8 Months

Dear Ilan,

You have two bottom teeth! If you look closely at these photos you can see them.  You are drooling ferociously, but these teeth are the only ones that have come through.

Most mornings you wake up happy, rolling around, calling "eh, eh, eh, eh." Your crib is in our bedroom, and is mostly blocked off by a shoji screen, so you can't see us.  In the morning you scoot yourself to the very edge of the crib, where you can poke your head out and see around the screen, and make baby noises at me until I wake up and get you.

You love music, and get excited in this manic and uncoordinated way when I put the iPod in the speaker dock to listen to songs.  I use the same iPod to play white noise during your nap times, and when the iPod emits this white noise instead of your playlist you always look so betrayed.

When you are excited you hold your arms out and twist your wrists and make this evil genius face that I've captured here:

You are not technically crawling, but are commando pulling yourself around the room.  Now that you can move, it's fun to see what captures your attention.  So far, it's A) whatever Roan doesn't want you to touch, B) the metal shelves in the kitchen, right next to our trash cans, or C) the fringe of the rug.  Our floor is littered with toys, but you consistently seek out the metal shelves or the rug fringe.

You are still small for your age, but I don't really notice because, to be honest, you don't have a lot of friends.  This is my fault.  With Roan I was always going to baby classes and playdates, but with you, we mostly just go to the park and tag along with Ro.  Your two baby friends are Luca and Adam, who we know because they happen to have older siblings who play with Ro.

You spend a lot of time in the water.  In baths, showers, the plastic pool, the water table; after many mealtimes I take one look at you and realize that a wet washcloth is just not going to cut it, so I strip you down and plop you in the sink.  You love the water.  You don't mind that your big brother is always splashing you or dumping cups of water over your head.  You don't even mind when you fall forward and your face goes under - you just pop your head right up and look around, mildly surprised (I nearly have a heart attack every time).

Happy 8 months, Lani Lou.

New Helmet

Working Pumping Mom

I weaned Ilan at 7 months, because it got too hard to keep up my supply during my days in the office. It was hard for me to take all the breaks that pumping required, and I got irritated by the air-tight scheduling I needed to make it work.  I miss nursing Ilan, but I do not miss my breast pump.  I found this abandoned post from early June and I'm copying it below, since it depicts a bright spot in the whole working pumping mom experience.

"Last week I worked a full time schedule, attending Book Expo America, a trade show for book industry professionals. I am still breastfeeding Ilan, so I brought my breast pump along. Every 3 or 4 hours I took a break from the meetings and events to walk down a series of flights of stairs and long concrete hallways to the Nurses' Station, where I was given one of the two exam rooms to pump in.

On my first visit to the Nurses' Station I was anxious and slightly out of breath; I'd rushed there and was trying to squeeze in a pump session between meetings. Both rooms were occupied by other lactating moms. After 10 minutes they were still not finished, and I couldn't wait much longer. The nurse suggested I pump in the bathroom, which was standing room only, or the supply closet (though I could see she was hesitant to leave me alone with access to all their drugs). I finally asked if I could simply pump with one of the other moms. Which is how I found myself sitting on a foot stool in a room with another topless mom in slacks and fancy shoes, pumping milk with a breast pump / shoulder bag designed to look discreet but immediately identifiable as a breast pump by its sheer bulk and lack of style.

Hilariously, the other mom ended up being the publicist for one of my authors - someone I had wanted to meet with but couldn't fit into my schedule. So we had a meeting, there in the exam room, accompanied by the air hiss sound of our pumps working away. If you have never conducted business while topless and hooked up to a machine, well, it's strange, but both of us had long since mastered the art of e-mailing and taking phone calls while pumping, so it didn't really phase us.

Throughout the week I took the long walk to the Nurses' Station many times, and ran into  other pumping moms. There were only about 7 or 8 of us, which may not seem like a lot, but it was eye opening for me. Pumping at work is isolating. Sometimes I forget that mine is not the only life that is messy and complicated, and that the decision to pump, which feels like I'm trying to be in two places at once, is one that others are likely conflicted about too. I felt a great sense of comraderie for these working moms, hustling through dark hallways to wrestle off their tops, pump milk for their babies, and rush back to their meetings in time to pretend like everything is business as usual, bottles of warm milk buried deep in their bags like secrets, next to their catalogs and rights lists. I wanted to sit down with them and hear their stories and laugh with them. But the working pumping mom does not have any free time, especially at these fairs. The most we can afford is a knowing look, a conspiratorial smirk, before it's back to the business of passing ourselves off as regular people.

Thank you, lactating mothers of Book Expo America, for making me feel less alone."

If you're wondering how I felt about my breastpump when Roan was this age, you can read an Ode to My Breastpump.

Rules of the Road

Roan,

Last summer, when you were 2, I rode you to summer camp on the Frankenbike, and we spent half the trip on the green road, a (then) new and much disputed bike lane on Prospect Park West. This year I've mostly been walking you to camp in our new stroller, a sit and stand that you pretend is a train. But lately you have been asking to ride your bike.  I've been saying no, because the thought of running after you in my work clothes, lugging my work bag and my breast pump, in the heat, just seems terrible. But last week Ilan weaned and I put my breast pump away. The weather cooled down. I was running out of excuses. 

I pulled out your helmet and fingerless gloves and said okay.

I knew you'd want to ride in the green road. There is no fooling you, you know it is the place for bikes.

Everyday, at the start of the green road we go over two rules. #1, you must stay in your lane. The green road is a two way bike lane, and you must stay to the right of the yellow line. #2, you must stop at every crossing and look for people. The green road runs parallel to Prospect Park, so cars don't cross it. No one expects cyclists to stop, and you are such a novelty that people always stop for you. The real purpose of rule #2 is to give me a chance to catch up.

After two weeks I am still not used to seeing you zip along in an actual bike lane, hipsters on their fixies whipping by, parents commuting with empty childseats, me dodging trees and balancing on the curb to stay close and answer your incessant questions. If I step in the green road you reprimand me. "No mom, only bikes."

You are into rules. Which makes taking the green road hard. Cyclists, at least in this country, are not known for following rules. You are constantly asking why that bike did this or that or the other thing - nobody stops at crossings, everyone swerves out of their lane to pass you, and I can see how each infraction offends your sense of order. People riding scooters in the bike lane, people biking with their dogs, a man on roller skates, a woman without a helmet, the garbage truck idling in the lane all need to be explained. It's exhausting. And I worry that rules will become meaningless to you at too young an age. Any day you will ask me why nobody follows them.

My heart is always in my throat, just a little bit, watching you ride the green road. But I am also proud of you. You are becoming part of our community, inserting yourself in the world in a way that makes total sense to you, even as it baffles some of the passerby. You are so curious. You are figuring things out.

On our way to camp one day we stopped to watch a car getting towed. "Why?" You asked. "Because the car parked wrong," I said. "Oh," you said. "That car is bad." "Maybe not," I said, "maybe that car was just in a hurry." Then I explained what a hassle it is to get your car out of impound. "Oh," you said, "that tow truck is mean."

Things are mostly black and white for you now, but eventually you will see how the world is full of gray. That life, like the green road, is full of surprising things that don't quite belong. Such as, say, a three-year-old in a bike lane.