You like to stick out your tongue - but unfortunately for the Viewing Public, you are so impossibly cute when you're doing so that we haven't got, i don't think, any pictures of it; one just melts with the cuteness. But it is small and pointy and you look like a tiny KISS fan. Clearly we need to shop in the baby section of Hot Topic when we get back home ...

It has also gotten quite nice and sunny here recently and on Sunday we went to the Donauinsel for a barbecue and it was so nice, we didn't even need coats - damn near in the Alps, in February - no coats. And it was a gorgeous sunny day and you woke up coming out from the U-bahn and buried your face in my sleeve and said WHAT IS THIS BRIGHT THING? And you went all squinty and pouty faced trying to get away from it. Maybe you need tiny baby sunglasses? You don't mind hats so much any more, and you're almost certainly going to need glasses someday as both M and i wear them, and all our parents wear them, and even our brothers wear them, so you might want to get used to sunglasses now, just in case. Because, rosebud, you are going to need glasses. It was so nice outside yesterday that we walked to the Sudbahnhof without even carrying a coat with us, nothing whatsoever, and no little old ladies gave me dirty looks for letting you be cold; that means that it's really unseasonably warm for February, which sort of is a bad omen about the global-warming-ed summer to come. Especially since you holler when you are too hot, and in a small flat with no air conditioning, except that M might be becoming too green to use air conditioning anyway, it'll be tough keeping cool. I did notice that the little Turkish shop on the corner sells fans, there, next to the coffee machines and suitcases and weird little Tupperwares. (We heavily patronize the little Turkish shop on the corner. They know us.)

Also the reason we went to the Sudbahnhof: to get tickets to go to Salzburg, this weekend. T is coming in on Friday afternoon and he's the first real visitor we're going to have with you around, and we're also leaving the apartment overnight for the first time. Just for one night. But it's a three hour train ride, and those things combine to allow disposable diaper use. Daddy is green, but mama ain't crazy. We will see how you are in a weird, strange, highly Baroque town, in a centuries-old, unfamiliar hotel. In, you know, preparation for that big trip home next month. We aren't planning on bringing the stroller, either, just the Ergo, and possibly the other ...

Mama went to a flea market over the weekend and got a wrap (Didymos, size 5, 35Euro). The wrap, if i can figure it out, will be more comfortable to sit in for a three hour train ride, let alone a many hour plane ride, than the Ergo, because the Ergo has that big solid band that goes around my waist and it has to be like sitting on a little narrow bit of cardboard and you always start to complain if whoever is wearing you sits down for too long. And the wrap is not as pretty as the sling, but does have the potential to distribute your weight evenly over the wearer's shoulders. It continues to be the case that all of our babywearing devices are maroon.

Also at the flea market we got:

• stacky cups
• your first Legos, which i think are called Quattros really, being four times the size of Duplos. One of which is a ladybug-shaped rattle, and i'm not sure you're technically old enough to be playing with them yet, but if one is a ladybug-shaped rattle, then that's got to be for tiny babies, right?
• a fabric book with zippers and buttons and velcro
• your first microscope! 1200x, monocular, four objectives and three eyepieces, slide clips, three boxes of slides (plankton, textiles, and plants), several vials of stain, an LED light source, coarse and fine focus knobs, all contained in a wooden case with a nice handle. Mama is a huge geek. Massive. You probably will not be big enough to use the microscope while we still live here. But i tried it, and it works. So, someday. And clearly Mama has been watching too much Antiques Roadshow because i got really excited when it was only eight euros.

What else is there? I put the jumper back on the doorway and you like to be in it, but you aren't really jumping at this point. But it makes it easy to see you grow: when we got it, just moments ago, you filled it out a lot less than you do now. Now you take up quite a bit more room in the basket and are significantly less slouchy. (But when you're tired, or sleepy, or just waking up, not only are you slouchy, you are the sweetest and warmest and softest and most cuddly sack of potatoes ever.)

And last night you went to sleep entirely on your own. I fed you and then you were wide awake, but tired, and i put you down, and left the room, and that was it. Have i mentioned that after never winning a prize ever in my life, not being picked for anything fun, never even finding a quarter in a telephone slot, i am by far the luckiest person i know? Because, yeah.

