Stay-at-home mommying

It happens to so many of us. Educated, connected, well-traveled women who seemingly have success and well-being written all over their futures begin to show the little baby bump. Which leads to a bigger baby bump, which leads to a baby, which in turn gives birth to a desperate, harried person who barely knows who's president, has looked sloppy for the past 236 days straight and accidentally left her wallet in the other diaper bag today.

That's right, we become stay-at-home moms.

To clarify and recover a portion of my dignity, I'd like to point out that I'm actually a work-at-home mom, which makes me a cross between Superwoman and Pigpen. But that's for another post.

[To further clarify and enable stay-at-home moms everywhere to hold up their heads proudly I'll say that those with good nappers, Grandma in town or magical powers won't be able to identify with this post as much as those without.]

What fun! I get to play with a cute baby all day! Let's discuss.

The main problem with being a stay-at-home mommy is that along with the designation comes the inevitable responsibilities of housework.

Because since we're trained experts in baby caretaking and child psychology, we must also be masters of cleaning and pros at cooking. All on a dime, because we're enjoying the luxury of staying home with the baby which makes money tight.

My goal on a daily basis is to complete a chore and keep the baby alive. Sometimes it works. On these days, Matt returns to a clean-ish house, with the promise of dinner, and is not handed a baby immediately when he walks in the door. I let him talk about his day before I regale him with all the absolutely riveting details of mine.

Sometimes it doesn't. On these days, I usually find myself spending the day thwarting the baby's gleeful, unknowing attempts to harm herself or the cats. Then Matt returns to a house filled with the hallmarks of a really good "try:" a broom sitting out in the middle of the living room or soggy laundry, and a happy, energetic baby who's self-satisfied in the fact that she's secured Mommy's complete attention for an entire day.

Many days, I do everything one-handed and with the baby on my hip grabbing at anything and everything within reach. By the end of these days, I've actually been rendered incapable of doing anything without the baby attached to my hip, so that when Matt tries to take the baby while I'm cooking dinner, I first growl at him like a she-wolf and then wander aimlessly for a few minutes as I recalibrate my center of gravity.

Do not challenge me to an arm-wrestling match, by the way, because you'll lose.

The baby virtually never leaves my side. I'm always within screaming distance. Whenever Matt takes pity on me on the weekends and shoos me out of the house for a while, I don't know what to do--more often than not I take the opportunity to linger over potatoes and grocery shop alone for once. I could call a friend, but they all have babies--what a drag! And then I might as well bring along my own baby and call it a playdate.

As you can imagine, much weekday relief comes from meeting other stay-at-home moms. They add interest to my day, provide an excuse to get out and give me coupons they won't be able to use. More importantly, they can sympathize on the really tough days.

We all ask each other what we did "before." We miss our coworkers and the fact that we actually knew what we were doing and were respected as such. We miss meetings because we could just sit. Sit, and stare off into space. And just sit. In a comfy chair. And occasionally be asked for our opinion--whether on the market's outlook or a new skirt. And sip tea and munch on bagels, and use the bathroom whenever we need to.

We miss the fact that we could go to nice restaurants and be treated well instead of getting escorted/shoved into a corner with our babies and hurried out the door with food still in our mouths. We wish we had any reason to dress up more than for two hours on Sunday morning, and when we decide "oh, what the heck? I'll wear my nice clothes to the playdate--it'll be fun!" we get far too gushed over by women in sweatpants and then spit up on by our children.

But I digress. *sigh*

Stay-at-home mommying is one of the hardest and most important jobs in the world, or so everyone tells me. It's like being the president, or a queen, in that there's no such thing as a weekend, holiday or sick day and we're constantly managing crises. But no one hands us a paycheck and we're certainly never asked to make a speech--what would we have to say?

Maybe that's where all our education and successful work experience comes in: it's what enables us to endlessly make sense of things that don't make sense (the baby's gravitational pull toward glassware) and appreciate Goodnight Moon on a deeper level.

I've found it tough to reach a balance between baby playtime and mommy worktime (we skip over mommy playtime entirely). The baby is happy and likely smarter if I play with her in a developmentally appropriate way for the entire day. But that's mind-numbing, and I kind of feel like I'm too young to be handing over my IQ points so freely.

