Is a parking lot age appropriate?

It's not like it happens daily. I certainly don't just open the front door and let my thirteen month daughter run amok. I mean, sure, once in a while when she's been bad I let her run unsupervised near the busy street, but more often than not I am there vigilantly watching as I trudge along, hands in my pockets.

The lady driving the tan Chevy Tahoe certainly didn't approve of my parenting style, what with trying to read the mail and watch Sofie at the same time. And maybe, in reading this post you might think I'm a little lax, especially since my daughter is currently filling our garbage can with water, but hey, those are YOUR standards you're projecting.

Besides, if your kid only napped for twenty minutes today, you might feel differently.

Sofie vs. Stock

A reader just sent me a comment and stated he wouldn't trade his child for Google prime stock. I admire him, but I wonder if I feel the same way about Sofia?

I mean, of course, I'd like to *say* I wouldn't trade her, but on the days I want to donate her to the SPCA on the grounds that she's an ill behaved hairless pug, I'm not sure I'd have the willpower.

Hopefully the day I am approached to make a trade for 700 shares of Apple, Google, or other enticing stock options, it will be after a night of sleep so my good judgment will prevent me from saying yes.

It's your birthday

Your sticky fingers rummage through my desk drawers in search of treasures. A pen, and hot pink sticky-tabs are clutched tightly, proving your competence at office management. In the near future we'll apply for your work permit so that you can help me with data entry and answering phones, tasks you have already mastered. You've removed a lid to a pen and are taking notes on a piece of paper you stole from my filing cabinet.

Last week you tried to unlock my office's front door so you could run outside on the concrete, seeking freedom on the black asphalt of my parking lot. Two days ago you tried to "assist" your father by plugging in his laptop charger.

Today, for your birthday, you got you a flu shot, because we love you and we do not want you to keep getting sick. Sorry it hurt, but today was the only day they had an opening. We also got you some awesome hippy toys and a book.

I'll end with this quote by Steve Almond:

I walk her from room to room and whisper my secret vows of love, and Baby yells and weeps and chokes on her tears. Her face appears frozen in a gummy frown. Her ears are tiny red seashells. There is a hot momentum to her misery; she is speaking in tongues, an ecstatic. It is her right as a citizen of earth, this aria of sorrow, this abject declaration. She puts everything she is, every ounce of her, into each shriek. Her breath is so sweet I want to climb inside her mouth. I kiss her cheek and she cries harder.

It's been an amazing, wonderful, challenging year. I love that you are mine and I am yours.


Xoxo,

Mama

Adventures with CrazyBaby - nearly a year

Dear Sofie,

I've decided to hop on the Dooce cart and start chronicling your adventures, if for no other reason then to have tangible evidence of who you were and what you were like - at least in my perception. It won't be monthly, but it will be something, which is more than I can say for my own parents.

We've got some catching up to do here, so I'll just say during months 4-9 you were a horrendous sleeper. Easily the worst sleeper of any baby I have ever known, and quite possibly the worst sleeper in all of California. Since you have learned to walk you are sleeping between 2 and 3 hours at a stretch but of course that changes when you are teething or don't feel well. At times you have been up every 45 minutes all night long. Your ability to stay awake at will even when thoroughly exhausted would put a decent insomniac to shame. During the wee hours you try to share the secrets of the universe with your father, calling out to him repeatedly. "Da? Dada? Dada dada?!!? DA!!"


This summer marked your first of many trips to come, and your first time on an airplane. We dragged you everywhere and fortunately for us you have your father's curiosity and my love of life. You did remarkably well on every trip we took and I am looking forward to many more adventures with you. Someday we'll go to Europe and drink cappuccino, shop, and gab all day.

When I started this letter months ago, you had just mastered standing and clapping. You were unbelievably proud of yourself and cackled at your own ingenuity and skill every time you moved the input knob on our receiver, compelling us to give you attention instead of those flat people in that big box. Now, not only do you walk, you run from room to room trying to subvert authority. One of your favorite games is tag, which starts once you have opened our cupboards and thrown every Tupperware lid and dish towel on the floor. Your fingers are stickier than salt water taffy and you are constantly getting Sticky Keys set up on my laptop and desktop at work.



You have an intensity about you like a desert thunderstorm, and at times you oscillate between snot-nosed screeching and hysterical laughter. Your emotions run deep and your intellectual curiosity is rarely satisfied. Among your favorite toys are: laptops, phones, remote controls, a Baby Einstein music cube, your feet, and some blocks from Grandma Coleen. Above all, we your parents are your favorite toys. You love to interact with and stare at people. Interesting faces, expressions, or voices captivate you while you stare with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

You love adventure and change, which is something I hope to cultivate. You've been camping a couple times already and love the outdoors, the water, and the sounds of nature. You fly well, which is a blessing really, considering that we took you to Kansas just a few weeks ago.

You are easily the most amazing and wonderful experience of my life. When you are sleeping the house is eerily quiet and I secretly try to send you esp messages so you will wake up and I can hold you and kiss you. You have made me appreciate my life, and most especially my own mother, in ways I never knew possible.



Thank you.

Always,

Mama

Sounds of Silence

I always wondered how my mother knew I was up to something naughty, or inappropriate. She used to say she had eyes in the back of her head, but now I realize you don't have to watch your baby to know she's into mischief.

For Sofie, silence indicates an amazing discovery, like stairs, electrical outlets, potted plants, or any form of paper. Needless to say we are both hyper-vigilant about listening for silence and finding our beloved monster. (And subsequently stopping her from getting into whatever it is she's eating or tearing apart)

This morning as I was three feet away getting ready for work I realized her incessant baby babble had stopped. I found her in a pile of toilet paper, methodically unraveling the roll and saving the best pieces for her next meal. I removed the roll and the special bits she saved to eat, and she immediately plunked her hand into the toilet bowl, as if to say, "Look, lady, it's either toilet paper or e.coli. You decide."

Welcome Baby Dugan!

Sofia Mari Dugan was born on December 12, 2006 at 9:25am. After a grueling labor it was determined a C-section was necessary to bring our beautiful daughter into the world. She weighed in at 8lbs, 2oz, 21 inches and judging from the way she eats, I'm sure it won't be long before she hits double digits.

I stopped wearing my wedding ring some time ago...

But now my fingers have reached new heights (or widths, I should say) in terms of being swollen.

I can no longer cross my fingers on my right hand because everything is so swollen and tight.

Labor is imminent at this point, but I could still have ten days left of this before they will induce.