Music Appreciation, Infant Version

Earlier today, I posted on a certain social media account that my daughter really, really likes music. Well, I was rather understating it: it’s not just that she loves her musical toys. It is also that she sways left and right, grinning broadly, whenever I, the computer, any other machine, or even any other person, sings. At no older than 7 months, my daughter is making a very significant effort to actually express her liking of music_ by dancing, as far as her strong little arms will allow. It is quite adorable, really. But, I disgress.

Not half an hour later, I see that my mother has responded:

“Ah, my little one, if only you knew how much YOU loved music… At the age of 2 you could make the difference between various classical composers, and you showed your preference by either laughing loudly when you liked it, or starting to cry for others”.

Welp. That would be exactly why I had misgivings about adding my mother to my social media accounts. Because I knew then that she would not be content to just read my updates and comment something like “how nice, what a smart baby!”, but that she’d try to show up, one up, outdo the baby_ or, in other instances, embarrass me. I guess my inner unicorn forgot for a moment when I had the baby.

I guess it’s time to use that trusty block button. Too bad.

Grandmas, seriously, take note: if your daughter/DIL is sharing things on facebook/twitter/tumblr/blog, your “job” isn’t to haw haw and show her up. Smile indulgently at her affection for her child, and leave her to it.

“Giving mommy a break”

My husband has a day off today, and he very generously offered to take her for a walk to “give mommy a break”.

On the one hand, I really was exceedingly grateful, because mommy DID need a break. Her brain felt mushy, mouldy, and in desperate need of a week off.

I guess this is a fundamental part of motherhood; in a sense, when you bear a child, you surrender everything that made you a person, and then you stoop down to build from scratch (in saying so, I am referencing an excellent article that explains how a mother is not the woman she was before_ but sadly I have no idea where I found it). So, giving me some time alone is a way to ensure I do manage to build that person, from scratch.On the other hand, I’ve a feeling it will take a lot more than one or two hours alone to put my brain back together. I essentially spent that hour-and-a-half writing a couple of posts, listening to music with headphones on (big no-no when you want to still hear the baby cry, especially if you’ve put her in her crib for a nap), and, um…. washing up dishes, the babycook, and some fruit.

“Do you feel any better now?” hubby asked upon returning.

“I do.” I answered, before adding “but it kind of feels like I’d need an eight hour break to really get to the pile of mush that’s mouldering at the bottom of my brain”.

He nodded “I know what you mean…”

Things change when the baby’s yours

Thirteen, fourteen years ago, my stepbrother had a baby daughter.

Now, the baby was cute, but the parenting was… well, let’s not get into that.

Among the generally disagreeable parenting, er, elements, there was the part where my stepbrother would coo, and say something like “Hot bod! you are the most beautiful little girl in the whole world!”

At the time, I thought it was ridiculous, and ridiculously disgusting. She was a little girl. A newborn baby! Who cared if she was pretty? And who the eff calls a baby… “hot bod” (or, well, the equivalent in that language).

Well, fourteen years later, I am a mother, to my own baby girl, and I often catch myself thinking that I have never seen such an adorable baby anywhere else.

Maybe because people look at their own babies a lot more than they look at the babies of others, possibly because of some weird survival mechanism that makes your baby look cutest to YOU, I think _ and wonder_ about the outright cuteness of my baby. Maybe it’s just that I never bothered to look beyond the obvious baby traits and classed all babies as “cute but babies”, but the sheer adorable nature of my daughter is heart-stealing, heart-warming, and downright frightening at times. It is with wonder in my voice that I ask my husband “isn’t she the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” which is about the same as “am I hallucinating?”.

Of course, when we talk to her, we tell her “daughter-mine, you are so smart. So wonderful. So clever. So powerful” And somewhere among the other adjectives, there’s cute and beautiful. As in what my husband said a few seconds ago: “I think she gained some cuteness points!” Well yes. She does that non-stop. But we try to praise her for being more than just heart-stoppingly adorable, obviously, as we are not in the market for a pretty face.

That said, we still haven’t called her “hot bod”, or any variation on this theme. If either of us ever calls her that, the other has permission to acquire a gun and shoot.

I wanted to keep track of this recipe…

…Since dipping my toes into the “domestic goddess” pool, I have been wanting to try preparing a violin shaped cake for my niece’s next birthday.