So what else do you do when you have a baby who's barely fun to travel with and can't yet talk well enough to carry a conversation? And your husband is slaving at work all day? You clean the house and make dinner. The baby learns the value of hard work and you wish you would've worked harder "before" so you could hire a maid.

The highlight of our day is often our errands. Mommy gets to sit in the car and listen to peaceful classical music on the radio while Baby is somehow happy in her carseat (as long as we don't drive more than 12 minutes). I let Kalina play with almost anything in the store and once in a great while she lets me try on a pair of jeans. And people smile at us and complement me on my cute little boy if she's wearing anything that's not pink.

Because sometimes being a stay-at-home mom is like being a baby day camp counselor, we also make time for recreation. Most stay-at-home moms can rattle off every restaurant within a 12-minute drive that has a play area, the peak and quiet hours of the mall's play area and at least 3 small parks. But the true staple of a stay-at-home mom's recreation is the walk. Walks help us lose the calories from all the bonbons we sit around eating, and also gives ourselves and our babies a change of scenery. We're all pretty sure they need it as much as we do.

Most stay-at-home moms wish that, just once, our husbands could stay home with the baby for a day while we headed out the door to work so that they could see what we do all day and why lots of our bank account goes toward ice cream. But it wouldn't work. A day or two, or even a week, of staying home with the baby is great fun--it's the knowledge and mundane reality that most of the time the world is only as big as your house that turns our previously highly regarded brains into Jello pudding snacks.

Lest you get the wrong idea, I could wax poetic about all the wonderful things there are about staying home with the baby--there are lots. But it's been done already by Hallmark, Chicken Soup for the Mom's Soul and sometimes me.

Instead, I'll leave you with this video (one of many cute ones I should be sending your way):

A stupid little obsession

One of the benefits of cloth diapering is that we can let Kalina run around with only the absorbent cotton diaper part, not the waterproof barrier, so her little bum can air out a bit.

Some would argue that this is not, in fact, a benefit but is instead a liability.

You thought we were crazy for having a baby in the first place, and now we want her to soil entire loads of laundry so we can wash it in our own washer, fold it with our own hands and then repeat the process? Several times a week?

Well, we'd consider it the lesser of two evils. Really, we'd like her to potty train tomorrow. And say please and thank-you. And drive us to the movie theater so we can watch a full-length feature in fewer than 3 sittings.

The problem is, cloth diapers are extremely cute (see photo) and I have all the signs of being officially addicted: I try to convert all my friends to cloth diapering, I miss my cloth diapers when I travel and I ask for them for Christmas. I secretly visit cloth-diapering websites regularly even though we have plenty so I can check out the new fabrics. I even take pictures of Kalina in just her cute little diapers so that I can remember them forever (see photo).

This is spurred on by the fact that the cloth diapers of today, much like electronics and pets, are not content to exist simply in a utilitarian fashion. After all, who would buy a diaper for such mundane details as how leakproof or absorbent it is? Not today's shoppers. And not me.

Kalina and I require cute patterns, colors and styles (Daddy, by the way, does not). Using various absorbancy, stay-dry and waterproof layers, we like to customize each individual diaper to our plans for the next few hours. Sometimes we try to coordinate with her outfit, sometimes we get a little crazy and leave off the waterproof layer to get the aforementioned air on her little bum. It's a veritable party on the changing table many times a day.

I'm not alone, by the way. I've found entire message boards devoted to the topic of cloth diapers heavily populated by people both crazier and more vocal than I. They (and now I) toss around phrases such as "lanolizing" and "stash." The acronyms, by the way, would wow even the most obnoxious CEO.

The questions bouncing around the message boards are even stranger than the people at times. "Can you wash wool in the bathtub?", "Where's the cheapest place to buy Loopy-Doos and Fuzzi Bums?" and my favorite, "How can I get my child's poop to solidify a bit so it's easier to dump?" (The answer is less fruit).

We use words like "invest" to console each other for the fact that the cutest diapers can rapidly end up costing more than diposables, much to our husbands' dismay. We remind each other every chance we get that it's better for the environment.

