Category: James

When his big sister was a wee thing, it seemed like forever between her first efforts to steal our food and that long-awaited first meal. However, James is a pretty laid-back kid in most respects, and his attitude toward food is no different. He’s looked at our food with a sort of vague interest as we eat, but he’s expressed no desire to actually try some himself. Nor were we in any hurry to feed James, as giving an infant a solid meal often requires a good 10 minutes of prepping and a half-hour of cleanup, not to mention the feeding time itself — which, if the baby isn’t a voracious and competent eater, can take at least another half-hour. But our pediatrician suggested that James was of such an age and size that solids would be beneficial now, so today marked our wee boy’s commencement into the world of nondairy nourishment.

The overall verdict? James pronounced his rice cereal mildly entertaining but not the be-all-end-all it proved for his sister. Most of it wound up on his chin or in his right hand, which he insisted on repeatedly thrusting in his mouth to investigate this odd starchy substance that was being shoveled into his slobbery little maw. He’s definitely going to need a little practice on this whole eating thing, we discovered.

Not the tidy eater his sister was, we suspect that the introduction of solids will necessitate a nightly bath time, as James eats not with his mouth but with his entire body. His propensity for slime and odor was driving us in that direction anyway, but the fact that I am an accomplished and tidy baby-feeder and still couldn’t keep him from covering himself in rice cereal definitely speaks for James’ future cleansing requirements.

And here they are: The long-awaited (at least by me) shots of James’ first solid meal:

James takes his very first bite of food

“Hey, this doesn’t taste like milk …”

James decides food isn’t half bad

Given the choice between ripping a bandage off and easing it off, I’m one of those people who wants to get it over with quickly, no matter how painful. Thus, James’ two big appointments — vaccinations and 6-month heart-followup-slash-physical — came to be on the same day. I’d like to be able to say it was more stressful for me than it was for him, but we both know it wasn’t me getting needles jabbed in my thighs or gagging on a tongue depressor.

Despite these traumas, James did beautifully and was smiling and bouncing 10 minutes after his shots. (His vocal expressions of displeasure did, however, make it very hard for the doctor to listen to his chest.)

And after our day of bandage-ripping, I am pleased to announce that James has no shots for six more months AND (drumroll, please) his pediatrician could no longer detect the murmur. He will have a cardiac echo at 1 year old to make sure the hole is completely gone, but our particular doctor has a local reputation for having a good ear for murmurs and arrhythmias and for him to be unable to hear James’ is excellent news.

James is nursing a slightly warmer temperature than normal, but he’s his usual happy self otherwise, and it’s needless to say that after today’s news, we’re more happy than usual. Oh, and in case you’ve seen a recent picture of James and wondered whatever happened to that teensy little preemie who was floating in his 3-5 lb. sleepers just six months ago, well, he’s been replaced by a little sumo wrestler who measures 26.5 inches and weighs in (butt naked) at 15 lbs., 6 oz.

“They” say to expect two kids to reach milestones differently, but apparently our kids are peas in a pod. As he grows older, James looks more and more like Maddi, and on Sunday morning he began sitting for a few seconds at a time — at almost exactly the same age Maddi did so, when you adjust for gestational age.

Just when I had gotten used to him rolling over, he surprised me while I was “helping” him play with his toys by suddenly sitting bolt upright and balancing perfectly on his little, barely-existent bottom. Of course, a few seconds later he slumped face-first onto his play mat, but sure enough, over the course of the morning he replicated this new trick time and time again.

I have to say, out of all the milestones he’s reached, this one’s the most exciting for me. Once James is able to sit, it will be much easier for me to watch both kids and give them equal (or close-to-equal) snuggles and attention. Plus, it opens up a world of new options for my wee boy — sitting outside with toys on a blanket in the grass, eating in a high chair, getting wagon rides with his sister, and being propped up in the stroller so he can out at the world. It’s such an exciting time in James’ life!

Of course, I’m getting ahead of myself, as James can only sit for about five seconds at most without then toppling over and crying in frustration. But I know it’ll be only a matter of weeks before he’s sitting like a champ and enjoying things around him even more than he already does. As exciting as milestones are with one’s first baby, sometimes they’re even more exciting with the second because now one knows how much they’ll enjoy doing those new things, and the anticipation is just so thrilling.

Every mom has one or two baby milestones that are more painful than proud. For instance, Maddi’s first teeth were not as delightful as they should have been because they ruined that beautiful gumline I’d come to know and love. For James, it’s the mohawk. It’s been a long time coming, but that doesn’t mean I was ready for James’ first haircut. Once the height of his mohawk began rivaling that of his head and I found myself working for minutes on end to detangle it after his baths, however, I knew I had to suck it up and take the kid in for a trim.

