By the Book

Before we had Anthony, and I didn't know what to expect, I always said one of the things I looked forward to most was reading to the little guy. In all honesty, that was my stab at being positive...I was worried having a baby would not be much fun at all, but I knew I'd enjoy sharing my own love of reading with my child.

Of course, nearly a year later, I realize I vastly underestimated how much fun babies can be -- as well as how much work!! -- but I was right about one thing: I do love reading to Anthony, and it is one of my favorite parts about being a mom.

Fortunately, the little guy seems to love his books.



Not only do they taste good...

but they have cool pictures and stuff...


When they're wrapped up as early birthday gifts from Grandma and Grandpa, even better!


While Anthony has a number of his own favorites, I also have to bring attention to what I think might be the coolest baby book ever written. Or at least the most unusual.

Introducing... "First Book of Sushi!" Because we all know babies and raw fish are a great mix!

But they totally manage to rhyme about sushi, and for that they deserve a lot of credit, if you ask me.

"I see take-out tekka maki, kappa maki packed to go.

Temaki-style hand roll, with uni urchin roe.

Miso in my sippy cup. Tofu in my bowl.

Crab and avocado fill my California roll.

I'll take yellowtail hamachi, and a red maguro slice.

Big, BIG futomaki, has so many grains of rice.

Ikura squishy salmon roe like dabby dots of jelly,

salty on my lips, and yummy in my belly!

Egg tamago and shrimp ebi, dipped in soy sauce (not a lot),

Pink pickled ginger cools my tongue, wasabi -- hot, hot, hot!

Tobiko, flying fishy roe, flying from Japan.

Someday I'll eat with chopsticks, today just with my hands!"

THIS is American Idol

Perhaps the most compelling moment of American Idol last night (unless you found Kara's new song compelling...) was when Adam Lambert's father revealed Adam didn't sleep through the night until he was 18 months old, and until then would stand in his crib and just SCREAM.

Which of course got me thinking... perhaps it isn't an aggravatingly poor sleeper that I have on my hands, but a true musical prodigy...

When can I march the kid in front of Simon Cowell and start making some $$$ off him?????

Anthony is 11 months old!

Anthony celebrated his 11-month birthday with Grandma and Grandpa Lantau, who are in town to hang out with the little guy for a week. They seem to spend most of the time laughing; Anthony CLEARLY on a mission to make it seem like I'm lying when I whine to my parents about how whiny he is (ahhhh, the circle of life!) Anyway, as you can see above, now that grandma and grandpa are in town, Anthony can barely contain his mirth.

Anyway, it is great to have my parents here, because not only does that mean Anthony gets to spend his days with people who love him/play with him/don't expose him to daycare germs, he's also being taught some of the things your average 11-month-old should be able to do unless said 11-month-old's parents are too lazy/inept/incompetent to show him how to do them.

I'm not going to say which parents I'm referring to, let's just say their names start with a B and end rith a "randon and Kelly."

As you can see, my mom and dad are currently getting Anthony up to speed on eating finger foods and drinking from a cup. I fully trust them to succeed in the week-and-a-half they're here. I mean, they raised me, and I LOVE feeding myself and almost ALWAYS drink from a cup....

only RARELY from a bottle....

On the other hand, my mom tells me I didn't walk until I was about 15 months old, so I'm not going to hold my breath for Anthony to start toddling around anytime soon.

But I am going to look on the bright side...I'm sure the reason it took me so long to walk (and Anthony, if he too is a "late walker") is not laziness, but the rare and exceptional intelligence of one who realizes that once they can get around on their own, no one's gonna carry them or push them in a comfy stroller anymore.

Anyway, we can hardly believe that in just one month, Anthony will be turning 1! We can't wait to celebrate the big day, no matter which cup (or bottle) we're raising in Anthony's honor.

Adventures in Mothering*

*If I were Brandon, I would have just titled this “Adventures in Babysitting,” because whenever Brandon is in charge of the little guy, he insists on saying he’s “babysitting.” I try to impress upon him that he is, in fact, fathering, but it hasn’t taken yet.

Anyhow, in honor of Mother’s Day, here are some of my recent less-than-stellar moments in mothering (which include giving up and allowing Anthony to tackle/make out with the cat. And yes, these are only the recent less-than-stellar moments…)

…Tuesday, after a week of whining of epic proportions, I braced myself as I picked up the baby from daycare. We got home, and I put the baby in his crib, where he played happily as I ran on the treadmill. I took a shower as the baby continued to play. Hearing nothing but joyful babbling from the other room, I leisurely washed my face and got dressed. I took the baby downstairs, where he played with his toys, flashing me looks like this...

...and this...

...and this...

... as I took my time emptying the dishwasher and folding the laundry. As I fed him dinner, the baby smiled lovingly at me, pausing only to open his mouth in cooperation.