And then there's the whole "trimness" challenge. Cloth diaperers continually battle against bulk. We get ourselves into it (because no matter what anyone convinces themselves, nothing is as trim as a "sposie," as we like to call them), and so we try rather convincingly to get ourselves out of it by experimenting with different brands and combinations and complementing one another liberally. I've been known to take pictures of particularly trim diapers I've achieved (see photo), others have been known to throw parades.

It's not that we look down on those who use disposables. It's that we think they're missing out on all the fun. Don't you agree?

So why all the hooplah about such a mundane subject?

Two reasons. 1. Cloth diapering can be as simple or as complex as you want to make it 2. Pretend you change a diaper 8 times a day, every day for 2-3 years. Wouldn't it help if at least the diapers were cute? Absolutely it does.

Not that Kalina has to make a fashion statement with every diaper she wears. But can she at least make the statement "I like purple flowers?" You bet. (See photo)

How to tell a boy baby from a girl baby

This has been a problem lately, so I'm writing a tutorial. Please forward it to anyone you know who frequents grocery stores, restaurants or walking trails.

We've all been there--we're out and about minding our own business when we see a baby! It's so cute, we just have to comment! But we begin the sentence in such a way that we're immediately committed to deciding whether the baby is a boy or a girl in order to choose the right pronoun. What to do?! Guess? Wrong. There are ways to know for sure! Here's a helpful checklist for what to look for so that next time, you get it right!

1. Is the baby wearing a dress? If so, it's a girl.
2. Look for pink. If you see ANY pink on ANY article of clothing or accessory, the baby is a girl. The pink may appear in a pattern, so please look carefully--it's almost always there.
3. In the absence of pink, look for purple. If you see ANY purple that can't be confused with royal blue, the baby is a girl.
4. In the absence of pink or purple, look for pale yellow. Contrary to popular belief, most parents will not dress a baby boy in pale yellow in public more than once, as it's a virtual guarantee that Junior will be referred to as "sweet little girl" (if this is the baby's first time out of the house, this rule does not apply as the parents have likely not experienced this yet; also does not apply to pajamas).
5. In the absence of any of these colors, look for a hair accessory that is not a hat. If you see ANY hair accessory that is not a hat, the baby is a girl.
6. If there are no telltale girly colors or hair accessories, look for other visual cues. The following are girly: butterflies, flowers, ladybugs, birds (pterodactyls do not count as birds), cats/kittens, rodents (except beavers) and any cute foods such as cupcakes and cherries. The following are boyish: any sports item, any dinosaur, most jungle animals, bugs (except butterflies and ladybugs), the vast majority of dogs/puppies and any machinery (including cars and spaceships).
7. You can also look for the following phrases often printed on onesies and bibs: princess (girl), cutie (girl), sweet (girl), dude (boy), monster (boy).
8. Boys almost never wear polka dots.
9. Girls almost never wear sweater vests or plaid flannel shirts.
10. The following are NOT reliable in telling a boy from a girl: hair length (whether longish or shortish), denim, the color blue, the color green, a girly diaper bag (as the mom's accessory, this can be girly even if the baby is a boy) and certain animals (bears, whales, turtles, giraffes, hippos and snails, among others).

When in doubt, do not refer to the baby as either a boy or a girl. Use the following word instead: baby. If you must, try child, little one, sweetheart, honey pie, cutie, or punkin.

To avoid embarrassment entirely, stick to the following phrases when commenting on a baby:
1. What a little sweetie! How old?
2. Your baby is just precious!
3. Why is your child chewing on my purse?

If you make a mistake, there's not much you can do to redeem yourself. Choose from the following responses, as appropriate:
1. I should've known! He/She's far too pretty to be a boy/handsome to be a girl! (flattery)
2. I'm so sorry! Let me buy him/her a toy! (bribery--this works best if you plan to have a continuing relationship with the offended parent)
3. He/She's so precious! How are you all sleeping at night? (change the subject)

And finally, don't feel too bad if you guess wrong. Mommy's friends have undoubtedly warned her this would happen and generally feels a sense of goodwill toward anyone taking an interest in her child. In fact, if you guess correctly, be prepared to be solicited for free babysitting (true experts will guess wrong on purpose).

