Tomorrow, I leave my baby for two whole weeks. And he is likely coming down with HFM disease. But let’s back up.

We’ve moved! If you follow us on Instagram (@allthefinn), you know that we’ve been settling into our new home for the past two weeks. The move is mostly to blame for my absence around here–coupled with a pretty hectic summer teaching schedule and my prepping for a 2-week graduate program in North Carolina.

Who am I kidding? This blog is like an old best friend; let’s call her Sally. She was a riot before the baby. We’d have spontaneous meet-ups pre-baby, talking about all of our wild plans for the future and downing a pitcher of white sangria. We were a BLAST.

Then, life happened. And now, Sally and I are lucky to get in a quick phone conversation, which is always, inevitably, interrupted by a whining baby or a FedEx delivery or an annoyingly insistent oven timer.

I’m sorry, Sally. I’ll do better.

The move was rather uneventful. Though, the weeks leading up to the move were mired in chaos, and I’m hoping not to have to relive them for at least another decade.

The good news is that we really, really love our new home. Sure, there are still a few odd boxes in the corner. Our master bath is still without a vanity or a mirror or light fixtures. We’re teetering on the edge of a breakdown each time the brand-new-post-reno-money-suck of a floor gets scratched. And I haven’t the faintest clue how to operate our new washing machine. (Okay, the latter isn’t really that much of a problem, seeing as how Sona does the laundry, anyway).

But mostly, we are very happy to be in a larger space–one without a labyrinth of boxes.

And Finn seems really happy, too. Part of the chaos of the weeks leading up to the move can be blamed on that little guy. He was kind of a nightmare, but I guess he earned it.

His whole world was changing. Any small place spaces he had in our old apartment were taken over by piles of boxes. Everything was in a state of transition. He could probably sense that his mommas were ready to knife someone at any given moment. And he had the worst case of diaper rash I have ever seen.

Like, they don’t adequately prepare you for the horror that is a real diaper rash during those pretty inane child-rearing classes. We’re talking open, angry sores on his bum. It was awful, and it lasted for a couple of weeks.

So, yeah, he wasn’t his happiest. And, in turn, we weren’t our happiest, either.

Yet, after just a few days getting used to our new home, Finn has completely turned a corner. It’s like he looked at our wide-open living space, which is more than double the size we had before, and thought, “Hell, yeah. I’m going to tear this place up.” It was a motivating mission, and he’s since started crawling, standing, banging, and damn-near speed-racing down our hallways.

My mom said he’d start moving as soon as he had the space to do it, and she was right.

Sadly, tomorrow, I have to say goodbye to my little guy (and Sona, too) for two weeks, as I’m leaving for a graduate/professional program in Boone, North Carolina. I’ve been half dreading and half looking forward to this trip for months. On one hand, it’s something I really need to do to give my professional and personal self a jump-start. My head hasn’t exactly been in the game, this past year, and I’m hoping this will help give me a boost.

On the other, I’m a bit weak in the knees at the thought of leaving Finn for that long. In the long run, he won’t remember it. I know this. But I will.

We are a little too attached, the two of us. It’s a bit of a problem, actually. Though, it’s the kind of problem I don’t mind having.

So, ultimately, I think the time apart will be good for us, but I’m feeling pretty guilty about it, still. Most of my guilt comes from leaving Sona, who has wholeheartedly supported my going. I don’t think I could single-mom it for that long. At least, not without my fair share of alcohol. It’s going to be tough on her, but my parents are coming to stay for a week to weaken the blow.

To make matters worse, Finn’s nanny share mate was diagnosed with HFM disease, yesterday. They were together all week, and it’s pretty likely that he will fall victim, next.

He already has some blisters on his bum and is drooling quite a bit–two early signs.

So, yeah. Not great timing, but I know there’s never a good time for this kind of thing. Now, we’re just hoping than none of us get sick, too.

I really don’t want to walk into program orientation, tomorrow, explaining that my professional peers shouldn’t come within two feet of my pock-marked face. Then again, it could make for a good excuse, should my dorm-mate prove to be a little too chatty.

I’ll do my best to post from North Carolina. I imagine that I’ll be spending a lot of time, sitting on my extra long twin-sized dorm bed, laptop in hand. (Can you sense my enthusiasm?)