That birthday seems to be coming up, and there is every chance she will be here for it. And just spy this wonderful sample of a recipy on Bakergirl’s blog! Love it. Will do my best to make it_ and will report back on the reviews. Which will hopefully cover look AND taste.

…has anyone else ever tried this recipe?

My daughter is a master at exposure therapy

No, seriously. Ever since she learned to roll over (3 months ago), my daughter’s become past master at scaring the bejeebers out of me and stealing away any residual moments of de-stressing I had managed to hold on to.

How does she do this?

She sleeps on her stomach, with her face stuffed into the sheet. Rolls onto it all by herself; rolling her back is no help; she will only sleep in two different ways: on her stomach with her face down, or in our bed, wedged between mommy and daddy. Both of which are supposed to increase the risk of SIDS significantly.

…

Needless to say, I’ve learned to take a slightly less panicked approach to SIDS. In large part, thanks to our indispensable breathing monitor, which goes a long way to helping me keep some peace of mind.

She gets this from me, too

I despise jeans.

I don’t know why; perhaps it’s got something to do with the roughness of the fabric, perhaps it’s to do with the fact I see them as a bandwagon (and I do so happen to despise bandwagons), but I have not very often found jeans that I liked enough to give them more than a cursory glance.

In my childhood and teens, this meant often LOUD er… “discussions” with my mother, who felt I was passing up on the opportunity to wear some really cool brands, “lectures” from cousins and friends who wanted to help me develop a “proper sense of dress”. But let’s face it: to my mind, denim is a sorry excuse for a fabric, appropriate only for tough physical labors. Which I, as a young student, wasn’t doing. So I really much preferred gentler fabrics.

Well, apparently, so does my daughter. The moment the denim touched her skin she started whining like there was no tomorrow.

In fact, she whined so much that she eventually fell asleep. Still in denim, still in clothe. THAT, she gets from her dad.

That does it

Hubby and I moved into this appartment about a month before I was due. We were in a hurry, we were changing towns, so we were not as thorough as we probably ought to have been when we were checking out the place and its… er, suitability.

I mean, it IS suited to our needs. It’s large, the kitchen was pre-installed if a bit on the small side (most german flats are usually rented sans kitchen), and it was available asap in a convenient location for my non-driving self. Cool. What it ISN’T, is well and properly maintained by a responsible home owner/renter.

The first thing we noticed was the trashed bathroom. We had an agreement on the fixing of it, except, apparently, for the fact that the owner has a rather different idea of what constitutes “timely” repairs. Six months later is was done… but 6 months of post-partum goodness having to lug water into a mini-tub to bathe my baby, well… that severely tried even my over-abundant patience.

The issues that have been coming up since are sometimes small, sometimes great, but on the whole, what they are is… the drop that causes the cup to overflow. I have afforded this appartment, management company and owner all the headspace I had available.

Now, I am done. Now, I want out.

I have no idea how this is going to work. At this time, with a toddler and a husband working hard, I can’t really afford to waste time (let alone, money) organising a move and visiting other places.

Still.

Just. You. Wait.Amazing how an insignificant little issue can become massive when you are caring for a baby_ and subsequently care a lot about issues such as how impossible it is to baby-proof.

Further notes on feminism_ a certain start had a preventive Double Mastectomy

To be honest, I’m not exactly crazy about celebrities. I mostly happen to catch a headline here and there, and mostly, I scoff at them. But the one about Angelina Jolie’s double mastectomy caught my eye.

While I understand  her decision to protect herself from breast cancer, it’s still not an easy decision. Life trumps boobs, obviously, but to remove your boobs when you work in a setting that literally idolizes them (to the point where the last Oscar ceremony featured a pleasantly disgusting little song titled “We Saw Your Boobs”), when you don’t actually have cancer (yet)… that is not an easy decision. Obviously, the risk was very high, yada yada, and she is lucky she can have the surgery, yada yada, but still. She works in an extremely image-conscious sector, and she has in the past portrayed a certain busty female protagonist known as Lara Croft. It can’t have been a triffling decision, just like speaking about it so openly can’t have been an obvious decision.

 

Like I said, I’m not crazy about celebrities. But I do like this woman’s responsible approach to life. In fact I like it a lot better when she quietly issues a statement like this, as opposed to making sure her best leg is on conspicuous display (if you don’t know what I mean, look it up. Hilariously ridiculous, it was).

When breast-feeding gets painful again

my daughter likes a sip or two of milk during the night. No point trying to talk her out of it. She will wake around 1 and start what Anne McCaffrey described as “Creeling”. Not unlike a hungry fire-lizard routine.

Anyway, around 1, my daughter will wake in her bed, creeling, and whinge and whine until we pull her into bed with us. I say pull to denote just how exhausted we are, not to say we are rough in doing so.

Once in the middle of our bed, flanked by mum on the left and dad on the right, she will turn towards mommy. If mommy has been to slow to present her with food, she will tap her chest until a breast is presented, and then she will proceed to nurse it. When it is empty, she will roll over onto her stomach, scoot close, and continue with the other breast (after tapping to get mommy to expose it). Pretty standard stuff by now. I’ve tried giving her a pacifier instead, to help her sleep through, but… nooope.

Anyway, last night… we had a bit of a pickle. A painful pickle. Or a painful something, because her nursing really, really hurt. It was like sharp twinges of pain every time, actually. I didn’t pay it much heed at first, but it did slow things down some, and I was unwilling to let her nurse herself to sleep_ I put her back in her crib the moment she was sated.

This morning, I decided to investigate….

It turns out, she is growing, not one, but at least two canine teeth. And I saw definite bumps where the lower ones will come in.

…hooo boy. Hoooooo booooy.

Dear Disney (a comment on the Merida redesign)

Dear Disney,

I hope you will forgive the presumption of this long-time fan. I have always loved your movies but, I must admit, I loved them for the singing. Not the princesses, not their dresses. Sure, I am a fan of happily ever afters, as well, but I am not addicted to them.

Now, Brave was obviously not my favourite movie: too little singing. But it had an incredible, quacky sort of charm, featuring a strong female protagonist, a girl who is everything but what she is supposed to be, and despite this, manages to find and build her own place in the family, kingdom, and wider world.

Yet, I heard that you are looking to redesign Merida, the protagonist of this movie, with a view to inducting her among your other princesses. You, I am told, want to make her more shapely, better dressed, and better groomed.

Now, some people are questioning your judgement; why would a teenage heroine who isn’t ready or interested in the other gender be more shapely? Why would a girl who rips the seams of her nice gown to shoot a bow be better dressed? And how would someone who spends any spare minute in the woods find the time to be well-groomed (let alone, find a possibility to actually maintain such a ‘do)? This alteration simply goes against the character and the storyline.

That said, though, this is not why I am writing to you. I remember at some point reading an article explaining that Disney is the sort of brand that should be well above little fads. Although the writer of that article was using it to say why Disney shouldn’t cater to spur-of-the-moment flavours, the key point, in my eyes, is that people equate Disney with children’s role models; for some, this has meant suing you when characters kiss on screen. But for me it means- please think about what you want to teach little girls out there. You are not the right brand to market sex. You should be looking to the future, and the future is at “stronger girls o’clock”.

Yes, having Merida be less of a sexy miss might make a dent in her popularity compared with some other princesses; but it puts her in a league of her own as a role model for the girls of today, the women of tomorrow. In terms of merchandising, and of selling, characters like Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty are only acceptable to me because they are… ancient, because they are the princesses of bygone eras, to whom Disney has given a certain face and voice. My first contact with them was through the Grimm brothers, not through you; you have just materialized them better than other brands. The same goes for Ariel, Belle, Rapunzel and Jasmine. They are Disney princesses, but their stories, and their conservative attitude well predates you.

But Merida, well… she is something new. Your own mark in the world; if she were not such a complete break with everything that has gone before, she would be totally uninteresting to me as both a character and a princess. In fact I would certainly discourage my children from acquiring toys labelled “brave”, should the character’s bravery not free her from the constraints of a tight-fitting corset.

I don’t know if my daughter will like Merida someday; if she remains unchanged, I do hope so. However I know that if Merida the Brave becomes Merida the Sexy, she will be persona non grata in our household, by order of the resident Queen Bee.

Thanks for hearing me out