In conclusion, you now have all the tools you need to comment on the next cute baby you see! Go forth and seek cute babies!

Photo: When did my child's thighs get so pinchable? She's modeling her cute cloth diaper and standing one-handed!

Blip

Kalina's life has so far been punctuated by blips. Blip! I'm a good napper. Blip! Now I'm not taking naps without a fight. Blip! I must be standing at all times. Blip! I enjoy my wrists. You get the idea.

Each blip lasts a week or two, except the poor-sleeping ones, which usually last at least a month. Kind of like a bbbllliiiippp. And all the blips overlap in weird ways--so she might be terribly afraid of her changing table for two weeks, 1 of which she's desperate to roll over on it and the other of which she can be calmed by being allowed to gnaw on a rubber snake toy throughout the diaper change. During that time period, she may be just finishing a must-shake-every-plastic-bag-in-the-house blip, but on the front end of trying to eat the cats.

Sometimes Kalina's blips combine to produce a miraculously mellow, nap-filled, happy-eating week for Baby and a peaceful, productive and happy-eating week for Mommy. Other times, they bring with them dark days of Mommy despair as poor napping combines with an unshakable urge to roll, without the propensity to roll back or sleep on her tummy, so that little or no sleeping gets done during the day. (Last week was the former, this week is the later--I knew I'd pay for week 1 sometime.)

Sometimes the blips repeat themselves. We look forward to sleeping-through-the-night blip, for instance, but are dreading a recurrence of must-be-walking-every-waking-minute-but-I-can't-quite-walk-by-myself blip that makes Mommy's back hurt so very badly.

Essentially, then, every week with Kalina is like a game of poker. Will you be dealt the ace of spades in addition to a smattering of painfully useless cards? Or will you have a royal flush? Or worse, will you fold before you get the royal flush?

Each good week my thought process is as follows:
1. The baby is easy. This is good. 2. The baby is still easy! 3. The baby seems to have the mental maturity of a calm 30-year-old! Finally! I'm positive this will last. 4. Since I now have an easy baby, I'm going to plan all kinds of activities for next week so we don't get bored!

Each bad week, which usually follows each good week, my thought process is as follows:
1. My life seems to be much more difficult lately. 2. Oh, that's because the baby has developed quite the opinion and isn't sleeping, either. 3. This stinks, but I will outlast it--this must be short-lived because it's soooo rotten. 4. Who planned all this stuff?!?

Either way, Kalina's blips are always an adventure: will terrible nighttime sleep pair with long naps, giving me both a reason and excuse to languish on the couch during these naps? Will picky eating match up with a cute new sound she's working on so I don't mind the fact that she'll only eat Cheerios and cat hair?

Only time will tell. Meanwhile, Mommy will be happily traveling through her own blips, which include everything from "chocolate keeps me sane" (that's definitely a bbbllliiiiipppp) to "we're going grocery shopping every day this week because I'm tired of all her toys and so is she."

P.S. Kalina stood today all by herself for about 8 seconds! Blip!

Photo: 2 months ago in MN. A little untimely but oh, so cute.

Mommy worry and solid food

When presented with the probability of becoming a mommy, no one plans to be the continually worrying type of one. We initially refuse to obsess about such mundane things as diapers and their content, strained peas or even ridiculously cute baby clothes. We steadfastly vow not to let the baby slow us down. We certainly won't fret about every little thing.

We tell our bachelor friends our plans, and they commend us. "Babies pretty much take care of themselves anyway," they remind us. "After all, what do they do except sleep and eat?" We take heart.

We tell our mommy friends our plans, and they smile and nod. "Sleep when the baby sleeps," they tell us more often than not. We laugh and say we're already sleeping terribly thanks to our giant tummies and tiny bladders and assure them it can't get any worse. They go home and get the last laugh in private so as not to hurt our feelings.

And then we're plunged into the thick of mommyhood with nothing but a sea of pain and hospital food to transition us. We're shown how to bathe a newborn and sent home with a small pamphlet on how to take care of a baby.

This is often the extent of our preparation for mommyhood.

