and blankets. Of course, when I picked him up for his breast milk fix, he was cranky and couldn't latch on right away - these nipples weren't as pliable and milky as the one on the bottle. For the rest of the night, he was stressed and fussy. He's continued in his on-and-off way, one day fussy, one calm and sleeping for long periods of time. Of course, I'm ineffective at taking advantage of his long sleep periods, and often have errands galore scheduled on those days. So he sleeps quietly in his car seat and in the sling while I run crazed after his brother. Nursing him is an exercise in quiet frustration intermixed with amused adoration. When he awakes from a long sleep, he snuffles and gulps in the most wonderful way, pausing every four or five drinks for a wheezing desperate breath of air. Once the edge is off his starvation, he calms down, taking quiet contented gulps and squeezing my shirt with one hand, the loose skin on my waist with the other. If he's feeling energetic, he squeezes so hard sometimes I yell. When he's not OH MY GOD STARVING!, he gulps, and pauses, loosening his hold and causing milk to squirt all over him, my shirt, the chair, the blankie. Then comes the frustrating part, when he gulps, and cries, and searches again for the nipple, sucking and crying until I pull him away and stand up to bounce him for a burp. And when the burps happen, they are so loud I think sometimes he's a sumo wrestler trapped in a two-month-old's body. Milestones: he is kicking, and doing pushups, and stands on my legs when I hold him up, supporting his weight on his own. Yesterday at the wading pool I held him in the water and he walked along the bottom of the pool, moving his legs with purpose, all on his own (with, you know, my complete and utter support). It was really cool. He's smiling, now, more frequently, and bigger, but it's still this half-winking sideways big-mouthed grin, sweet and ridiculous and so funny, sometimes with a gasping one-syllable guffaw. I love that he's still panting with excitement when he lies on his back, or now, when I set him tummy-down on my leg and he pushes with his muscular-like-his-brother legs and keeps raising his head to coo and fuss. When I pick him up to kiss his cheeks he raises his eyebrows in sync with the kisses, and sniffs and snuffles, reaching up to chew on the side of his fist. And I love how he looks at me suspiciously, as if he's wondering if he hasn't been kidnapped by aliens while he slept, glancing around sideways to check out the strange ways of our foreign land. And I love how, when he sneezes, his fists protect his face like a delicate cheeky boxer. And most of all, I love how he grasps the skin on my waist with one hand, and my hair with the other (always with his right hand, never his left), and hangs on as if my tender body parts are his lifeline. And then he sleeps, and sniffs, and his little shoulders rise and fall, his fingers open and close, he squishes his lips together and lets out a whoosh of fussy air... and smiles in his sleep, and I'm head over heels, I can't wait for him to wake up so I can kiss him until his eyebrows rise all over again. http://www.cafemama.com/jul/truman2_catchingup.html 02 Jul 2005 23:42 PDT Everett was a "reverse cycler," and even today, we spend much of our night together. As I'm sitting here now, he's sleeping on the couch a few feet away. But Truman is different. Sure, he'll come to bed with me at the drop of a hat. But we've been spending lots of time apart. He sleeps well in his cradle, to the point where I'm almost starting to believe what so many "old wives" say: babies sleep better alone. (Of course then there's the logical theory that, if adults like to sleep with someone else...why wouldn't the vulnerable cuddly kids? But that's an argument for a different day.) He amazes me by sleeping long, long stretches of time...four, five hours, alone. When he's in bed with me, or on my lap, I'm lucky to get one solid hour out of him. A more rational woman would decide to put him to sleep in his cradle every time, she'd get up after nursing him at night to put him back to bed. But I'm not especially rational and I love a good cuddle, especially one from that tiny little boy who curls his arms up around his face in this specially baby way when he sleeps, and stretches in that independent-yet-vulnerable newborn way. I'm in love, and I just can't put love back to bed. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman19_nighttime.html 19 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT Today Truman was in a fussy mood, and Jonathan yelled at me from the bedroom (where he's sleeping the stomach flu away), certain that I had left Truman alone to cry. But I hadn't, he was just sitting in my sling while I sat at my computer. I was getting tired of trying to make him happy. Realizing that this wasn't going to win me any good-mommy awards, or keep my husband's recovery on track, I got up to walk around and jounce him yet again. And I looked down and Truman's eyes were locked onto my face. For the first time, he was really staring at me, not just focusing for a few moments and then getting distracted by ... what, LIGHT? is that LIGHT? We stood there, him staring at me with his big lovely tearless eyes (and he was just crying? what was it, a bunch of noise just to get me riled up?), and I couldn't help talking, and singing, to him. It was a terrible inappropriate song but it just seemed like the right sound for the occasion. And he stared, and stared, and stared, his bright blue-grey eyes locked onto mine. June 18, 2005 - Truman learns to stare. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman18_lockingon.html 18 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT I'm so tired my eyes ache and my head feels like 1,000 pounds. It's not all Truman's fault, of course, I've been staying up super super late getting lots of work done. But even when I'm working, and my babes are all sleeping soundly, I have to take a Truman break every once in a while. And I blog, and scroll through the photos of his soulful baby eyes. And my heart skips a beat. And I feel as fresh as the rain. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman17_hesnottrouble.html 17 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT Well, if he's not ahead of the class on smiles, Truman sure is getting gold stars in sitting. He sometimes can sit 30...60...even 90 seconds before toppling over in cuteness! You're amazed, I know you are. [image] truman and everett, talking about the beautiful June day OK, now that is going in the baby book. If I ever make one. Today we went to pick up daddy from work. And as we were going over the Interstate bridge, this would be the majorly busy bridge between Oregon and Washington, the stunning narrow high one, the batteries Grandpa's truck (which we were driving) started to sputter and die. The windshield wipers stopped working (and you know we need those in Portland in June). The radio faded to nothingness. I thought we wouldn't make it, but we did, all the way to the motor pool of the 1/413th. I chose a parking space carefully. And the truck shut itself down. This was bad, but Sgt. Rodriguez helped daddy save the day and I was so, so happy that my hubbie works in a motor pool with camo-colored Big Trucks at his disposal. And I had plenty of time to stare at my favorite seven-week-old. And make him...laugh? http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman16_sittinup.html 16 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT Lurve. True Lurve. That's what I'm feeling. Everyone (well, everyone but Brooke and a few unlucky souls like her) falls in love with their baby. I'm no different. But oh, what a love.... We're a kissing family, which is interesting, as I grew up in a non-kissing family. My favorite thing to do is to pick up Truman from his bed when he starts fussing and cover his face with kisses, hugging him tight and being in love with his cuteness. He makes the strangest little bird noises that give me shivers of delight. He chirps, and snuffles, and my heart aches. Did you see what I just wrote? That's right, I'm letting Truman sleep alone, without me. Sometimes. I put him down for early morning naps, and evening naps, and late night ones. We've got quite a schedule; I've been going out on interviews in the early evening, letting him snooze, then getting him up for a couple of long feedings, and finally putting him down again around 11. Then he sleeps until about (well, now) 1:30 a.m. while I frantically try to do all the things I didn't do all day because I needed focus. He wakes up for some milk while I finish, and by the time he's snoozing again, I'm done and ready for bed. And last night...oh, you're not going to believe it...I put him to bed in the cradle and crawled into our empty bed with my hubbie. He would have been thrilled, had he been awake. Instead, he was awakened around 5 a.m. with Truman's pained snuffling. The poor babe has such a stuffy tiny nose. And it's noisy, and gets in the way of his intake of delicious warm mama's milk. In the end, though, I don't get much sleep. Because he wakes up around 8 and just hangs out, looking sideways at the pretty bright light coming in the window. So I have to talk to him in between my catnaps. And this morning? I swear...he smiled at me. And it was lurve all over again. Sleepless, delicious, lurve. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman15_lurve.html 15 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT I promised this time it would be different, that I wouldn't work such a crazy schedule, that I'd blog all the time, that I'd protect the sanctity of your babyhood. But I can't help it (and it's not just because I need a roof over all our heads, and plenty of organic farmer's market goodies in our bellies). I'm just a working mama. In no time I've gone from (see, I had to delete "carefree," that was never true) she-who-won't-be-scheduled, the mama with her playdate calendar booked solid, to a mom who stays up until all hours of the night drafting client contracts. And leaves you alone with daddy so she can interview a potential employee, enjoying that stolen 15 minutes of picking someone's brain when she should be cuddling with you in your "fussy" time. But it will be different, it is different. When I work late into the night that means I can feed you all day, that when you cry I can come running and pick you up and give you kisses. Even though your brother watched TV half the day, he also made cookies with me between phone calls to real estate brokers, and used 1/2 cup of flour rolling out 1/4 cup of dough over, and over, and over again. And you cuddled so quietly in the sling, flour sprinkled through your fine, soft hair, and were happy in your baby way. And while I listened to my marketing seminar you pushed off my legs with your legs, you can hold your weight up just like your brother could at his age. And when I record my voice to test some software, I can hear your chirping breastfeeding noises in the background, and I want to, but don't, cry a little at your sweetness. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman14_promises.html 15 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT You're getting so strong. I knew you'd grow up to be a big healthy boy just like your brother, but you continue to amaze me. I weighed you the other night when we had to take you to the doctor. The scale had your weight in kilograms, it was 5.3 or something. Later I used a calculator to convert it and found out you are almost 12 pounds. You'll double your birth weight by two months at this rate. And you can hold up your weight with your legs if I balance you on my lap, and you have such calm understated strength, you act as if it's nothing, this display of power. Already you are spending more time gazing at me and out at the world. Today everyone at my doctor's office commented on your alertness, your pretty skin (I'm worried it's a bit jaundiced still, but the public seems to enjoy it). You're beautiful and everyone wants to gaze at you and kiss you. You have a bit of a stuffy nose, and you snuffle like a little piglet. It's charming and heartbreaking at once. I love your little sounds, the way you breathe so puffily as you sleep on my tummy. You still love to sleep on me, although you're starting to accept your cradle if you're wrapped up cozily. Sometimes when I go to bed at night, you're there in your cradle, sound asleep, and I can't help but pick you up to take to bed with me. I'm afraid you aren't breathing, to start with, and then I can't stand not cuddling with you at night. You are very cozy despite the way you make my shirt soaked with milk. Today you said "oooh..." to me and it made my stomach turn circles and my heart stop. I love your baby-pig voice. Your brother loves you so much, he wants to hold you and cuddle you and pet you and kiss you all the time. He tells you how cute you are, and he can't wait until you're grown up so he can play with you, and talk to you, and take you to his room with him. You two will have as much fun together as your parents have with you. We're just a big infatuated family infatuated, we're all so cute, we can't help staring at one another. I love you no matter how little sleep I get. As I said to my nurse today, "this is what I went through all that trouble for." And you're worth it. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman10_totruman.html 10 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT Today I started missing it, the time I'd spend each night blogging my day's experiences when I was pregnant. And I decided to get just that much less sleep to make it happen again. So, this weekend I'll add an RSS feed and hook up all the permalinks. And we'll get my memories back on the road. Here's why: Truman's now 11.5 pounds. That's 50% bigger (give or take) than he was at birth. In just six weeks, my baby has changed from a tiny little thing to someone who can push off my legs with his supercharged Hanson gams. And I don't have enough memories. I have pictures, and some "surface" blogging. But I like going back and remembering how it felt to be me, at the moment in time of the life