Until then, send a little prayer to the HFM gods for us, will you?  We need it.

Sona:

It’s our fourth wedding anniversary, but we’ve been together 15 years, and neither of us are willing to trade that number in so easily. Still, four years ago today, we made a commitment to each other in front of our friends and family. One year after that, almost exactly, our civil union was recognized as a marriage. Two years later, we had Finn. Now, tomorrow, we close on our first home.

I’d say we’re doing pretty good, kid.

The thing is, marriage ain’t easy. We’ve been together a very long time–nearly half of my life–and those years have shown us that all relationships are decisions. You can leave; you can stay. You wake up each day, and you have to decide.

Sometimes, I think we’ve both wondered, however briefly, what the right decision would be. Sometimes, we’ve allowed our relationship to get pulled down by the weight of so many questions: Are we right for each other? Did we find one another when we were too young? Are we supposed to make each other this crazy?  Why? How? Is this normal? What if? What then?

But when the fog of uncertainly burns off–and it always does–I am left with one certitude: I’d choose you. I’d choose you every single time.

I love you, always.

Danielle

(And now for some photos from our wedding day, which we both think was lovely, but which was paid for with money that we both agree should have been spent on an obscene travel adventure. Take note, singletons.)

 

 

Well, so much for posting twice a week. What can I say? These past couple of weeks have been doozies, and they’ve turned me into a very bad blogger.

We’ve had a lot going on–good and bad. I know I don’t need to explain to y’all how busy life can be, especially with a tot. So, I’ll stop making excuses. Sometimes, being with the family has to come before writing about being with the family. (Sorry, blog.)

I’d planned to post about our first Mother’s Day, but I never got around to it. I shot a wedding the day before, and I knew I’d be pretty pooped. Rather than fight the brunch crowds, we decided to play it low-key, and we took Finn to the lakefront for a picnic. Best. Idea. Ever.

Except that Finn is absolutely terrified of the grass. And even though we put a quilt down, that kid wasn’t fooled. He KNEW there was grass under that quilt, and he wasn’t having it. It took a good 30 minutes to get him warmed up to the idea of sitting. But it was still an amazing day–warm sun, a lake view, our little family, and lots of snacks. Note to self: we need to do that more often.

The weather has turned in Chicago, finally, and we’ve been spending a ton of time outside, going for walks, visiting our neighborhood farmer’s market (yes!), taking Finn to the park, trying to fend off his grass-phobia. You know–just the typical summer city livin’. It’s been wonderful

Have I mentioned that our son is obsessed with bread? Yeah, he’s definitely my child.

There have also been some not-so-sunny days, lately, as Finn was struck by his first cold (which he got right after Sona and I were sick for a week, ourselves). His cold turned into an ear infection. And the ear infection led to antibiotics. And now he may have a mild case of thrush, which we suspect for two reasons: he’s not really eating and Sona has sore nipples. So, that’s been fun!

No, no it hasn’t. It’s actually been really tough. He’s also about to get his two bottom teeth; his gums are red and swollen. All of this is to say that our poor little guy has been out of sorts of a couple of weeks, and mommas are pretty tired.

At the height of the ear infection, there was one sleepless, scream-filled night. It was probably the worst night Sona and I have had as parents (and I know we’re pretty lucky to be able to say that). Nonetheless, we are ready for our little dude to be healthy and happy, again.

Of course, in the midst of Finn’s Blue Period, we had a house-guest. My dad, who hasn’t seen Finn since Thanksgiving (and let’s just admit that he’s basically a different person since then), came for a week.

It was actually nice to have someone around to entertain Finn when our tanks were running on empty. And, really, it never gets old watching your parents fall in love with your children. So, we enjoyed the visit more than we thought we would, even though things have been completely bonkers, lately.

And, unfortunately, things won’t be settling into anything even remotely resembling a harmonious normal anytime soon, as we have some big stuff coming up this summer. It’s all good, but it sure will keep us on our toes.

More about that, Wednesday. (And I’ll try to follow through on my blogging promise, this time.)

We’ve had a rough few weeks, here. It’s just been one of those times when it feels like there are a thousand things to do, everything is going wrong, and we can’t catch our breath.