We leaf through the pamphlet a week later and notice, to our shock and dismay, that Juniorette isn't following the carefully bulleted (but not proofread) guidelines. Now what?

And so the worry begins.

Eight months of intense sleep-deprivation later (that's right, Kalina has lapsed into her former ways of waking at least once during the night), and I'm a chronic mommy worrier. Can you blame me?

For instance, my day is now planned around whatever I think will make the baby sleep through the night. Having at least skimmed every mainstream book on baby sleep, I have a virtual checklist I go through each day, making sure she gets enough floor time, walking time, Mommy time, Daddy time, learning time, naps and quiet time. And heaven forbid she catnap between sleep periods in the carseat.

Really, it's a lot of pressure: one toy too many and the baby is too overstimulated to sleep through the night. One toy too few and she's not tired enough. Is it any wonder she wakes up? I never knew babies were so complex.

All while hearing over and over "there's not much you can do, really, but try these few things..."

Which brings me to my next point: there's the one thing that all the old wives swear will help Baby sleep through the night, that all the scientists say is hogwash: solid food.

Secretly, I believe the old wives. So when Kalina refuses to eat any solids, I understandably begin to worry. (Freak)

When we started Kalina on solids, she loved them. She'd eat anything we dished into her little mouth, even the occasional accidental cat hair. This continued for a blissful month or so.

Sometime after her half birthday, however, Kalina decided she was done with solid foods. "That was fun, guys," she seemed to say. "But really, haven't I had enough?" And she'd clamp her little lips tightly closed, turn her head and give us every sign in the world that she wasn't letting the spoon in.

I wouldn't have been so desperate to feed her had not the introduction of several rather large solid-food meals every day corresponded nicely with the advent of sleeping through the night--something she held to for almost two weeks before reverting in the worst way. The old wives chattered amongst themselves, and I couldn't help but overhear: could solid foods be the root issue?

But the books told me not to force the issue, and that it's fine if Kalina only eats a bite or two of solid food a day. Fine for who? I wanted to ask/scream. I would imagine that in order to write a book, the authors were getting somewhat more than a couple 1- to 2-hour stretches of sleep at night. Then again, these same books swear there's no correlation.

And so, like many desperate mommies across the centuries, I tried to force the issue. We pureed anything I could possibly puree. We tried finger foods. We tried adding cinnamon. We experimented with temperatures and consistencies. We tried eating while playing. We tried taking bites off of Mommy's banana. We almost tried cake, but my better sense got the best of me.

Kalina is a force to be reckoned with, however, and would still have none of it. Well, almost. She would happily eat the occasional large solid-food meal. For all I could figure out, the incidence of this is entirely, unnervingly random.

I discovered that when I pretended I didn't care whether she ate or not, sang to her or recited nursery rhymes or read to her in Spanish from the back of the Cheerios box throughout the meal, bribed her with Cheerios and spread a veritable feast of possible foods to try across the table, I could get the baby to eat a few extra bites. And so I did. Mealtime turned into a huge occasion--sometimes we even sent cards and exchanged gifts.

Then better sense got the best of me and I plunked her down at the table while Matt and I ate. That night she dined on chicken, peas, carrots, brown rice and cottage cheese. It worked!

The next day it didn't (nor did anything else). The day after that she happily ate a bowl of baby oatmeal with pureed banana.

And that brings us to this morning, and back to the original point: until all babies sleep peacefully through the night, eat everything we give them, poop uniformly, maintain a constant, safe body temperature and never topple over while learning new tricks, and never so much as get an itch in the middle of their back they can't scratch nor tell anyone about, there will be mommy worry.

"That boy baby," "Carpet on the wall" and other Kalina adventures

Hi guys, this is Kalina. I'm writing today's post because Mommy's acting kind of weird. She's muttering a lot, often something about "...4 months old again?" and "...check into a hotel, better yet check her into a hotel." I don't know what her problem is.

Anyway, it's been a big week and a half. Word of my cuteness has spread far and wide, and so several adoring pilgrims have trekked across the country to visit. Mommy mentioned something about "...see how cute she is at 5:00 a.m..." under her breath.

