Objects in the rearview mirror may appear closer than they are

Remember 2004? The year we were married? Well, some months before we were married, I submitted for publication a paper based on work done during my post-doc.

Remember 2005? Good for you, the editor didn't. In fact, by the time 2006 rolled around, I assumed that my paper had been rejected, but because I hadn't received an official rejection, I couldn't legitimately shop it around. And because only one good thing came out of my post-doc (kept me here long enough to meet Werner), I didn't really have the stomach to deal with the paper anyway.

Well, seems that all I needed to do to get the editor's attention was to give birth. Sure enough, within days of bringing Jakob home, I got the editor's comments. They were actually quite minor, but with a newborn around, finding time to brush my teeth once a day is a minor miracle.

Getting through the revisions, and resubmitting the paper, topped my list of things to do during my mother's January visit. I begged Werner for permission to use his office while he was teaching, and worked furiously.

And it paid off - the paper has actually been accepted!

This acceptance may be all the sweeter: since my career is finished (yes, I really believe so), this is the last-ever paper acceptance I'll ever experience. I gotta enjoy it while I can.

Good-bye, thinking. Hello, baby vomit.

There is PAINT on the crib!!

I've just discovered that there is paint on Jakob's crib.

Why is it that any deficiency work that has taken place in our home has caused even more problems?

Was it too much to ask that they treat our home with respect? That they recognise it as a home and not just a construction site?

(And last month I had to scrape paint off my beloved Kitchenaid Pro 6 standmixer.)

I was right to be dreading all of this.

A mom date!

I had a mom date!! I got out of the house with other people!

One of our neighbours, Barbara, had a little girl in November, and she was finally able to join me for Movies for Mommies. And when I got there, I bumped into a mom (and baby!) from my drop-in group. The three of us sat together with out babies and watched The Holiday.

I was so thrilled to be out with other people that I actually started to cry at one point...

Tall and skinny?

On Tuesday, Jakob had his 4-month check-up. All systems normal!

(Well, mostly: he has eczema, which explains his rashy-ness.)

Current stats:
Weight = 7.23 kg
Height = 66.5 cm
Head Circumference = 41.5 cm

And he's still, for now, in size 2 Pampers Swaddlers.

And sometimes you shouldn't

While on the phone with the Lufthansa rep, I asked about gate-checking our stroller. When I mentioned that it has a two-piece fold, she got a complete mental block and kept telling me that I couldn't bring the carseat aboard.

I guess I shouldn't have asked.

Ah, well. We're flying with a European airline and using a European stroller. I just can't imagine we'll be the first family - ever - to fly Lufthansa with a Bugaboo. Seriously.

Sometimes ya just gotta ask

For some reason, yet again, our travel agency booked flights with us not sitting together. This time, I was assigned a seat with bassinet space, and Werner was across the aisle and a few rows back - both to and from Frankfurt. Nonplussed was I.

I tried to call Lufthansa in December, but alas the hours posted for their call centre seemed to be relevant for a different time zone. Finally, I just got a moment to try again. And you know what? The seat next to me, in both directions, was available. There was no reason for us to not be seated together. Problem solved.

Although, now I'm wondering whether this keeps happening because Werner doesn't want to sit with me on long flights...

It's January 28

That's going to mean nothing to you, but it does to us.

;-)

Four months!

I really can't believe it, but today Jakob is four months old.

A few days ago, as I sorted through his clothes, I came across the little yellow cat sleeper he wore home from the hospital. I remember he looked so tiny in it at the time, he was small and skinny and it was baggy on him. Too soon, he outgrew it. And when I saw it the other day, I held it up next to him. How is it possible he was ever so tiny?

And I felt sad and sentimental.

And yet another new friend for Jakob!

Congratulations to Catherine and Brandon, and welcome to Emma Clare!

Training him early

While I was pregnant, we decided that I'd participate in any reasonable studies for which I was eligible. After all, research puts a roof over our head, and I still remember the how hard it can be to recruit research subjects. Research karma, if you will.

So I did a couple of studies. As it happens, two of them I completed just hours before going into labour - who knew??