Maddi waited until the ripe old age of 16 months before her first haircut, so I had much more time to mentally prepare myself. So much time, in fact, that I had no anxiety whatsoever about lopping off a few inches of that weird-looking baby mullet. But James is still five days shy of six months old, and the wild Glen Plake ‘do has really grown on us. Nevertheless, it was getting out of control. His mohawk was so tall it folded over on itself, and I had to make one of two choices: Put gel in the hair of my five-month-old child, or get his hair trimmed. After more deliberation than necessary considering pediatricians’ guidelines on chemicals and babies, I reluctantly went with the haircut.

James sat perfectly still during his trim, staring wide-eyed at his reflection in the mirror (probably asking himself why he was sitting in a pink Jeep). We had the sides and back evened out to all one length and took about an inch and a half off the top. Now he has a perfect but short little mohawk and looks only a little like Johnny Rotten. Even with his new, toned-down ‘do, James attracts the same attention he always has — “Love the hair!” is a refrain we hear each and every time we venture out of the house.

Sure, I’m still a little wistful when I see pictures of how his hair used to look. But maintenance and styling are 10 times easier with a short style than with his former untamed mane, and that counts for a lot!

The passing of my 30th birthday a week and a half ago should have been a startling reminder of how quickly time flies by, but it was quickly eclipsed. It seems as if James has been with us for but a few weeks, but alas, this week we discovered our youngest child is already cutting his first teeth.

Last month, we noticed our boy was slobbering like a Saint Bernard and his cherubic cheeks had become particularly rosy. Chris noticed some little, pale ridges beneath James’ gleaming gums; however, it was nothing substantial. But in the past week, our formerly OK sleeper has slept in stretches of two to three hours at night and, while he’s a good-natured baby, he’s been noticeably cranky. Not only that — his drool has been soaking through not one but two layers of clothing, he’s been choking on his spit and (WARNING: The following is a yucky discussion of bodily functions that non-moms will want to skip!) his poops have risen in frequency from once a week (if that) to every other day.

But now it’s official. After I endured a horrible, sleepless night and a morning filled with inconsolable wailing, the woman who runs the gym daycare (where James and Maddi spend 90 minutes each morning — she’s almost like another mom to them!) ran a finger along James’ bottom gums and discovered the definite beginnings of his lower first incisors. And lo and behold, when she gave him a teething toy, his wailing ceased.

You would think that, as a second-time mom, I would have figured out that this was his problem, but remember, James is only a bit over 4 months’ gestational age and I had no idea that the teeth were this imminent. Of course, it pains me to envision the demise of that gorgeous gummy grin, but there’s no denying it now. After a dose of Tylenol this afternoon, James had the best nap of his life and woke up his old happy self.

It seems like not too long ago, Maddi was cutting her first teeth, and now she’s potty training, talking in sentences, doing small chores and climbing jungle gyms. No doubt, James will be doing all these things long before I’m ready. Time flies when you’re having kids.

Ever since the day I nearly lost him at 33 weeks, I’ve vowed that I’ll never take James for granted. That’s lucky for him, because he’s such a low-maintenance baby that it would be all too easy for him to get lost in the shuffle. This week, in addition to our not-so-low-maintenance toddler, we have Kaija up for a visit. In between having to split my attention between two little girls, each of whom want 100 percent of it, somewhere I have to find time for James.

He doesn’t demand much — unless he’s dirty or hungry or has spent too long staring at his bears or lying in the bouncy seat, James isn’t one to put up a big fuss, so it’d be easy to leave him alone while he’s not screaming and chase after Maddi or play endless games of pretend with Kaija. However, even though he isn’t upset about being neglected, it does upset me. It doesn’t seem fair, because James doesn’t ask for much from me, that I should give him less than I give the girls. So when there are no imminent fires to put out, Maddi-and-Kaija-wise, I’ve been making sure to bounce James, sing “Roly Poly” or make that trilling sound that amuses him so much.

The girls, however, don’t see it this way. Despite the fact that James gets approximately 10 percent of my “face time” — direct, person-to-person playing and talking — to Kaija’s 70 percent and Maddi’s 20 percent, the girls don’t seem to understand why their brother is getting any attention at all. James can be hungry and screaming his face off while I watch Kaija play outside, and when I remind her that I can’t get on the grass and be a dog with her, she will ask me why I can’t put (the loudly wailing and ravenous) James inside in his bassinet. When we’re inside, should I have the audacity to give James one of his toys, Maddi’s radar will go off, and she will climb down from whatever item of furniture she’s scaled and come running up to snatch it from him.