Labels: baby, milestones

can't. stop. blogging. And also, probably, i am going to do really inappropriate things here, make awful comparisons, say things that aren't funny. This is how i deal. This is my blog, my space, my journal, mine: fuck off. I don't care if it isn't funny for anyone but me. Fair warning. (They killed Kenny: you bastards. Death is not funny. See? Not funny. But how i deal.)

so there are things, i think, that one does, as a responsible member of society. Clean up one's trash. Give proper directions. Don't leave pee on the seat. Park properly. Once i saw a car on fire and called 911; i was terribly excited as they had only just invented cell phones, so there was a possibility that someone had already called, and I asked the operator if she knew there was a car on fire on Highway 81 South or whichever it was, and she said no, and i was eight or nine years old - Responsible member of society. Mention to somebody when they've dropped their keys. Don't walk in the exact damn center of the one-lane street. It's why i vaccinate my kid. It's why i put the ugly kitchen barstool i always broke my toe on in the hallway downstairs with a big sign saying "GRATIS" instead of busting it down to get it to fit in the trash, to see it gone, claimed, in twenty minutes flat. It's why one turns down the stereo late at night. Hold the elevator. Mow the lawn. Don't (feed mogwai or; see also, death, not funny) move furniture after midnight.

And when one's dog bites a person, one puts it down. But that doesn't make it easy.

There's no, but he didn't mean it. There's no, it was situational. There's no, it's redirected this, behavioral - learning - modified - whatever that. The shelter we got him from, the rescue back in texas, they call it a crossed wire in his head. Me, when i am feeling like glossing things over, i call it a persistent anxiety disorder. In the reality-based world, they'd say he bit M, and while M is fine (well, we had to wash his jeans, and it's good that one of us is a girl and knows to do it in cold water, y'know, and if he hadn't been wearing jeans, then it would have been worse, a lot worse, and while it wasn't bad, in the sense that M could walk afterwards, i guess, it was certainly a Real Bite) - well, there it is, it was a Real Bite. You could count his teeth from the holes in M's leg, see where they were crooked, where they were big. Multiple holes. As in, more than one. Holes. In M's leg. Euphemism-euphemism-euphemism, whatever, holes and blood and there it is.

And yes, we knew it would happen eventually. Anxiety disorder. Panic disorder. Hates-walking-on-the-street disorder. (Seriously, what dog doesn't like to go for walks?) Wants-to-attack-dogs-and-bicycles disorder. Will-bite-anything-in-biting-range disorder. Not quite frothing-in-the-face disorder, and while we're home, calm. Cuddly. Sweet, perfect, soft, ideal. (Except when he growls at you for touching his butt, or when he's on your side of the bed and you're sleepy, so he has to move, or ) God, he sounds awful. When we were home he was damn near a perfect dog. And if he never had to leave the apartment - and if it was bigger and there was more than one comfy couch to nurse/watch TV/laze about on, more than one place to nap, a larger kitchen to hang out in, more places to hide when he was feeling antisocial, a larger space between the living room and all the rest of it, oh, christ.

One glass of wine and a little grief, and i get all loquacious. See? Not funny.

i feel like i'm rationalizing it all. I am. Like if i make enough excuses i'll feel better. Nope. This is me and my failure, alone in the corner. There must have been something. If we'd made him go for more walks. If i'd had more energy. More patience. (Thicker jeans. See? Not funny.) If we'd put him on doggie prozac, if we'd had his teeth removed, if we'd let dog no. 1 dominate him a little more as a puppy, if he'd been a little older when we got him, a little younger, if we'd socialized him better instead of letting him hide, if we'd called the behaviorist sooner, a million things. If we hadn't moved to vienna. If we'd stayed in the big house in texas, the big yard, where he was comfortable. If we'd made him wear the muzzle all the time, or kept him crated every second of the day. and, yeah, sure, what kind of life is that for a dog, but then, how do you know if that's not better? Stupid world.

M took him to the vet. I sent them with a big packet of lunch meat - weird, stinky Austrian turkey stuff. Not the spicy kind. They always like the stinky, though.