And since Jakob's birth, we completed one tedious, onerous, and regrettable study at five weeks. Ugh. I've also responded to a few ads I've seen, interested in them because we could also benefit (to some extent) through Jakob's participation.

Such was the case with the study Jakob did on Friday. The hospital where he was born (and turfed out before being able to eat, mind you) brags that it is BC's largest birthing centre. Yeah, whatever. They don't do routine hearing screening of newborns. (They also apparently don't care whether newborns are capable of eating.)¹ So when I saw an ad that promised, "Test your newborn's hearing while he sleeps!", I was eager to sign up Jakob.

On Friday, a crisp-ish and clear day, I bundled him up and snuggled him into his stroller to walk to the university. At the lab (with my lunch cooling off and going stale in the stroller bag), the researchers attached two probes to Jakob's forehead and another to the back of his head/neck. And, of course, as they finished this, he pooped. Very very loudly, and very very smellily. I changed him in the test booth, and then got into a rocker/recliner with him.



As I nursed him to sleep, they screened his hearing and determined that it is perfectly fine. Once he'd settled down to sleep, the researcher inserted two little buds into his ears; through these, sounds were piped into his healthy little ears, and his brain responses were studied. Twice his eyes popped open (the researcher told me that at those points she changed from one ear to the other). He quickly settled back to sleep. Otherwise, he slept soundly and was a highly co-operative test subject.




¹ Yes, I'm still not over this. So very far from being over it. Don't know that I'll ever be over it.

A very slippery slope

And I'm tobogganing with abandon.

Remember that Mom bought Jakob a Baby Einstein DVD? I've - far too quickly - progressed from that to plain old TV as Jakob's electronic babysitter. I was desperate.

At least it was CBC. And at least it was CBC Kids.

Flip Flop!

Jakob rolled over!! From front to back!

And then, a few minutes later, I handed him a wooden rattly toy that his Onkle Johannes and Tante Katja sent him, and he chewed on it!

Two milestones in a matter of minutes. Big day!

(Although this still doesn't quite make up for the amount of time he spent screaming today, whenever I dared to place him anywhere but on my lap...)

Does this baby make me look fat?

All together now: "Thank you Werner"

Werner has bought for me what he hopes will be a Phoebe-proof cable to connect my camera to my computer. I will again be able to download - and therefore post - photos.

Everyone say thank you to Werner!

Two nights, no sleep

My Mom headed home on Tuesday, leaving the monitor to us. Werner, having rightfully reclaimed his spot in our marital bed, stayed put. (Much to my delight.) The monitor moved into our room.

{sigh}

This isn't going well.

The first night, Werner still cared for Jakob through the night, although I think I did get up once to reinstall the soother. I had broken sleep.

Last night, the second night, I scarcely slept at all. Being a school night for Werner, I finally attempted to take on my responsibility and care for the babe through the night. (Afterall, I already care for him during the day, why not nighttime hours too?) I was up three times on soother duty, plus once to feed. The feeding began at 4:45 or so, and I got back in bed at about 5:30.

I hate the 5 am feeding. By the time I'm ready to go back to bed, it hardly seems worth the bother. But, as it happens, the best sleep I got all night was the patch from 6:30 until Werner's alarm went off at 7. Yes, that's right, a half hour.

The rest of the night, I woke up with every sound Jakob made. (Fortunately, there were relatively few last night, but I still heard each one.) And it seems our monitor likes to change channels every few minutes. It seemed that it sensed me nodding off, for every time I started to drift into sleep, it changed channels and woke me up.

Some time around 3 or so, I dug out my earplugs. That helped to smooth out the channel changes, at least.

I'm dragging today. My head hurts, my eyes are heavy, and I feel absolutely lost. I feel like I did for all of October and half of November.

But it's my job to take care of the baby. That's what evolution says, right? Werner has bailed me out for months. I've relied on him too much, and that hasn't been fair to him.

I have to suck it up. I don't know how, and I don't think I'll be all that pleasant to live with, but I have to do it. Somehow.

I might just have to do it

I'm such a milker that I've been threatening to buy (and use) a yogurt maker and/or an ice cream maker to use up some of the litres upon litres of milk soundly frozen in the deep freeze...

Hello, My Name Is Breast

I've always hated the abbreviation Mel. Vulgar, to my ears. Reminds me of Mel on that old sitcom Alice.

Anyway, a few weeks back, we ended up at White Spot for lunch. It was so busy that we could barely get in the door. Since the name "Werner" seems to confuse hostesses, we always give my name.

Then we waited.

And waited.

And then a waiter/host came along and asked for Mel. I piped up, "Do you mean Melanie?" "No," he replied, "Mel."

The lady sitting next to me leaned over and said, "I'd better not tell you what Mel means in Hungarian."

Oh, come on! "Now you've got to tell me!"

"Breast."

Mel = Breast.¹

Seems appropriate these days, no?

(From now on, we'll be asking for tables under the name "Jakob".)


¹ According to Sherlock's translation function, it is actually spelled mell.

The electronic babysitter

Yesterday, Mom bought Jakob a Baby Einstein DVD. Every time I've been to Babies R Us, I've looked at the display, but hadn't yet gotten around to buying one.

Now we've got Baby Bach.

And now I've got Jakob in his swing, facing the TV. And he's mesmerised.

I feel a twinge of guilt, but he seems content, and I know I am.

Thirty years from now, we'll learn these videos were an experiment in mind control...

All by myself

Not really, Jakob's here with me, and so is Phoebe. But Mom's gone.

It was good to have her here...

Our date night

Saturday night, we got out. Mom stayed home with Jakob (their date night), while Werner and I headed out.

Where to start? We really didn't know. It had been so long since we'd seen a movie together (of course, summer 2006 - our last chance to enjoy lots of (well, any) movies brought rather pitiful offerings) and we weren't on top of current movies. Eventually, we settled on Venus, simply because it was supposed to be funny and promised London scenery. Tired as we always are, we thought the early show would be our best bet, and then we'd get something to eat before heading home.

Oh, boy. Are we out of practice at this.

We got to the cinema and couldn't find parking. The queue was already startlingly long, so Werner dropped me off and drove off in search of parking. I got in the line-up for the automated ticket machine, as it usually moves more quickly. Not this time. By the time I got there (some time, even, after Werner had found parking and walked back), the early show was sold out. We snapped up two tickets for the late show, and then went to the restaurant next door. It was also busy (we could barely get in the door to ask for a table), but we ended up with a fantastic little table for two in a quiet(ish) back corner. (As we finished up, another pair was seated at the next table; we were both convinced they were out on a first(ish) date. Cute!) Then back to the cinema, where we appreciated the snuggle afforded by the 'love seats' and the rare opportunity to watch a movie together.

It was nice.

And it made me sad. Sad because I have no idea when we'll do it again. Sad because I miss doing things easily, without fuss and with little planning.

And sad because I miss having uninterrupted time with Werner.

Is there a German equivalent of a kilt?

Because it was so easy to change Jakob's diaper while he was wearing his Christening gown!

It isn't fair. Moms (and Dads) of baby girls don't have to deal with the 'fountain'. And, as I learnt as I changed him while he was still in his Christening gown, it is unspeakably easy to change a diaper when there are no pants in the way.

Werner may yet come home to find his son in a dress...

I can justify it, at least, by putting him in an Elliott tartan kilt, right?

Passing through the waters

¹
On Sunday, Jakob was baptised. Like the day he was born, the sun shone brightly. Unlike his birth, however, Jakob's Christening was public.

My Mom, of course, flew out to be here with us. We were delighted and grateful that she could be here with us, to witness the baptism, and so grateful to her for having made Jakob's Christening gown. It was simple and perfect.

Our friends, my surrogate family in Vancouver, were also there.

And, as on Christmas Eve, Jakob was a little angel. Oh, sure, there was the spit-up, but he got the last of it out right before the baptism itself and stayed dry from then on. He didn't cry or get at all upset as the minister baptised him, he just looked around and enjoyed the view (and, likely, the attention too).

By our request, the hymn after the sacrament was "May the blessing of God be upon you", which was sung at our wedding. It was meaningful and moving, another memory to add to my treasure chest.




After church, we all enjoyed a celebratory meal at Provence. That evening, Werner, Mom, and I shared out the last bit of our wedding cake.


¹ A card, hand-made by Louise. (The colours have gone wonky here - what's blue should be brown, and vice-versa - but I'll have to beg Werner to sort it out if he gets a spare moment.)

All through the night!

Sleep my child
And peace attend thee
All through the night.

Jakob slept 'til 7:30 this morning!! He didn't even fuss for his soother, he just slept soundly all night.

(Mind you, he refused to nap yesterday. Six of one, half a dozen of the other? Whatever, this was still a treat!)

Success!

We tracked down another bear coat! The Baby Gap in Coquitlam had one left, and shipped it to us for a whopping $5. It arrived today!

The finished product

When my Mom arrived, I was as eager to see the Christening gown she had made for Jakob as she was to ensure that it fit him properly. So what if he was already in his sleeper?! We didn't care!

Now included with the guest room: the baby monitor!

Yes, the monitor has found a home in the guest room. My mom will inherit it when she comes to visit.

And the night feeding, too.

Anyone else wanna come and visit us?

:-)

Oh what a to-do

My mom is flying out tomorrow, and oh boy do I have things I need and want to do while she's enjoying Jakob!!

• First and foremost, I have a revise and resumbit to, well, revise and resubmit. Just because the editor sat on the paper for well over two years does not mean that they'll give me even one extra second to get the revised paper back...
  
• The builder has chosen now (the worst possible time) to finally do our one-year deficiency work. Sixteen months after we took possession of our home. Blech.
  
• Restock the freezer (more cod au gratin - that's been a favourite - and maybe try some cabbage rolls) and get a big load of groceries
• Clean the house. Oh, wait, is it worth it when the trades will be tromping through, making a mess?
• Rest, get a haircut, put to good use the spa gift certificate Mom gave me for Christmas
• And, of course, update the blog
  

Isn't there a quota for diaper shirts?

Got Jakob dressed this morning. Class 9 (on a scale of 10) blowout followed. Changed the baby. Also changed his crib sheet, since he'd soaked it, too.

Fed him nearly two hours ago. He spat up all over me, and himself too. Put him in his crib while cleaning myself up and seeing deficiency guy to the door. He soaked the clean crib sheet. Started cleaning him up. Got him stripped down, changed his diaper, carried him to the bathroom to wash him up. Got him washed. He spat up again. My watch strap is clogged with baby vomit. Splatters on the floor.

Took him back to his room. Got his clean diaper shirt on him, then he spat up again. His right shoulder is wet, but I cannot do this all over again and again and again. Mopped it up with tissues.

Got his clothes on him, and was doing up his bib when, you guessed it, more spit-up.

Forget it. He can stay soggy 'til his father gets home.

My tea, which I made before he announced he was hungry, will be cold, but I still want it.

Two

Jakob is now in size 2 diapers!

"It's only seasonal"

Just a momentary whinge...

What with a newborn in the house, I didn't have time to make pannetone this year. Fortunately, Terra Breads makes very good pannetone, a reasonable alternative to homemade. (For their record, their hot cross buns are the best I've ever tasted, so I don't even bother making them myself now.) But, again with an infant, it was difficult to get out to the bakery to buy a pannetone before now.

And when I got there, there were no pannetones to be found. Hoping they were just sold out for the day, I asked, and was told, "They're only seasonal."

Huh? Whatever happened to the twelve days of Christmas??

I've been stewing over the nature of Christmas versus X-mas, as in the Christian festival versus the consumeristic excuse for time off work and school. This partly rises from the different cultures in which Werner and I hatched (I grew up with Santa, Werner didn't) and partly a sense that Christmas has strayed so far from it's origins. I'm undecided about whether I want Jakob to have Santa in his life (although I know I don't want him to be the know-it-all kid at school who spoils it for all the others; you know, telling them that "Santa isn't real!"). I didn't take him for a photo with a shopping mall Santa. I don't want to deny him childhood fun, but Santa just doesn't seem right to me now.