Now, foolish mommy that I am, I decided that I would take all three kids to get a group portrait taken today. A week or two ago, I separated James’ and Maddi’s carseats when I noticed that James’ right eyeball was just within poking reach of Maddi’s seat. (Three guesses how I figured that one out …) But lo and behold, when we tried to install Kaija’s behemoth of a booster seat, it wouldn’t fit in the center. So back to the old configuration we went. I drove off, crossing my fingers that nothing would happen in the 20 minutes I estimated our drive would take.

WELL.

We were but a mere five minutes into our journey when I heard the dreaded singsong words, “Heather, Maddi’s hurting James.” And then the dreaded screaming. And then the most-dreaded words, “James is bleeding.” I pulled the car over, strapped Maddi back in her carseat, and headed onward.

Sure enough, when we reached our destination, I retrieved James from his carseat and his face bore a sizable strip of raw, bleeding fingernail marks. I cleaned the wound as best I could with a Wet One, and then did what any insane lady would do — proceeded to herd three respectively sullen, maniacal and disfigured kids onto a platform to be photographed for the better part of an hour.

For those of you not familiar with Wal-Mart’s photo specials, you can get a pretty decent package of shots at a drastically reduced rate — with the caveat that you cannot choose the best of a variety of poses, but rather must go with the first shot you approve. This probably works great for people who will settle for “good enough,” but for perfectionists it’s probably not the way to go — especially when we’re talking about group shots. The first shot in our case was probably the best, but despite the fact that everyone was smiling, I foolishly thought “We can do better.” After all, Kaija was slumping, Maddi’s grin was crooked and James was looking in entirely the wrong direction. After that, we had a variety of shots where one or two (and sometimes all) children were not smiling, or smiling too fakely, or frowning, or crying, or falling over, or trying to get up and run away, or spitting up, or blinking or looking otherwise stoned, or any number of other photography mishaps.

At last, we got a shot that was probably the same quality as the first. “What are the odds we’re going to get another decent shot?” I asked Chris’ mom. We both knew the answer to that one.

So for our troubles, we will, in three weeks’ time, have a halfway OK group shot of three kids. And for his troubles, James has (yet more) war wounds from his loving sister. I will make sure to bounce him extra and sing him some “Roly Poly” tomorrow, regardless of what the girls think I should be doing.

Coming soon: The group shot that shall live in infamy.

At 18 weeks old, it’s hard to believe James was ever a wee thing of just under six pounds. At his vaccination appointment last Wednesday on his four-month birthday, our little man weighed in at an impressive 14 pounds, 12 ounces and measured at least 24 inches with his knees bent. (It’s hard to tell how long he is when he’s kicking so mightily!)

His legs, which in November resembled popsicle sticks jutting awkwardly from a stiff and spacious newborn diaper, now boast rolls of flab with crevices so deep that Q-tips are necessary at bathtime to properly rid them of that special, cheesy-smelling fat-wrinkle jam that especially rotund babies produce on a continuous basis. That goes double for his neck, whose folds accumulate lint, dead skin and fermented spitup at an alarming rate. Even Maddi, with her prodigious, Michelin-manlike thigh rolls, could — if necessity dictated — last a good three to five days unwashed without smelling like a cheesemonger’s workshop. However, James is ready for his bath in two days, tops, and begins reeking with an unparallelled rancidity after four.

Of course, the stench doesn’t begin to touch the malodorous miasma emanating from James’ diminutive derriere, so it’s hardly worth mentioning. What’s a little sour milk next to pure sulfur, right? Besides, while his signature fragrance is strongly evocative of a Limburger-and-rotten-egg sandwich, what he lacks in aroma he makes up for with cuteness and charisma.

All a person has to do is look at James and our wee boy will drive himself into fits of delight. He’ll coo and smile and giggle and flap for what I assume would be infinite amounts of time, were they available to him. He doubles over with huge, gummy grins when we’re singing “Roly Poly.” He lights up when Daddy coos back to his overtures. He even giggles in the bathtub when I’m cleaning that horrid-smelling grime out of his flabby but adorable neck creases. I’m sure he would still be cute without all the rolls, but what’s better than a jolly little fat man? It’s like Christmas every day!

In other news, James is sitting well in his Bumbo now, lifting his head and shoulders a little off his play mat during tummy time, rolling from back to front and sticking his pacifier back in his own mouth from time to time. He enjoys rattles, mirrors, mobiles and chime toys. Maddi, oddly, didn’t really get into the whole toy thing, preferring instead to be entertained by human playthings and items around the house that meet her “Three-D” rule — dangerous, dirty or destructive. It warms our hearts (and eases our minds) that her old, little-used toys are finally being put to good use.