It began with Mommy's friend Krista and that 5-month-old boy baby, Noah. I didn't mind Krista (although she wasn't worthy of holding me for more than 2 minutes, and that only once), but the boy baby definitely had cooties. I didn't like him, not one bit. Mommy seemed to, though--she even made me watch him eat his solid food, muttering something about "...2 and a half months younger than you and he can manage to eat his cereal...." It may have something to do with the fact that I'll eat about 8 Cheerios a day now and that's it for solid food, but I'm not sure.

Not only did he invade my turf, but he used a lot of my stuff--the pack n play I only use when we travel, and the baby bathtub and bouncy seat I've outgrown. Worse, Mommy occasionally even held him! Those arms are reserved for me, buster. Besides, I'd never willingly let anyone other than Mommy hold me, so why should he? Weird.

I responded by fussing every 5 seconds for an entire day, especially when Mommy wasn't holding me, and running a fever. I must've gotten my point across because eventually they left, thank goodness.

We did have a little fun, though. We all went to the park and sat outside. I liked the playground equipment, but still don't quite trust it. Especially the slide.

Even better, Krista took my picture lots of times. It was like getting followed around by the paparazzi, but I'm getting used to having a good fan base so I tolerated it fairly well. When I was tired of it I started crying and she'd usually stop. I think she got some great photos of me--I will put some in this blog so you can all admire my cuteness.

And then Grandma arrived! I let her hold me occasionally and even babysit me for a little while. However, I'd still say that 100% of my awake time (and really, 100% of my sleeping time, which hasn't been much lately) I'd prefer Mommy to anyone else. I know Mommy feels the same way because I heard her saying "...just so tired of hearing her cry...."

I performed all my new tricks, including pulling the rings off of my rock-n-stack toy, rocking back and forth on my hands and knees, flexing my wrist, passing toys from one hand to the other and giving them a good shake, and getting really close to standing on my own. I got way more applause from Grandma than I usually do from Mommy. Mommy muttered something about "...when you spend 100% of your time with the baby..." but I didn't see what that would have to do with showing a little appreciation once in a while.

And then we were off to Washington, D.C. We timed the drive around my naps so I didn't freak out too much, and Mommy said something about "...it was great to just have some time to quietly read...." Not sure what she means by that.

I liked exploring our hotel room--it's always good to have a change of scenery. I was finished exploring after about 30 minutes, though, so Mommy took me around to look at the hotel. Everyone said I was cute, but all Mommy could mutter was "...backache...." I'm not sure why, but I do know that I fidgeted and fussed a lot and whenever I did Mommy helped me walk around. I love walking! Sometimes I think I could walk all day!

That night I decided I definitely wanted at least one nighttime feeding, and I got it--anything I wanted just to keep me quiet! Mommy mentioned something about the other hotel guests, but I don't know what they would have to do with anything.

The next day we packed me up and we all went to visit the sites of D.C. And what sites! One exhibit wall even had carpet on it! How funny is that?!? Carpet on a wall! Carpet doesn't belong on walls, it belongs on the floor! So to see it on a wall was hilarious! We all laughed and I got my picture taken with the funny carpet. I think that was my favorite site. Mommy muttered something about "...all the way to D.C. and she likes carpet..." but fortunately she was smiling.

They all say I did great, but I don't quite understand how I could not do great. Am I not Kalina, cute baby extraordinaire? All I know is that I too a nice nap in my stroller, didn't fuss too much and kept my diaper relatively clean. They tell me we went to the American History Museum, the Air and Space Museum and the National Botanical Center. I still can't get over that carpet, though! Hah!

The next day we went home after dropping Grandma off at the airport. I was sad to see her go, and even sadder to find myself back in my carseat. Mommy did a lot of muttering about chocolate and Advil. She said she probably would've muttered more, but her throat hurt too much--probably something I passed onto her from last week. I'm glad I'm feeling better, and have plenty of energy!

Back at home, Mommy and Daddy both mentioned something about "...all sleep well tonight..." so I made sure to wake up more often than usual so we could check in with each other about how well we were all sleeping.

And that brings us to today! Mommy said something about getting me back to normal, but I'm not sure I remember what normal is anymore. I sure hope this doesn't involve sleep training me yet again...