Sick nanny, calling off for over a week. Work stress. Family drama. More family drama. A cat with a tooth problem. A car that locks us out for no reason. A calendar full of all sorts of extra stuff, resulting in very few “normal” days. Separation anxiety. A week of very ill, exhausted mommas. And now, a baby with his first cold.

I could go on, but my complaining is even annoying me.

Let’s just say I’ve spent a lot of time fantasizing about saying “*!&% it!,” giving it all up, and moving to a Caribbean island to become an ice cream scooper, lately. (Have you read this article?)

I’m sure you’ve been there, too.

Here’s the thing: Finn doesn’t stop growing. No matter how distracted and busy and overdrawn we are, Finn keeps changing. He doesn’t wait for our life to slow down. He doesn’t wait for us to find the time for him. He doesn’t wait for us to prioritize.

And so, I’ve been making a list. (Yes, another one). A list of the things I don’t want to forget. A list of the things that, when the fog of never-ending madness lifts, I’ll remember.

Us parents are always quick to make record of the big things: first tooth, first steps, first day of school. But, even more, I want to remember the little things.

Here are some of those little things that I don’t want to forget:

• the way Finn looks back over his shoulder, twisting to look at me when he’s in the car-seat and I’m driving;
• how he slams his legs, pounding the mattress with excitement, when we go in to get him in the morning;
• his never-ending head shaking (which, yes, has caused us some concern, but is also adorable);
• the way he buries his head in my chest, giving little nuzzles;
• the way he buries his head in my arm while sitting next to me on the couch, usually right after looking up and giving me a smile that stops me dead;
• how he “sharks” food, coming after the fork or spoon like a rabid animal;
• the way he talks to the cats–and only the cats–frequently;
• how, when he sees you move to pick him up, he’ll drop the toy he’s holding so fast, reaching his arms into the air;
• his ridiculously sweet “O” pout, which he first did a lot as a newborn and which now includes his sticking his tongue out just so.

These aren’t the sort of things that any baby book would prompt us to jot down, but they are the most important things. WAY more important than any of the miscellany that sometimes clouds the goodness.

Way back in 2002, I shaved Sona’s head. GI Jane style. NO f$*#! given. There was a time when I had hair as red as Elmo. And then blue. And then bright pink. We dressed in, mostly, used men’s clothes that we found at thrift stores.

This is to say, we weren’t that concerned with being “normal.”

But now, we spend most of each day worrying about whether or not Finn’s behaviors–or absence of behavior–is normal. I mean, really, can a bunch of moms get together and create a crowd-sourced “Is This Normal?” website, already?

I know, I know–every baby is different. There’s no such thing as normal. All kids do things in their own time. WHATEVER, screw that.

When my kid is scooting across the floor, licking his own pink spit up, and then laughing about it, I need to know: IS THIS NORMAL?!

In general, Sona tends to be the mom that frets the most about this stuff. She’s on, what I like to call, “milestone watch, 2016.” That is, she’s monitoring Finn’s developments like he’s some top-secret project for NASA, noting every thing he does–or doesn’t do–as it correlates with what other babies are doing. Or what the baby books say. Or what she’s read online.

Meanwhile, I’m surprisingly laid-back about his milestones. Is he crawling, yet? No. Do I care? Not really. Am I worried that he maybe should be crawling by now? Nah.

Yet, I have my own obsessive mom behaviors, too. Enter: Google. If you could access my Google search history from the past 8.5 months of Finn’s life, you’d probably have me diagnosed as certifiably insane. You may even take my child from me. You know, for his own best interest.

The truth is, it’s hard not to wonder/worry/obsess. I’ve been keeping tabs of the various questions we’ve asked about Finn, over the past months, and here’s just a small taste. (These questions were asked in complete and total sincerity, by the way–some with more urgency than others.)