of my babe. So here it is: little feet scratching against your tummy, pushing off your ribs, climbing like a little kitten up closer to your face. The mewling sound he makes, so soft and sweet, like a lamb, but softer and sweeter. The ache in my breasts when I think about him too much. The way I can hold him in my arms and he'll look up at me dimly, brow furrowed, as if he's wondering which alien kidnapped him and brought him here for study. The incomparable milky sweet smell of his skin; how his smell overpowers the artificial smells of the people who hold him (cologne, smoke, and the like) in minutes, and he's back to his precious smell. How Everett, and Anouk, and all three-year-olds come up really close and soft to whisper, "can I kiss her?" and so, so softly kiss his head or his arm, with the tiniest smile. How Everett says, "he's so cute!" in this little-boy high-pitched sweet voice, that makes me want to cry fat tears of amazement at my two cute perfect boys. How I can hold one of his feet in my hand when I'm walking with him in my sling, how I don't want to let it go, how I can't stop "petting" his body with my hand. And he cries for me, now, and I can't stay. Goodnight. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman9_moments.html 09 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT Sunday, as you know, terrible. Monday, mostly great. Today, the afternoon and evening was a little awful once again. Between fusses I love him to pieces. I've been following Everett's lead and giving Truman lots of kisses, and of course, muchos besos. Today we were kissing in Spanish and in English, big fast cheek kisses, he loves them. I think we made some connection today, too, he seemed to really focus on my face - for the first time, it was a prolonged, meaningful focus. *sniff* My little boy's growing up so fast! We spent most of the morning driving around, and you know, he really loves the car. He's always so quiet and sweet while we're toodling about, while I'm caffeinating myself at every available outlet. Even when we get out and I transfer him to the sling, I'd think I'd lose my window of quiet - but he keeps hanging on, lets me deal with his brother, he stays sweet and perfect and cute until I get him home and fail to feed him promptly, efficiently, with singled-minded focus. Then we're again battling the wails. But tonight, it's late, very late, and he's been in bed - in his real own cradle - since 10, sweetly snoozing cozied up with all his hand-knit blankies. This I could get used to. And how could I not have told you this? Today, we took the very most sweet photo you've ever seen of Truman and his army daddy, in the woods. click for the photo. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman7_onandoff.html 07 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT Today was not a zen day. Truman and I just weren't getting along so well. Truman has discovered his inner fuss. He's just not a happy camper unless he's eating. And he's not a happy camper 30 seconds after he starts eating. He cries. He wails. He screeches in the most plaintive kind of way. It hurts me to my very core. I always thought that colicky behavior (it may not be colic, but it's certainly colic-like) would completely floor me, tear me to bits, cause meltdowns of monstrous proportions. But somehow I'm dealing with him, and bouncing, and walking, and only occasionally tearing my hair out. It's usually when Everett joins in for his own whine, when he decides the best course of action is to climb up on the arm of my chair and play with the DVDs while I'm sitting there typing at my computer and struggling to breastfeed a very sad sad, oh-so-sad Truman - that's when I lose it, just a bit, and my first few words could be classified as yelling. I'd spent the whole day, tired and trying to get work done, bouncing and jouncing and taking advantage of 15 minute naps when they came. Changing poopy diapers to the tune of screams. Leaving Truman on the floor at his frog gym so I could get a trying-to-be-good Everett a hotdog with checkup. Alone. And though I didn't get much done, when Jonathan called to say he'd be late, I mustered the energy to walk with the two of them to Trader Joe's, and though we had a meltdown over the orange that escaped under the pallet, we made it, we walked home and no one screamed at the top of his lungs and mama didn't fall to pieces. And I stayed up and blogged into the night. Maybe I'm not such a bad mama, after all. But I'm diagnosing. Is this colic? He hasn't been like this every day, and he sleeps well at night. He isn't sick, no fever, he's too young to be teething, I change his diaper regularly and there's not even a rash. He's getting lots of milk between the wailing. (As