Oh, and here’s some odd news for you — James is working on some teeth already. Yep, at the tender age of four months (but really three, gestationally), our wee boy is a slobbering, red-cheeked little ball of teething cuteness. In fact, when he was crying the other day, Chris spied two white bumps under James’ gums use this link. Two kids in diaper is a fair bit of work. Two kids in diapers who are both teething sounds like a fair bit of overtime. Fun times are no doubt in store!

Before this week, I couldn’t tell you the last dream I had. Apparently, one has to sleep in order to dream. But this week, I’ve had dreams almost every night, which is good or bad depending on the dream, but which is ALL good to me because it means I’m getting that very important thing called shuteye.

For no apparent reason at all, James has suddenly gone from sleeping four or five hours at a stretch to slumbering for a good seven or even nine hours uninterrupted. This means that I not only get the five straight hours my body prefers, but even eight if I get to bed in a reasonable amount of time. This week, I have had time to take care of the kids and the house, and check my email and write blog entries. If he keeps this up, I’m going to be one spoiled mommy.

All this sleeping means James is up a lot more during the day. Luckily his cranky spells have pretty well subsided save for about an hour’s worth of “iffy” moods before bedtime. Now he spends his days bouncing on my knees with his sister, being read to and playing on his Gymini. He especially enjoys a good round of his favorite song, “Roly Poly” — it is, in fact, his first favorite anything — and today he got his very own blue Bumbo (photos are forthcoming) and had a nice little sit, with a giddy Maddi alongside him in her nearly-outgrown but much-beloved purple one.

Now that I have a baby instead of a newborn, I’m feeling a lot more energetic and human most days. Of course, there are always those other days when the kids are fighting and gassy and teething and we’re running late everywhere and Maddi’s got boogers and Fig Newton on her face and has pulled her ponytail and barrette out and James has pooped on his outfit and then pooped on his backup outfit and then Maddi, not to be outdone, poops her outfit and my debit card doesn’t work at the pump and I leave the wipes in the McDonald’s washroom and have spitup on my shirt and Cheerios stuck to my butt, but I guess you’re probably not a parent if you’ve never had one of those days. Besides, that’s what Prozac is for.

And it’s all worth it at the end of the day after I’ve eaten and unwound a little and go into the bedroom to behold James sleeping in his swing with a sweet little smile on his face.

Yes, he still sleeps in his swing. We’re working on that. I’m just not ready to give up my seven to nine hours yet!

And here’s a shot of James at 16 weeks:

No one will ever be able to accuse James of being a high-maintenance baby. Other than his preference for the All Mommy All the Time channel, he’s pretty easy to please. In fact, unlike a certain other baby I could mention, James can be left in his bassinet for 15 or 20 minutes at a stretch and remain perfectly contented.

Part of this, of course, is attributable to his beloved bears. His bassinet came with a mobile from which dangle three plain white ursine pals, which online reviews of the bassinet assured me were too boring and dull to capture any baby’s attention. However unimpressed Target’s and Amazon’s customers may have been with the bear mobile, James has no complaints. All we have to do is turn on the mobile and he will kick and flap and gurgle and coo at those bears for as long as they remain in motion. Should his little friends cease moving, James will let us know via urgent grunting and complaining that we need to reset the mobile. But does he want to get out of the bassinet? Nope. Not really. Just turn his bears back on and he’s good for another 15 minutes.

Thus far, he’s been only marginally interested in other toys — even ones that rattle and chime. But for some reason, those bears are really entertaining.

And here’s our little James at 14 weeks old:

James has been smiling for several weeks now, but this week he’s gotten jollier still. Perhaps he is seeing us better or maybe his gas is clearing up, but our wee boy has several long periods during the day in which he’s awake, alert and smiling his cute little face off. Recently, he’s begun spontaneously smiling when he notices someone looking at him or coming toward him. Even at 4 a.m., when he’s fussing in his swing (yes, I’m a bad mom and my baby sleeps exclusively in a swing!!), James greets me with a smile as I groggily stumble toward him, making the early-morning wakeups all worthwhile.

He also coos constantly, and if he’s not cooing, all one has to do is look James in the eyes and say “ah-goo” and he will coo sweetly back in his darling little baby voice.

For awhile, James had something sort of like colic, only not as bad. There was a five-hour stretch every night where he cried more often than not, and I was worried that it would last forever. Luckily, just as Maddi’s did, James’ fussy spells ended as we transitioned him into a proper sleeping schedule (which, I was thrilled to learn yesterday, is exactly what the doctors at the famous U.S. Colic Clinic recommend) and lo and behold, his sunny disposition became an (almost) all-day thing. Except for a short period close to bedtime, we can usually coax a gummy grin from little James any time of day or night with a minimum of parental silliness.

And here is a picture of our 13-week-old boy doing his thing: