Firsts

Dear Scarlett,
Last week was a major week for you. You turned 6 months, got shots, ate your first real food, went to your first swim class, bounced in a jumper for the first time, and laughed your head off with Emerson.

We learned from the doctor that you are in the 75 percentile for both weight and height. You are completely healthy and still toothless. You did not perform any screeching for the doctor, but you also didn't cry when you saw him, so that's good. The doctor said that your personality is definitely starting to show and so we've decided that you are going to be feisty and tenacious, very independent, and quiet until you're comfortable, at which point you will let loose a torrent of boisterous (and I hope eventually coherent) opinion.

Your first food was pureed oatmeal, which you seemed to enjoy despite its utter lack of taste. A definite highlight of that first meal was when Dad asked me if I was going to add brown sugar to it. The answer was no. We did add bananas to it yesterday, and after your first bite, you opened your mouth and poured the bananas onto your bib. Not an immediate hit, it seems. We don't really have a meal plan set up for you; we're just adding new foods every few days. I think next up might be carrots, but I'll entertain suggestions from others.

I was so excited for your swim class on Saturday, but you didn't have a good nap that day. Dad and I were debating just skipping the class, but in the end we took you and got a good 5 minutes of happy baby for our trouble. After you went under water for the second time, you decided that the pool was among your least favorite places ever, and cried for the rest of the class. Dad did a great job with you, though, and you both stayed in the water until the teacher dismissed you. And then you screamed your head off in the locker room. I'm convinced you'll like swimming when you're not so tired. Dad says you do not get your distrust of the water from him. Apparently, when he was little, he would make a beeline for whatever body of water might be nearby, even before he could swim, and he had to be watched very closely lest he drown himself. I think this was before people used baby leashes, but he might have been a good candidate for one of those.



On Friday, we went to visit Ellie and Emerson. Eric got home from work before we left and the two of us tried putting you in Emerson's jumper. He loves that thing, but you? You caught some air and flipped out. Again, I think it's something you'll like when you get used to it--so maybe this, too, is part of your personality. Not one too jump too quickly (fine with me, because I'm not a fan of baby leashes or regret.) You bounced back, so to speak, and you and Emerson got a big kick out of Eric spinning a top on the living room floor.

This week we'll experience more firsts. Your grandparents are here from Florida to meet you for the first time. We're taking you to your first Giants game on Thursday. And then, of course, there are the carrots. Give them a chance.

Love,
Mom

The Music Table

Scarlett Rocks Out from Sarah C on Vimeo.

Hilarity at Emerson's

Additional Half-Birthday Activity

6 Months Old

Baby Steve Jobs

When Mommy Met Daddy

Dear Scarlett,
Today Dad and I are celebrating our 2nd wedding anniversary, and I thought I would mark the occasion by telling you the story of how we met.

At the beginning of 2005, I was working as the marketing manager for a publishing company in Emeryville, California, across the Bay Bridge from San Francisco. I lived in Hayes Valley in a small studio, slept on a futon, and watched movies from the neighborhood video store on a hand-me-down VCR.

Your Dad had recently moved to New York from Chicago, to take a job as the publisher of a magazine about book publishing. He had sold his BMW (something he doesn't like to discuss) and his apartment in Lincoln Park, and was living in a corporate studio in Midtown Manhattan with his 2 cats.

Part of my job was to meet with sales reps who wanted my company to advertise in their magazines, and one of the most memorable people I had to meet with was a man we'll call Ray. I liked Ray; he was friendly and not too pushy. In fact, I often felt bad for him, because we only ever advertised in his magazine once a year, and we would continue to do that no matter how many times Ray called or visited me. Ray had a distinctive, nasal New York accent, and always said the exact same thing when he called. "Hellloooo Sarah." One day he called and told me he had a new boss and he wanted to bring him to a meeting in my office. It would be a different kind of meeting than Ray and I usually had; those consisted of Ray sitting across from my cubicle desk and telling me about the new things happening with the magazine, while I nodded politely and surreptitiously watched the clock.

When Ray arrived, the receptionist called me and I went out to meet him. He had with him a tall, good looking man in a suit, and I led them both back to the conference room. My boss, Donna, and I sat on one side of the table, and Ray and your Dad sat on the other. Your Dad did most of the talking, and I suppose I listened to what he said at the time, but I recall thinking not about what he was saying, but about the fact that he had great hair, no wedding ring, and a nice smile. After we talked about the business, we started chatting generally and I found out Dad had lived in Chicago for 10 years. I felt like there was something I recognized about him--not that I actually had met him before, but there was a Midwestern-ness to him that was familiar and comfortable. I liked him. I guess I liked him a lot. I walked out of the meeting to get a business card (I am still horrible about remembering to carry those), and I ran into Krista R at the copy machine. She was a publicist in the office and one of my best friends. "I just met the man I'm going to marry," I blurted to her, and then continued on my way. "Whaaat?" I heard her saying behind me. Though I am prone to hyperbole, I can assure you that I had never made that proclamation before, about anyone.

Dad and I exchanged brief "thanks for the meeting" emails, and life went on. The next month, I went to New York for the New York Times Travel Show. I had an author speaking and would be in town for a few days. I was traveling with our CEO and one of our sales people, and the three of us stopped at a publishing party one evening before dinner. I didn't know many people and was content to stick close to Keith, my friend in sales, until I saw your Dad standing by the stairs. Without giving it much thought, I walked up to him, interrupting a conversation he was having with two women. I asked if he remembered me. We ended up talking for a long time, probably about work, but he gave me his card and this time wrote his cell phone number on it. We said good night and I walked back to Keith, who looked at me, laughed, and said "What was THAT?"

We actually exchanged messages that week and I invited him to stop by the travel show, but he didn't show up. I decided he probably had a girlfriend or just wasn't interested, but I still had a funny feeling about him and wasn't ready to write him off entirely. The following month he returned with Ray and their new Editor-in-Chief to tell us more exciting things about the magazine we still weren't going to spend many ad dollars on. Our President sat in on this meeting and I got a pedicure and put a little more care than usual into my outfit. Dad's magazine was throwing a party that night, but I wasn't going to go. When he asked me why, I told him I had a salsa dance class (this was true). Secretly, I was still a tiny bit miffed that he had blown me off in New York, and I didn't feel like making things easy for him.

We continued emailing infrequently, and one day Dad wrote to ask me what I thought of the news about Ray. I picked up the phone and called him for the first time. I had just moved into my own office, and so I had some privacy. "What news?" I asked. Dad told me that Ray was no longer with the magazine. I was sorry for Ray, but happy for the excuse to talk. I was such a girl--I analyzed Dad's email messages, trying to figure out his intentions, while he probably just continued his life in New York without giving me too much thought.

We found ourselves in New York at a party together again in June. Towards the end, Dad was gathering a group to go to dinner, and he invited me, Krista and Keith. We were a group of 9 and we went to Haru, a sushi restaurant. I sat next to Dad, and he says I kept putting my hand on his knee to illustrate my points, but I think he's exaggerating. Krista overheard two of Dad's coworkers whispering behind a menu. "We might be witnessing history in the making," one of them said to the other, looking at me and Dad.

I was in town for an annual book convention, so I saw Dad every day, and we met up at yet another party that Saturday night. This time, Dad's coworker and friend Hannah came up to me and said, "Rob has a crush on you." This was good news; Dad was being so enigmatic around me that I couldn't tell if he was interested or just a friendly guy.

We went out that night after the party with a big group and everyone seemed intent on getting me and Dad together, to the point where we found ourselves sharing a seat in the bar because--oops--there were no other seats available. We walked out together that night and he kissed me goodbye. Then we kept talking and he kissed me goodbye again. The same thing happened once more, but then a cockroach landed on Dad's suit and kind of ended the moment. I have never again seen a cockroach land on someone, even after years of living in New York City. We parted ways.

The next night we went on our first date, just the two of us. We met at the apartment he had just moved into, the apartment I would live in for 4 years, the apartment where you spent your first months in my belly. He took me to dinner at Bottino, and I liked him. A lot. So I married him. Which is another story for another time.

Love,
Mom

So much good news

Dear Scarlett,
I have been hesitant to write this, for fear of being smacked down by the karmic gods of baby sleep, but here goes: You are sleeping through the night. It's been more than 10 nights of you sleeping 11-12 hours. In a row. Amazing! We are loving it. One of these days, I'll also try to sleep through the night, but for now, I keep waking up to listen for you or look at you on the baby monitor. Please, karmic gods of sleep, do not reverse this progress. I'll slaughter a white noise machine in your honor. But not our white noise machine--that thing is money.

Scarlett, you will be 6 months next week, and I can barely believe it. You are sitting up, trying so hard to crawl, screaming like a banshee, and drooling everywhere. You have started rubbing your cheek and your ear, so I really think a tooth is in our near future. How exciting! You seem to want to spend all of your time on your tummy, and we're compliant. If I hold you for too long, you begin arching your back and trying to escape. You need to move, I know. Life is a party, and apparently that party is happening on the floor.

It's September, which means my return to work is getting closer. I'm not thinking too much about it--still concentrating on enjoying our time together. At our moms' group the other day, the facilitator said that sometimes moms confuse the end of maternity leave with the end of motherhood. I can understand that. It's hard to think about our amazing weekdays together coming to an end. It has been such a special time. But I'm lucky that I get to work at home, and can peek in on you and squeeze you as often as I want (well, maybe not that often.)

You are going to need a nanny to watch you when I'm working, obviously, since Smokey turned down my job offer (something about you not respecting his authority.) I interviewed several candidates, by phone and at the house, and they were all nice women, but Dad and I decided to wait a while before hiring anyone. I mentioned to Aunt Lizzie that she would be the perfect nanny for you, if only she didn't already have a job. And she thought about that for a few weeks, and decided to quit her job and become your full-time nanny! When she told us, I cried. You cried, too, I think because the sudden outburst of emotion in the room scared you. No news could have been better. Aunt Lizzie's company was upset that she'll be leaving, but also very supportive of her decision. And I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I am so happy that my sister, who I love and trust implicitly, will be the person taking care of you when Dad and I can't.

Things are good, my girl. And I am feeling grateful. Do you hear that, sleep gods?

Love,
Mom

Summer: A Video by Aunt Lizzie

Archibald Lake - August 2010 from Aunt Lizzie on Vimeo.

Scarlett and Mommy

A Picnic with Emerson

Scarlett and Papa

Two Weeks in the Midwest, Part 2

Dear Scarlett,
Ah, how I love the sound of you sleeping. Do you know what it sounds like? Nothing. Delightful. You've been doing such a good job with your schedule since we got home, and I think I deserve this, because during our stay in Wisconsin, you really took advantage of the fact that I went to you every time you cried so that the rest of the house didn't wake up. I need a vacation from our vacation.

We had a wonderful time at the lake--tons of good food, hilarious games of Spoons, Scrabble, Backgammon, and Yahtzee, cocktail cruises and eagle sightings, and an amazing surprise when Uncle Rob pulled out customized t-shirts he made for us (including a onesie for you) that had Papa's picture on the front and a great line on the back.










As usual, much of the trip was spent laughing at the things that came out of Papa's mouth. In particular, he had fun with Uncle Paul's girlfriend Meghan. For some reason, Papa decided her name was Amanda and referred to her that way one entire evening, until someone finally corrected him. What was I thinking? he asked us. We often don't know, we responded. From there, he thought it would be best to just go ahead and call her Carmen Miranda. Again, we don't know why. So one night after dinner, when Papa wanted to play Yahtzee, this is how the "conversation" went:

Papa (from his chair at the head of the dining room table): Ok, it's time to play. Pauly, you sit over here. Nana is going to sit here, next to me. I'm in this chair [editorial note: we know], Carmen Miranda over here, and you [this last part directed at me], you get the hell out of that chair. Your sister is sitting there.

I feigned hurt feelings until Papa let me play the game, too. And I won. Let that be a lesson to you. I'm not really sure what the lesson is...something about your great grandpa being a nut job, and your mom being really good at games.

You turned five months on our first day at the lake, and I think I can safely say that I am done counting your age in weeks, because I truly have no idea what the number would be.










Despite your long nights of wakefulness, you were a joy to be around during the day, and everyone commented on your smiliness and general good nature. You and Nonnie practiced sitting up, which must have been effective, because on the last day of vacation, you popped up on the couch like a little tripod, and now you can sit.



You are still reaching for things, but with much more purpose now. Nothing is safe, and you regularly knock my glasses off, grab clumps of my hair, and stick your fingers in my nose. You think sneezing is hilarious, but only when you do it. You do not like anyone to talk while you are eating, and will refuse to finish if someone engages in this rude behavior. You are constantly interested in what is going on around you, often staring intently at something as if trying to figure it out. You seem older than 5 months to me in many ways. But then you'll stick your entire fist in your mouth and screech at a chandelier, and I'll think oh yes, there's my little baby.




Love,
Mom