Then, I calmly walked over to my phone, called Brandon and confessed: I'd picked up the wrong baby! (This is actually a fear of mine. Sometimes I walk into that room, teeming with babies, and panic because I don’t immediately spot which one is mine and I have to look for where a teacher is hunched over a little person, an alarmed look on her face, gasping, “Be careful, baby!”)

Brandon hurried home, and, after a quiet dinner, confirmed that I had indeed brought home the wrong baby. And that somewhere in Miami, a mother and father were cursing my name.

…Dressing Anthony for school is a challenge of Herculean proportions that involves pinning his wriggling little body to the floor with one hand while trying to install new diaper, new shirt and new pants with the other hand, all in the four seconds before he decides to flip over and take off. Obviously, I can’t accomplish this, so usually the task is finished with him crawling away at breakneck speed while I try desperately to force his churning legs into his pants. The other day, it wasn’t until I was carrying him into the daycare that I realized that one of these toys...

…had somehow made its way into his onesie as I was trying to snap everything into place. I almost let him go to school like that! It looked like he had some weird growth on his belly, or that I’d tried to stuff a sock down his diaper in hopes of helping him impress the ladies.

...Over the past 11 months, I've developed a sort of chatter I slip into when it's just me and Anthony. This was hard at first, but all the experts sing the praises of talking to your baby as much as possible...you know, language development and all. Pretty soon it just came naturally. Maybe too naturally... the other day I took Anthony out for a walk, and looked down to see this...

"Look at those chubby thighs!" I exclaimed. "Chubby, chubby thighs!"

Cute, right?

Not so much to the woman walking her dog just ahead of me...I can't confirm that she overheard, but the look she shot me as I walked by indicates that she did, and that it wasn't entirely clear I was talking to Anthony.

...I use one of these...

...to help accommodate Anthony's two-a-night formula habit (yes, he needs a 12-step program, but it gets him, by which I mean me, back to sleep, so I say childhood obesity be damned!) It's handy -- you fill it up with the appropriate portion of formula, then shake it into the bottle of water when you're ready to go. I guess it was designed to be operated by someone who is, um, awake, because one morning when I grabbed the formula-holder to put it in the dishwasher, I noticed both slots were full...even though I knew I'd fed Anthony his requisite two bottles the night before (trust me, I keep track of such things. Some day, Anthony, some day.) No wonder the poor kid hadn't wanted to settle down, all he was getting was Miami's delightful tap water!

Anyway, those are just some of the recent lowlights as we draw ever closer to the day when Anthony (rightfully?) blames me for everything that is wrong in his life. Obviously, there's no need to feel guilty if you didn't send me a Mother's Day present.

Except you, Brandon. If you didn't get me a present, you should definitely feel guilty.

Anyway, Brandon and I both say Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there, especially our own moms! We love you! And we issue a blanket apology for everything we did as children!

Fast Forward

Who's Your Dada?

A child's first word is a big deal for a parent. As someone who makes a living based on stringing words together, I think I've especially looked forward to this milestone.

But then I realized something...how do I really know?

Here's my dilemma. Over the past week or two, Anthony has more and more been uttering the word (sound?) "dada." Increasingly, this happens when he's around Brandon. The other day, he looked at Brandon and said "dada." When Brandon waved and said, "Hi, Anthony," Anthony looked him straight in the eye, smiled a huge smile and said "dada" again.

But still...

He also says "dada" when he's looking at me. Or the cat. Or the refrigerator.

Plus, he'll also look at Brandon and say "lalala," "boooo" or "high-pitched squealing noise." (He makes a high-pitched squealing noise; he doesn't say the words "high-pitched squaling noise," now that would be truly impressive.)

Anyway, here's my question: How do I really KNOW when Anthony has said his first word, as opposed to just making a sound? (Don't say "you'll just know," trust me, I won't, I know very little about babies.)

In any case, I guess at the very least, if some competitive-parenting type tells me their 8-month-old has a 10-word vocabulary, I guess I can at least somewhat legitimately come back with a vague, "Yeah, Anthony's really starting to talk, too..."

Or, on the other hand, I could disregard this whole "dada" nonsense, hold out for the good stuff -- a "mama" -- and wipe that smug grin off Brandon's face...

Anyway, let me wrap up with some more "did-he-or-didn't-he" Anthony achievements.

His first art project! I'm pretty sure his only contribution was the hand prints, but it's hanging on the fridge nonetheless.

Shunning the paparazzi. No more photos, please!! (It's quite possible these are the last photos of Anthony I'll ever be able to take. As soon as he sees the camera, he grins this evil grin and starts coming after it. If I don't give it to him, he throws a FIT. So it's either no pictures, or pictures of a whiny baby. Like this one.)

He reads! OK, even I know enough to know that's not true, but he LOVES turning the pages of books and looking at the pictures. I'll fill this little blue bin up with books, and he'll sit there for hours (minutes, but hours in baby time) pulling each one one out and thumbing through it.

He shops! This really could be true. He is half me, after all.

He drives! While he was a bit surprised when Brandon let him take the wheel, I think he already handles the privilege more responsibly than most Miamians.