I've also come to resent the rush to Christmas. Christmas carols playing as soon as Hallowe'en has passed, trees up in November, Advent calendars that count down the days in December rather than the days of Advent. (Heck, this year I was in The Bay in August and they were putting out their Christmas trees! That's just wrong.) In our church, there has been an effort to reclaim the Christian seasons. Because of this, I take the time to enjoy Advent (some of my favourite "Christmas" carols are actually meant for Advent, including Oh come, Oh come, Emanuel and Lo How a Rose E'r Blooming) and look forward to the start of Christmas on December 25. We Christians have twelve whole days to celebrate, not just one! Advent has become my favourite season in the church year, a time of anticipation. Waiting makes Christmas sweeter.

We both come from families that leave the tree up until Epiphany. We do not rush to put it up, either. (Granted, December 23, the date on which we put up the tree this year, was a bit too late, perhaps.) If I had my way, the coloured lights would be hung on November 1 and stay up through March, but that's to chase away the Vancouver drear.

Should we shower Jakob with countless gifts each December 25? It will be hard to avoid, I know. Maybe we should give him one gift a day from December 25 through January 5?

I don't know.

This year we didn't have to make any decisions (except maybe the decision to not get a shopping mall Santa photo), although I did sew a stocking for Jakob (that's one childhood tradition that I want to share with him - but maybe on St. Nicholas Day instead of Christmas Day?). Next year we'll be in Germany, where Santa is "Weihnnachtsman" (Christmas Man) or, more disparagingly, "Coca-Cola Man". It will be my first European Christmas, and that might either introduce me to wonderful new traditions (I already enjoy wandering through a Weihnnachtsmarkt with a mug of Glühwein!) or send me scrambling back to the traditions of my childhood. I really don't know.

I just know that I'm increasingly uncomfortable with the commercialisation and secularisation of what, to Christians, should be a high holiday.

Bear Wear

How nice! Gap and Gymboree have both decided that bear-themed clothes are in this year.

On our first trip with Jakob to Baby Gap, we found a warm, fuzzy, Fozzie Bear-ish coat and footed pants. The pants have pads on the soles of the feet, the coat has ears. We bought both in grizzly brown.

Too soon, Jakob had outgrown the newborn-sized coat. The pants I had accidentally bought in 3-6 months, so they had some time to go, but of course that meant he needed a new coat. So off I went to Baby Gap and bought another bear coat in 3-6 months.


But still he grows! And before we know it, this coat will be too small. It still fits him properly, but we're noticing it is getting tricky to get his arms in and out.

If one is good, two is better, and three would be best of all, right?

So, yes, I'm searching high and low for another bear coat, this time sized 6-12 months.

Dreading this...

We took possession of our home in August, 2005. Four months earlier, we'd completed a pre-occupancy inspection; by possession, the builder still had not repaired all deficiencies flagged at that inspection. We duly completed our deficiency report on possession; despite having been in here frequently (if irregularly) for about six months, those deficiencies (and some of those still outstanding from the May inspection) were never completed.

As the one-year anniversary approached last August, we did yet another inspection, and submitted our claim to both the insurer and the builder.

Now the builder is ready to do our deficiency work. Now, when Werner has to start teaching and I'll always be here alone with Jakob. I don't answer the door (or phone) if I'm feeding or bathing or changing Jakob, or for any other reason cannot do so safely. Yes, my mother will be here for two weeks, and while that will make it easier, I certainly don't want to spend those two weeks babysitting tradesmen. This was supposed to be my chance to get out of the house, at last.

I have no words to describe the sense of dread that has settled into the pit of my stomach.

New kind of pain

For those who have never breastfed, the idea of a leaky breast is unfathomable. I sure never imagined just what it meant; now I understand all too well.

To help prevent big wet blotches on a lactating mother's shirt, breast pads are available. It took me a long time to find a style and brand that I liked. I bought a pair of Lilypadz, which were great in theory but didn't work well for me. I ignored my nagging environmental conscience and tried a number of disposables, too, before finally settling on one that I actually liked.

Also unimaginable to those who've never had need for nursing pads is that the breastfeeding mother must somehow get the pad out of the way to give the baby access. Some pads, including the one that I prefer, have little adhesive strips by which the mother may attach the pads to the inside of her nursing bra. For the longest time, I didn't use the adhesive and just tucked the pads away somewhere out of the way. Then I screwed up the courage to breastfeed Jakob away from home, and I realised that there wasn't always somewhere out of the way that was convenient to tuck away said pads. So adhesive it was.

By and large, it works well. But then today the pad came unstuck from the inside of my bra. It had to find somewhere to stick.

And, unfortunately, it chose to stick to sensitive bits of skin.

Not quite as painful as the transitional phase of labour, but it actually did come close. I believe I may have even screamed, which I believe I did not do during labour.

Which reminds me: why, during the prenatal breastfeeding class, didn't the instructor explain how to handle a baby with one hand and, with the other, get the breast pad out of the way and reattach the bra and catch the spitup and myriad other tasks that need to be done right NOW? Had that been discussed, I think I would have considered the class worth the cost of parking.

Music to our ears

Jakob has hit the button that turns on the music for his crib aquarium!

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder?

As Jakob's parents, we're hard-wired to believe he is adorable, beautiful, and/or perfect. That's our bias, and even our job.

But I'm really beginning to think he is in an objective sense, too. Random passersby stop us to have a closer look and to comment on how beautiful he is. The first time I had him out in his stroller since it was converted to a seat, I began to feel a bit self-conscious, even, so many people commented on his cuteness. Impartial observers say our baby is adorable, beautiful, and/or perfect.

I'm afraid that I'm starting to believe our own publicity.

Big blue eyes

When we brought Jakob to be checked for reflux, I used the pushchair (as opposed to bassinet) configuration of the Bugaboo for the first time. He can see the world go by!

And during that appointment, he kept his head turned to face me and his eyes glued to me as we talked to the resident.

It's amazing to me, that he recognises me and watches me so closely...

Slaying Jakob's dragons

Jakob spits up. A lot. Not just little urps, not wet burps, but great sopping streams of spitup. I change his clothes several times of day, and too often mine too. The cover of the nursing pillow has to be washed regularly (a great annoyance of mine that I cannot buy an extra cover for it), and even receiving blankets aren't always sufficient to catch the warm, curdled stomach contents. And it isn't just after feeding; he spits up after feedings, but also before, during, and between feedings too.

We asked about this at one of his regular check-ups, and were told it was ok. But maybe we didn't emphasise just how much he spit up, or how often. We thought we'd just have to soggily suck it up. But then, in week 13 of the week-by-week book we read every Thursday (or so), there was a section on reflux. The list of symptoms included not only copious spit-up, but also spit-up, sudden and unexpected cries, coughing and choking during meals, and other symptoms Jakob has presented. The penny dropped.

We got the first available appointment. We were seen by a frat boy dolt of a resident who was utterly clueless. (When we walked in, he asked how we were, and Werner responded that we were tired. He actually said, "Why is that? Have you been out a lot?" Obviously has no idea about babies or new parents...) He made Jakob wail and shriek like we've never heard before. And then he checked with a real, licensed physician, and came back with a prescription for Zantac.

Devoted blog readers (I can't believe that I have devote blog readers... but apparently I do) will remember that I, like many pregnant women, had bad heartburn during my pregnancy. And that it got so bad that I too was prescribed Zantac. In my case, it worked like a charm. I just hope it will slay Jakob's dragons, too.

Crying over spilt milk

I don't like to waste things, and when it comes to my breastmilk, I admit that I take it personally.

Because we were away, and then I was sick, the fridge isn't currently crammed full with bottles of breastmilk. The freezer, however, still is, and so we've been thawing out frozen milk for Jakob's nighttime bottle.

Well, I just got a bag out of the deep freeze and put it in warm water in a 1L measuring cup. It takes just a few minutes to safely thaw out the milk this way. This time, though, the water began to look cloudy. I went over, plucked out the bag of milk, and milk streamed out a bottom corner. The bag obviously was fine when it went into the freezer (or else the milk would have leaked all over the freezer), so somehow it must have been nicked once frozen. In any case, the whole bag had to be dumped, because if milk could get out of the bag, then water could have gotten in. And that would have diluted the milk. And that's not accceptable.

I was so frustrated to dump those 90 mls. It isn't as though that was the last of the reserves; far from it. But it just seemed like such a needless waste. All because of a nick in the bag.

And then there's the new bottle warmer. Well, the problem isn't the warmer, it's the discs that fit in the bottles that help keep them from leaking. (Actually, they only reduce the leaking to a manageable amount; they don't prevent it by any stretch.) It's also the fault of the nifty valve system the bottle has, which helps reduce the amount of air Jakob swallows while suckling. In any case, when the bottle gets warm and the disc is in place, milk leaks out. And with the bottle warmer (rather than just a container of warm water), the loss is greater still.

I'm a milker. There's certainly no shortage of milk. But, yet, I find myself feeling frustrated when these things happen. Somehow, it feels personal.

Petty, isn't it?

Grasping at crabs

Two days before Jakob was born, I bought an Ocean Wonders Aquarium for his crib. Inside the aquarium, fish 'swim' and bubbles... well, bubble. There's music and lights, too. On the front, there are two little things that spin when struck, as well as a button to turn on the music/swimming/lights/bubbles.

Jakob likes his aquarium. When we put him in his crib and turn it on, he happily turns to look and listen.

And tonight, for the first time, he made the crab spin! Repeatedly!! So he really did mean to do it!

Another new friend for Jakob!

Congratulations to Andre and Darragh on the birth of Ezra!

About last night

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It seems obvious now. The problem wasn't having the baby in the same room as me, the problem was having the baby sounds in the same room.

And so having a monitor in the room is exactly the same as having Jakob himself in the room.

We, the exciting folk that we are, headed up to bed at 11. We'd first put Jakob in his crib a few hours earlier and brought the monitor downstairs while we ate delivered pizza and watched Top Secret! and did laundry. After his last feed for the day, we put him down again, and soon after called it a night.

Oooh, the glee! Sharing a bed with my husband!! Although I was still wearing flannel and couldn't remember the last time I had shaved my legs, at least the bedsheets were fresh.

Of course, I still needed to milk myself. Werner somehow kept himself awake until I was finished, and then we enjoyed a nice snuggle. (Flannel, remember!)

The first burst of anxiety: I suddenly realised that anyone who broke into our house could steal the baby without having to physically get past one of us. That was about 11:45.

At 12:15 am, I heard Jakob's cries on the monitor. I leapt out of bed and dashed down the hall. He had lost his soother, and once I had re-plugged him, he happily went back to sleep.

A few minutes after settling myself back into bed, a repeat performance. I returned at 12:38, having stuffed myself with earplugs.

They didn't work. When Werner spoke to me, I couldn't hear him at all, but I was still able to hear Jakob's sounds as though the monitor was transmitting right to my skull.

At 1:09 am, Werner packed up the monitor and headed back to the guest room. I couldn't sleep because of Jakob's sounds, and Werner couldn't sleep because he knew I couldn't sleep.

I cried. I cried and cried and then I cried some more.

It was well past 2 before I finally fell asleep, and even then I slept fitfully. I missed Werner. I was so happy to think I'd finally, at last, wake up the next morning all snuggled into him. I was disappointed that that wasn't going to happen. And I was angry with myself, too.

Werner thinks it might have been too much for me all at once. He has a point. I need to overcome my anxiety about having Jakob in a room by himself. Maybe once I've conquered that milestone, I'll be able to relax and not be so hypersensitive to his little sounds.

In the meantime, we sleep apart even yet. And when my mom comes to visit, she'll inherit the monitor along with the guest bed.