anyone can judge by the spurts of milk all over my shirt, my chair, Truman's face, my belly.) It's either pesky growth spurts, colic, or he just doesn't like it when I'm not 100% focused on his feeding. Do I have a colicky baby? Or just a bit of a fusser? http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman5_zennomore.html 05 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT Jonathan asked me today if Truman's ability to focus, or lack thereof, was according to the "calendar." So I went here to check. It seemed as if he was about on schedule in some areas, and ahead in others. And as I was scanning the chart, the two month milestones and the three month and four...suddenly I felt like screaming, putting the breaks on, "STOP!!!!" at the top of my lungs. Everything is going TOO FAST. He's already five weeks, plus. I can't take this breakneck grow-up pace. I want to just be mama to my little eensy eight-pounder always. Already he's getting heavy, I'm about ready to move him from the sling to a more evenly-distributed ultimate wrap. He's almost smiling, he's doing mini-pushups, he's making new noises all the time. He's just growing like crazy. I'm so conflicted, bouncing back from wanting my baby to grow up so he can play with his brother ("When Truman is grows up, he's going to play with me - when Truman is grows up, he's going to talk to me - when Truman is grows up, he's going to play in my room -") and wanting him to stay a tiny baby. It's like this with everything my sweet boys do, I can't stand the growing up and I can't wait for it to happen. It's one big bittersweet blur, this mamahood. http://www.cafemama.com/jun/truman3_blur.html 03 Jun 2005 10:42 PDT Today was Truman's one-month birthday, and in honor of the great event, I gave him a bath. It was his first true, doused-all-the-way-in-water bath, and he bathed in tandem with his big brother. Everett couldn't stand his first bath and wailed angrily while I washed him as quickly as possible and Jonathan took photos. But Truman seemed pleased, in as much as a one-month-old without a 'real' smile can seem pleased about anything. He waved his arms and kicked and looked around calmly as I rubbed him down with lavendar bubble bath. The biggest indignity? I couldn't take pictures as that would have meant leaving him alone in the tub (or soaking wet and diaperless on the bathroom rug) to run and get the camera. I guess we'll have to take the "first bathtime" photos next week. Truman has been fussing a little more, although not (quite) enough to make me lose my so-carefully-cultivated patience. http://www.cafemama.com/may/truman28_birthday.html 28 May 2005 10:42 PDT This evening marked a great date in the life of Truman - the completion of his baby blankie. I've been working on it since April 14th or so, and tonight I cast off the last stitch. Only 26 days after his birth, not bad hmmm? Today was another banner day - his first playdate with Sebastian. He and Sebastian have gotten together before, of course, but this was the first time they got to hang out together. At one point we think they even looked at each other. Maybe? Truman's breastfeeding is going fairly well, although he has a habit of pulling off the nipple suddenly in the midst of a particularly ravenous-sounding feeding. He'll hiccup and gasp for breath so that you wonder if he's about to choke and turn purple. But no, he's fine, and still ravenous. He'll be quiet for a moment, then start fussing for the nipple (that he's just moved several inches from) again. He's quite the little eater. Despite his habit of spitting mouthfuls of milk down my stomach (my clothes always smell like sour milk, especially my shirt hems and the waistline of my pants), I'm continually reminded that Truman is a joy to breastfeed. He's really a kind and gentle eater. Sometimes I wonder if it's him, or if it's my relative experience level. However it's worked out, I feel lucky. I do attribute some of my success to doing lots of skin-to-skin contact in the first 24 hours of his life, and continuing to "wear" the baby, keeping him close to mama and daddy most of the time. It's difficult, and hampers activity (although fortunately I've become skilled at the knitting/breast feeding combo, I'm thinking about giving lessons), but it pays off bigtime in his zen attitude. click for lots of photos http://www.cafemama.com/may/truman21_blankiefriend.html 21 May 2005 10:42 PDT "He's so alert!" a mom cooed at Truman today. And I realized he'd been awake, and peering at me with his beautiful blue-grey eyes, for an hour already. And throughout the day, he's been awake for longer and longer periods, playing, waving his arms, half-smiling at me. He's so interested in the world, his little breath coming