Is he sleeping too much? Too little? Do his legs look normal? Do you think he’s bow-legged? Does he have club foot? Is his tongue too big for his mouth? Why are his fingernails pink? White? Growing so quickly? Is he eating enough? Is he supposed to be hiccuping that much? Is something wrong with his diaphragm? Do you think there’s a tumor in there? What is that spot? That patch of skin? That bump? Does he have a bug bite? Is he allergic to milk? To fabric? To laundry detergent? To cats? To tomatoes? To paper towels? Should his diaper fit that way? Are his legs too skinny? Is he too tall? Is his penis supposed to be blue? Be that shape? Look like that? Are those supposed to be so rough? Should we be applying lotion, there? Is he developing a flat spot on his head? Should he be sleeping that way? Are his arms being damaged by the swaddle? Why does he always make fists? Is he pooping too much? Not enough? Should baby poop be yellow? Green? Dark brown? Like cottage cheese? So runny? So pasty? Is he eating enough? Too much? Should he be able to swallow peas, yet? Should he be shaking his head, like that? Does he have an ear infection? Is he teething? Should we send a video to the pediatrician? Why does his body tense up when he’s excited? Does he have a muscular problem? Should we take him to a neuro specialist? Why does he laugh so much? Why doesn’t he make any noise? What the hell is with that screaming? Should he be talking, yet? Should he be crawling? Why can’t he sit up? Why won’t he stay sitting up? Why does he only scoot backwards? Do you think he knows he has knees? Do you think he has knee pain? Why does he cry in the carseat? Is he too hot? Is he uncomfortable? Is the carseat compressing his breathing? Do you see how his head slumps over? Is he breathing? Is he choking? Why doesn’t he like the grass? Do you think he has sensory issues? Does he seem too cold? Is he hot? Why are his cheeks so red? Why does his hair grow like that? What are those small bumps at the base of his skull? Are his temples swollen? Do you think he has a cranial problem? Does his forehead look too big? Is that left eye smaller? Are his toes okay? Where are his teeth?

Whew. Okay, this problem is worse than I thought. Here’s the scary truth: this isn’t even half of it.

I’d write more, but I need to ask Google whether or not it’s normal that Finn doesn’t like to roll from his back to his stomach.

Oh, of course we did Easter. When else can we buy a ton of chocolate “for Finn”–and then eat it all, ourselves?

We plan to celebrate every single ridiculous, commercialized, America-centric thing. Yes, we do.

Easter kind of snuck up on us. Don’t get me wrong: I’d already been hoarding Cadbury eggs for weeks, but we sort of forgot about the whole Easter Bunny thing.

So,  I did what any sane mom would do: I forced Finn to skip a nap, taking him to see the Easter Bunny at a local mall. Right after a doctor’s appointment. On the Friday before Easter.

Yeah, maybe not the best idea I’ve ever had.

As soon as I saw the line of pastel-clad bambinos in floral bow-ties and spring-hued button-ups, I panicked. I’d TOTALLY forgotten about an Easter outfit. (Which, I realize, is usually reserved for Easter Sunday. And for church services. Which we don’t attend.)

Nonetheless, I decided to test my luck even further by taking a very sleepy and cranky Finn to Old Navy and forcing him to try on a variety of egg-y, ironic baby wear.

We ditched the leggings and sweatshirt he was wearing for a denim button-up (he now owns four) and a pair of yellow linen shorts, which I had to purchase in 0-3 months because Finn is too skinny for anything else.

I also bought a pair of sandals. He wore them for approx. 47 seconds before realizing that, if he flicked his foot just so, he could send them flying across the store.

Enter: another photo of barefoot Finn and a fantasy holiday mascot. (Santa asked, “Where’s his shoes?”)

I. Am. Insane.

The stage mom gods must have been looking out for me that day. Finn lasted through the shopping and the 30-minute line. He even smiled for the photos! Then, the second I put him back in his stroller, he had a level-10, code red meltdown.

He screamed the entire way to the car. Was I going to force a writhing, screaming baby into his winter-appropriate gear in the middle of Carson Pirie Scott? Hell no, I wasn’t.

I only endured the glares of two grandmas, shaming me as I walked my wailing infant son–and his linen shorts–to the car in 30-something degree weather.

But–the photos! That’s all that matters, right?

Easter morning, we let Finn play with one of our bunnies. Because, really, how could we not?

He thought it was pretty cool… until his attention was redirected by his Easter loot.

All in all, I think we fulfilled our rite of passage. And we’re stilling eat leftover chocolate. So, there’s that.

Weekday evenings are–dare I say–a challenge. Of all the things that accompany having a baby–and all of the changes we’ve experienced–I think learning to manage weekday evenings has been the biggest struggle.