Little Bird, i'm sorry.

Labels: dogs

dog no 2. yes. sick. And therapy, and time, and more time, and more therapy, all the people we were working with, all the people we asked for help, but i've always said, and we always knew, but this was sooner than we'd hoped. A lot sooner.

A lot sooner. He's barely five. I gave M a big packet of lunch meat to take along to the vet.

It's not fair. I failed him. None of this is his fault. I failed him. All he ever was was scared. And now this, and here we are, with no choices left, nobody to beg forgiveness from.

And even with everything. I always said, i did, i know, i remember. I know. And everyone is telling us the same thing. And i know they are right to. All of these things are in my head. I know. But he's just a puppy. Even here, where every shelter is a no-kill shelter, they say the same thing. I know. I called. I asked. I nearly cried on the phone.

But now, here, instead.

Labels: dogs

that's a long time! you're an old lady like me now. Especially what with the new ability to sit up (when suppourted by pillows or the back of the couch or, if she's sitting still, Dog no. 1). You can go for several minutes solid.

Your favorite thing is to be sitting on one of us, talking to the other one.

We're thinking about solid foods, and about getting you to fall asleep on your own. Every single person on the face of the planet has a contradictory opinion on when and how to go about these things. i think i want to start either solids or getting you to fall asleep on your own before we hit the US, but i don't know which or how or even, really, why, except that it seems like doing both when we get back would make things hard. Hell of a learning curve you've got, sweetie. You can fuss yourself off to sleep in under five minutes (tonight i was taking a shower, but that's what M said) but there's a massive gray space between fussing for a bit and Ferberization, and also tremendous gap between Ferberization and actual real live child abuse. Um, excuse me while i finish off this bottle of wine (well, we started it yesterday; and you're well off to sleep; and it's yummy. It's Australian - we like shiraz).

I think working two days a week is just about right. It's enough that you get to have tiny adorable friends that you see a bit more than the once-a-weekers in the moms group (especially because nobody is there every week, really, even us), and that Mama gets to behave like an adult sometimes again and have a much more leisurely lunch and cup of coffee and, um, use the facilities, and so on, and when i come and get you at the end of the day it's like coming up for air, but when one likes swimming, too ... well, two days a week is good. The other moms are gradually filtering back in to working as well. There were some who went back as soon as they were cleared by the doctor; there are others that i'm sure will be quite a long time yet. Being in the middle makes me feel very reasonable. It's really really good that i can be part time.

These days you're having lots of floor time, both on your tummy and on your back. I usually put you on a blanket but i think i might get one of those little play rugs with town buildings and streets on them ... the blanket is nice and soft, but you grab it and it gets wrinkley instead of you being able to pull along and have any resistance. We'll see if a play rug is any different.

oh, and, you like having your diapers changed more! than! ever! because not only do your best friends the butterfly stickers live on the changing table, not only are the acoustics in there perfect for tiny soprano arias, but you now have Jedi Ninja Monkey Showtime scooting your little butt all over the place and kicking the diapers on the floor and poking certain parents in the belly with your toes. You had Jedi Ninja Monkey Showtime back in the day in my uterus - you could see the flips even when i had clothes on - and you have just been waiting for this, i know it.

Labels: baby, milestones

So, yes, we have the cutest kid in the entire history of the world.

(I'm not even being biased. Promise.)

Thing is, M has said two or three times that we could call, like, talent agents, or other people, i don't know who, and take a couple pictures and get her a college fund for having a pretty little face. This scares me a lot and i don't know why. College fund, not a bad thing, right? And it was okay when there was another expat mom borrowing babies to test drive her small-business ring sling making, but, like, real companies? Professional types? Eek.

Labels: baby

i can't stand leaving A's new bloggy CommentLuv toy on a sad note. Although i clearly don't mind putting profanity on other people's websites.

Walking past [giant tourist attraction, a worthwhile visit though it may be, near our flat] this morning, E was being really cute, which happens most of the time when she's awake, and we got the wildly cooed blessing of an entire busload of Italians. Even the grouchy-looking old men (and some of them were very grouchy looking).

New goal in life: to continue collecting Hundertwasser ticket stubs for the Kunsthauswien, which unlike [giant tourist attraction nearest us] is much more unique to Vienna. So far we have #14 and #31; hoping to acquire three more this weekend for P visiting. Hundertwasser kind of grows on you: when i saw it the first time, i thought it was hideous; and i don't think my design sense has changed all that much. But now - while i'd like to have certain standard aspects of traditional architecture, like flat floors and windows that can be curtained and doors that will stay where I put them and not slam - yeah, kinda fun. Not "modern," not at all, but aesthetic all the same.

edit: oh, hell, the CommentLuv doesn't auto update. Neat toy, though.

Labels: mamadom

i'd rather not talk about it. Yet.

Dog no. 2 is going to be leaving us shortly.

Also, i cut bangs, and while they are very cute and reminiscent of that lady with the high pony tail on the old Emme makeover show (i LOVED that old Emme makeover show), they look awful with a red puffy nose from crying, so no pictures. This morning, i was a stone fox. Now, not so much.

Labels: dogs, drama

It has been established that you like the tagesmutter: you have conversations with her. Eeee! Oooooo! Eeee! I think you only chat with people you trust; you don't with new people, even when you're very friendly. You do like making new friends - i took you to my work, and to my german class, and everybody got to hold you and cuddle you and see your shiny happy grin. And then the next day talk about how beautiful you are and how they already have lots of kids and really don't need more, really, but if we ever need a babysitter in Hungary, we know who to call.

You are now taking bottles without a problem, though we're only using the Doctor Browns anti-colic ones (and, to be honest, haven't even tried the Avent, the only other bottles we have, in months). However one of these days - you have so far only had breastmilk, expressed or au naturel. But last Wednesday at the sitters, and again yesterday, you downed all three bottles of milk I sent along (the last one, sure, only forty-five minutes before i was picking you up, but still, all gone) and so the tagesmutter wants me to bring along formula, too, for just in case. You haven't had formula yet and i'm not sure how well that's going to go over, but i'll send you with extra ounces tomorrow, and my freezer stash will start to get depleted. Well, that's what it's there for. We can start using the bigger bottles instead, so that more milk can fit in the insulated pocket in the diaper bag that goes with you. Eighteen ounces, tomorrow. Or fifteen? Eighteen. Better to be on the safe side: i want to get you to six months with no formula. And with our upcoming american vacation, that's only thirteen more days of daycare ... maybe sixteen ounces? Two sixes and a four. 208 oz, then, for the remainder. And i have some hundred odd oz in the fridge, which means my stash is ... on its way out. But if i can pump enough for six months, that's good. I'm happy with that. I can keep it going that long. And it's not like it's an all or nothing operation afterwards.

We've also started deliberately putting you to bed when you are just barely a little bit awake, instead of limp-limbed deeply slumbering, so you can learn to go to sleep by yourself. This is probably all going to get shot to hell when we go back to the States for three weeks and are sleeping in different new places every, like, four days or so, but for now, you can go to sleep by yourself if (IF) you are well fed (by which i mean, completely turkey-stuffed) and sleepy (which is rubbing your eyes, and being a little pink in the face). And if you have had sufficient cuddles, of course, though that might have more to do with me. But not too sleepy - if you are overtired, then you're fussy, and fussy means not sleeping alone. Anyway. We've started that.

Still no bumpers in your crib, though if we remind you how to roll over - that is, if we roll you over and back once - then you can kinda roll over, sometimes, belly to back. You almost roll back to belly, but not really. At least now you are enjoying your tummy time much more, so it is easy to give you a lot of it, and that's better for everybody, i guess. And if i am honest with myself then i can't say that you're rolling over, because you're not doing it with a great deal of consistency (the best day we had, you were naked on a towel on a portable changing pad on a blanket on the floor, so it was a very padded surface, and the dogs were sleeping somewhere else and not being distracting or trying to kiss you) - and i think doing things on a regular basis is when one can really say that you've learned it. So you're kind of rolling. Not sure if we'll put the bumpers on or not - we'll see how stuck you get once you do learn. You're pretty smart, so you may not get so stuck.

And we have now gotten past our first, and possibly second, illness-as-a-family. Poor M did not have anybody to take care of him and when he gets a fever he is pretty funny - you'll notice this at some point - he never shuts up, and wants lots of attention, and will make you get up and come into the other room so he can look at you and moan, but that's all he wanted, to look at you and moan - so it was a new experience for him, being sick and not having anyone pay a lick of attention. But you didn't do so bad. Mama milk kicks butt.

Reading about solids. The earliest people start them at four months, these days; most decent references say that six is better. So when we get back from the US you'll be six and a half, and we can start then, maybe, with maybe letting you play with other people's food in the interim. We tried giving you a green bean the other day but you didn't put it in your mouth. Ditto the small non-crusty bit of baguette. Probably giving you soft-melty-brie-from-a-cow is not recommended, though, so we didn't attempt that one ... exciting. And scary - all this stuff is so loaded. If someone finds out we do something according to Reference X, where they went by Reference Y, then that's a big deal, automatically either a judgment upon them as a person - and as a parent - or something that we obviously didn't do enough research on, rather than it being reality: every book, every pediatrician, every specialist has a different idea of the One True Way. And they're all probably right for some babies and wrong for others, and so when we are doing what works for us - like, right now, putting you in a crib and pumping and sending you to daycare twice a week and planning on starting solids at six months - somebody somewhere is getting all affronted and taking it personal. We met somebody who took our brand of stroller personally. We don't even have a designer stroller (half the city is in a Bugaboo) so this was weird, that our (while not cheap) bog-standard Italian model was some message to the world. It's a bog-standard stroller. Slightly narrow for our altbau door, convenient reversible handle, but even so, really nothing special. Nothing to feel all unworthy about. (Especially when she was driving a Bebe Confort! Weirdo.) Anyway. It's an odd dance, doing our thing without stepping on toes.

Gotta get used to that, i guess.

Labels: baby, milestones

good LORD, time is flying. oy. and M was sick and you were sick and i was sick and now we are all mostly better - though now that i think about it i still need to be drinking more tea and finish off the little stash of Vitamin C capsules. It was a long couple of weeks there. Long. But you have enough pajamas now.

And since we didn't do anything for Halloween (well, there's not much of a proper Halloween celebration here anyway) and there's a fasching and foosball party tonight, well, you're going to be a Tiny Alligator, or Maybe A Crocodile. I think your shirt says crocodile but your hat has a gator on it. Um, it is also possible that the creature pictured on your croc-labeled shirt is actually an alligator. but. They don't have baby costumes here! None of those cute plush little tomatoes, nothing with big floppy mouse ears, no monkey tails or pumpkin stems or anything else that babies get dressed up as. And you will still be cute but i think we are going to have to point out to people that you are a small bitey reptile: i think we might say something like, well, put your finger near her mouth, and see what she is. That would go over well, i think. M and i are going as river people. Easy, accessible, all the same reasons we went as dirty hippies last year - for us, at least, i didn't have to go out and buy anything to make a costume. I do hope you don't mind wearing the hat too much.

I'm back to work now, two days a week, and i think you like the sitter. We have to dress you warmer to go there, though, because she likes taking you all to the park and it's colder in the stroller than it is in the Ergo. But you are happily drinking bottles (expressed milk, thankyouverymuch) and wearing plastic diapers while you're there. And are my little velcrobaby afterwards. It's nice being a grownup again.

I think i must be overreacting to the smoking thing. I must be, right? Except it's really huge, right? I have no idea. I have no perspective; i don't know how to feel about it. I think i must be overreacting because everyone i tell about it goes, so what. Except it seems awful, sending you to a place with smoke in it, and then you get cuddled all day and you come back with it in your fine little hair. And, therefore, in your fine, pink little lungs, too, and if i think about it any more then my heart is going to break.

Labels: baby, milestones

*not very factual on motorcycles either

:anmut: :annika: :chin: :dooce: :ewok mama: :food: :little frog school: :lj: :longform: :low odysseys: :natalya: :rich: :salon: :slate: :this is how: :unique yn:



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