in short excited bursts. He has a lot to be excited about. Today we had a 'photo shoot' for Everett. He's going to be in a calendar advertising Fuji film (I can't wait to get the calendar, by the way). We had the sweetest Japanese photographer, who'd flown in for two weeks to get his shots. Everett was his last model and he was enamored with his blonde curls, and with Truman. Even though Everett was the 'model,' the photographer took plenty of shots of Truman and me, as well. I only signed a release for Everett and I wonder if, somewhere down the road, Truman's sweet baby face will grace Mr. Photographer's portfolio. I hope he'll send me copies if it does. http://www.cafemama.com/may/truman18_debut.html 18 May 2005 10:42 PDT Today was a day of firsts. Truman started fussing this morning, his first difficult time so far in his life. I was mourning the loss of my zen babe, and wishing for a deep clean - it had been at least four days since the last time I'd washed my hair. All of the sudden around noon, Truman threw up all over the place. I changed him and he was all calmness and tai chi once again. I watched him in amazement as he waved his arms at his frog gym, and seized the moment. In a matter of minutes, I was in the shower while he played quietly next to the bathtub, cozy on another of our cushy playmats, a stuffed Noah's ark with a particularly interesting tag (every baby's favorite thing to wonder over) sticking out in arm's reach. I could hardly believe my luck as I washed my hair twice, conditioned, and then...wait for it...started a bath. It was my first bath in at least three weeks, and the first time my belly button has been immersed in - I don't know how long. It wasn't until I turned off the water that I could even hear him, his excited breathing as he waved his arms at the brightly-colored toy. Once I could hear him, of course, I started feeling guilty for missing his cuteness, and I had a much-shorter-than-usual soak. But...I was clean, and I had my zen babe back. And all it took was a little regurgitated milk. http://www.cafemama.com/past/may/truman17_thebath.html 17 May 2005 10:42 PDT I know babies aren't supposed to smile until about two months. And if they do smile at this point, it's all a disconnected-from-mood reflex. But I swear Truman is smiling. I'm sure it's just my mama obsession. And I say again, but... We're sitting here at the computer, and Everett is watching Zen Baby, and Truman's lying on my lap, contentedly pooping and waving his arms around in his usual tai chi practice. And every once in a while, he smiles. It's the cutest wry happy thing. He had some smiles for me yesterday, too, in the same contented mood. Even if it's not real, I'm still going to commemorate it. My baby smiles at me. I'm one lucky mama. http://www.cafemama.com/may/truman15_hesmiles.html 15 May 2005 10:42 PDT I'm sitting at my laptop, paying bills and answering emails (and oh, yes, blogging) sans baby. How could I be so cruel? I'll tell you how. My baby plays by himself. Yep. He's 11 days old today, and he plays by himself. He's lying on his back in the frog gym given to us by Aunt Betsy. Happily waving his arms and his legs in that motion I know oh-so-well from when it was on the inside and a lot less charming. Every once in a while he yawns or hiccups, then waves his arms and legs some more. It's truly charming. The first few times he did this, I sat next to him, amazed and watching his every cute movement. Now I'm using his "playtime" as a time to clean the living room, do so work that takes both hands. Will life with Truman really be this easy? It's further proof that this child is the most zen baby ever. http://www.cafemama.com/may/truman9_playsbyhimself.html 09 May 2005 10:42 PDT Truman got a birthday present from his mama's Blogging Baby colleagues. It was his very own domain! So far, Truman's life has been highlighted by sleeping, eating, and using lots of diapers. He charms his mama to pieces with the way his hair swirls in the back and the strange grunts and burbles he makes. He cries when his diaper is being changed and when mama leaves him for more than 30 seconds. He loves the sling that Shetha made him, and sleeps in it happily. Wondering who is the magician who crafted the lovely blankie that graces the masthead? That's my friend Larissa, who will soon bring one of Truman's sure-to-be best baby buddies into the world. I hope to be a good blogging mama and report the many wonderful bits of being Truman's safekeeper in this world, for the next several years anyway. And future prom dates should know: he was a calm, sweet prince from the moment I laid eyes on him. click for more day one pictures http://www.cafemama.com/may/truman6_welcome.html 06 May 2005 10:42 PDT