But seriously, carpet on the wall!!! Still laughing.

Your house or mine?

Here's a short quiz for you:

1. It's cold outside and you have a 7-month-old. What do you do?
a. Take a walk around your living room--again
b. Dig into some deep cleaning and try not to spray anything too hazardous on the baby
c. Bundle the baby up to go outside. Watch her poop. Un-bundle her to do a diaper change. Give up.
d. Go to a playdate

2. You're so starved for adult conversation you start talking to the walls. What do you do?
a. Call the friendly receptionist at the pediatrician's office with a made-up malady
b. Wander the neighborhood until you find someone you can strike up a conversation with
c. Go grocery shopping for the 3rd time this week
d. Go to a playdate

3. The baby has played with every toy she owns and all your fine jewelry, yet she's bored to tears. What do you do?
a. Let her pull all your carefully folded clothes out of their respective drawers
b. Sing your whole repertoire of kiddy songs. Again and again and again.
c. Join her in her next screaming fit
d. Go to a playdate

The answer to all the above questions is, of course, d.

Playdates are one thing that Kalina and I completely agree on. We've been to lots recently, with good success. Kalina gets to munch on new toys, and I get to munch on cookies, or at least conversation.

(As an aside, I will admit that not all our playdates are with other babies or at other houses: sometimes we have "fun-with-kitchen-utensil" day on our own, or venture to Target to play with all their fun toys without buying them [no mouthing allowed, of course].)

We both always learn something new. I had to learn and re-learn for the longest time that every baby except mine was sleeping through the night, even those younger than her, and Kalina learns that if she doesn't hold onto the toys tighter, they will get stolen from her. Am I mean to laugh?

We've been to so many fun playdates lately that Kalina now miraculously enjoys her carseat: she knows we're on our way to something better, her own toys having been classified as "boring" for weeks now. We ride in peace and anticiaption.

Upon arrival, Kalina is usually first startled, then horrified and finally ecstatic to meet any family dogs as Mommy ignores her in her carseat while greeting the other mommies (oops, but it somehow happens every time). She then sits calmly on my lap, tricking everyone into thinking she's an "easy" baby. I usually get a good 10-15 minutes before she gets squirmy--and I'm grateful for every one.

With the onset of squirminess comes the introduction of toys. I try to nab one of the brightest and loudest battery-operated gizmos. This is a rare treat for Kalina, as we only have half a dozen battery-operated toys in our house, and five of those are Matt's. She usually figures it out right away and pounds on it for a little while.

After another 10-15 minutes, she's thoroughly bored (and yet I'm sooo not). I stand her up, talk louder and listen closer as she fusses her displeasure. The following 5 minutes have me letting her gnaw on my purse, fingers, hair or credit cards as I buy more time.

All conversations lead to our babies at these playdates. You took an amazing trip to Italy? How did Junior do? Did he try pasta? What color did it make his poo? What brand of diapers is your favorite for him? And so it goes.

When I can no longer talk like a normal person I decide I've ignored my child for long enough, and we go off on an adventure around the room, her walking and me holding her hands as my lower back adjusts itself so I can bend in half.

My goal at this point has switched from chatting with the other moms to ensuring Kalina has as much fun as babily possible. My motives are: 1.) Theoretically, the more active she is during the day the better she'll sleep at night, 2.) The more her mind works the more she'll learn, and the better she'll sleep at night, 3.) At least if she doesn't sleep at night I'll sleep better knowing I've done everything I can.

I try to make sure she has time with each of the best toys, to the point of removing from her hands an old sock she's found behind the couch and is quite contentedly sucking on and replacing it with a purple singing octopus I've all but snatched from the toddler next to me. I think I have as much fun as she does watching her reactions and enjoying the fact that she doesn't really prefer the loudest and brightest toys over the simple blocks, proving that I'm not preserving my sanity at the cost of her intellect.

By the end of the playdate, when the toys are too soggy and the babies too overstimulated to hold, we head out. Back at home, Kalina is once again content with her own playthings (or maybe she's just glad they're not getting taken from her) and I'm assured that she'll likely be worn out enough to sleep "better" that night.