Monster cribs

We finally bought Freya a crib. She had been sleeping with us at night and napping in one of her several cozy slings during the day. She is just learning to nap on her own, and while we have tried out various surfaces and beds, a crib seems like a good idea for security and convenience. The plan is to have her take her day-time naps and the early part of her night-time sleep in her own crib. More on that plan as it unfolds...

I am happy to say we found a nice used, wooden portable crib on wheels, which we outfitted with a simple non-fire-retardant-soaked foam mattress, a woolen "puddle pad" and organic cotton sheets. The whole thing cost us $200 or thereabouts.



That's in stark contrast to all the sport utility cribs out there. Every store we visited has these monstrous contraptions that are apparently designed to last the kid not just through grade school but all the way to grad school. Built in extravagant proportions, they come in colors like "savannah" or "chestnut" and require spring coil mattresses and yards of bedding, which, of course, coordinates with the muted shades of your upwardly mobile lifestyle.

Anyway, a lucky pass by the local consignment store found us the biodiesel version, and Freya has been sleeping like an angel.

The Pump Files - Vol. 1

Working motherhood and breast pumping are like ... April and taxes. Or something. Here is a picture of the pump paraphernalia that have taken over my life. Nuff said. Not the BBQ tongs, though -- those I just used to move all the little bits and pieces from the pot of boiling water to the drying pad. And those little disks on the bottom left that vaguely look like jellyfish? Ah! Those are very expensive, but reusable silicone pads to use in lieu of disposable bra inserts, in our attempt to keep as much as possible of Freya's gear out of landfills.

Life's a beach...

... well, sometimes. We escaped the 100+ degree heat to Stinson Beach a couple of times last week, where it was balmy and the water warm enough for Steve to do some body surfing sans wet suit. Freya slept through most of it, but managed to nurse without getting sand in her mouth.

Earlier in the week, however, things were not so placid. She turned into that baby, you know, the one that wails in public spaces. She squirmed and screamed through the doctor's visit, made a ruckus at the bank, and was inconsolable at the post office. I, in turn, became one of those parents, you know, the one that attracts roughly equal amounts sympathetic looks from other parents of colicky babies, hostile glares from business men in suits, smug grins from super-moms whose baby slept through the night from day 1, and encouraging nods from elderly ladies who know that this, too, shall pass. Meanwhile, I got to experience the bath of emotions ranging from embarrassment to mortification, from indignation to resignation, and arrived, by the third stop on Freya's trail of tears, at so-what-ness.

Oh, and at the pediatrician's we also learned that Freya now weighs 9 lbs 11 oz, and grew half an inch -- both of which land her in the 55th percentile. We are celebrating her being such an average baby while it lasts ;-)