And that struggle is real, people.

Before Finn, a typical weekday evening went something like this: Sona and I’d both get home between 4-4:30, provided she didn’t hit any traffic on her commute. We’d spend an hour or so working out, either at home or at the gym. Then, we’d usually have a little down time, accompanied by a post-workout snack (don’t tell me this surprises you). After that, Sona would tend to the animals, empty the dishwasher, and maybe do a little laundry. I’d get dinner ready and pack breakfasts and lunches for the next day. We’d both shower, eat a leisurely dinner at around 7:30, watch at least a couple hours worth of our favorite TV shows, and both crawl into bed at around 10:30.

Fast forward 7.5 months, and our weekday evenings have gone from being predictable, quiet, and mostly relaxing to being hurried, demanding, and exhausting.

I’m going to go ahead and blame Finn for this one (at least, until he can defend himself).

Now, a typical weekday evening goes something like this: We still both get home at around the same time. Forget going to the gym, though. Workout? What’s a workout? Our gym memberships have long since expired. We spend a little bit of time with Finn before kicking off our nighttime routines.

The dishwasher gets emptied; the animals get fed. Sona has to squeeze in a pumping session (see what I did, there?). We wash bottles from the day and prepare bottles for tomorrow.

Since we’re trying to eat dinner earlier, I usually start getting our meal prepped at around 5:30. During this time, we either plop Finn down on the kitchen floor–surrounded by toys–or we put him in his jumpy, giving him a front row seat to the madness.

We both try to squeeze in showers, and then our goal is to try to get Finn down for his evening catnap by 6:15, giving us a chance to eat dinner in peace.

35-40 minutes later, he’s up. If we’re lucky, we’ve finished eating just in time to see him squirm. After waking, Finn gets dinner–usually a little of whatever we’ve eaten. His appetite has increased like WHOA.

While I feed him–an obscenely messy and time-consuming task–Sona cleans up the dinner dishes. Lately, I’ve been FaceTiming my parents during Finn’s dinner. It’s proven to be the only time when Finn and I are both sitting down and able to look at the phone.

From there, it’s a mad rush to to the finish-line: clean him up after dinner, clean up AFTER his dinner (I’m not sure which is worse), bathe him (every other day), do his nighttime routine, play a little more, breastfeed, and get him in bed by, if all goes as planned, 8:30 or so.

Sona and I have been so tired these past few weeks. We’ve found ourselves going to bed an hour or so after we put Finn down. “We’ve successfully watched 1/2 of a TV show, this evening,” I’ll joke.

It’s a privilege to have evenings with Finn, of course. We love him. He loves us. This past weekend, I cried over dinner, explaining to one of my best friends that–no matter how hard it is–I wouldn’t trade a single day with Finn for a single day before Finn. Not ever. There’s no question. I’d choose NOW every. single. time.

Still, weekday evenings can be dizzying, and they sometimes bring out the worst in Sona and I.

Plus, now that Finn is eating meals, we’re struggling to find the time to fit it all in. He’s eating dinner pretty late–usually at around 6:45 or 7:00–and we’d like to bump that up, a bit. But… how?! Where is the time?

Do we start skipping his evening nap? Do I somehow get dinner prepped by 5:00? Do I just feed him food from the day before? Should he eat when we eat? Should we eat much later?

There are a thousand questions and a thousand possible answers. And even so, the reality is this: our weekday evenings are probably going to be a hot mess for a long, long time. We should probably just go ahead and increase our DVR’s storage space, now.

I have a hair appointment tonight, and I’ve spent all day, stressing about how badly that’s going to screw up our evening. This is just what life is like with a baby and two working mommas. It ain’t all donuts and family selfies.

We scarf down our own dinner, fearing that Finn will wake up and waylay our meal. We spend a lot of time, wiping Finn’s dinner off of every surface in the house. We’re like four episodes behind on The Voice, and I’ve pretty much given up hope on ever getting into Hollywood Medium.

This is a special kind of chaos, for sure. I spend a lot of time, telling family and friends that having a baby is, in so many ways, better than we expected it would be. There’s one caveat, though: weekday evenings.

Weekday evenings can suck it.