Monday, December 24, 2007

Silent night

We went to our church's Christmas Eve service, and as always I got a chuckle out of these words:

The cattle are lowing, the Baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus, no crying He makes.

I call no way! Of course, we were viewing these lyrics from the other side of the cry room's windows, because that is our penalty box, the deserved punishment for having kids and then bothering to show up to church. Mikko wasn't actually crying, just occasionally screeching whenever the service's volume grew too quiet for his comfort. He's like the guest at the party who's oversensitive to awkward silences. Behind us in the cry room was a baby using it to the max, screaming full tilt in annoyance at being newly born instead of snug in the womb -- I remember those days with Mikko very well. We made it back into the sanctuary only in time to have him slobber all over my Silent Night candle (unlit, natch) and grin droolingly at the congregants in our radius.

So, the docetic image of newborn baby Jesus calmly looking around at some cows with just some swaddling blankets and hay to warm him doesn't seem quite right, but there you are.

It's easy, in this my first Christmas with a real live baby in my arms, to lay aside Marcion heresy and embrace the fully human aspect of the Incarnation, to imagine a divine baby as annoying, adorable, warm, chubby, and hilarious as mine.

I love Thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.

May you and your little loved ones be blessed this holiday. Merry Christmas.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

I'm not ready to sleep through the night

Am I the only American mother who's sad and bewildered when her baby starts sleeping a six-hour stretch?

Even a cursory glance at a popular parenting site like will show dozens of anxious questions and reassuring responses about parents seeking that holy grail of having their baby sttn (it's talked about so often, it has birthed its own abbreviation).

This was the wonderful advice I received in a recent BabyCenter email (personally, I cringe over 80% of what I read from BabyCenter, but for some reason I still love seeing one of those "Your Baby This Week" newsletters in my inbox). It was a sidebar about Ferberizing, described aptly this way: "You let him cry for increasing amounts of time each night before you go check on him, and even then you don't pick him up to soothe him. Eventually, he learns that crying doesn't help and he may as well go to sleep." This last statement breaks my heart but is intended, I gather, to be matter-of-fact and reassuring. After admitting that some parents criticize the Ferber method for being "overly harsh," a pediatrician and author, Jennifer Shu, is quoted giving this terrific counsel: "It's not for everybody. But I support parents trying it who are interested. If it doesn't work" -- and here I paused mentally and truly expected her to admit that this method should be abandoned in that case, but...wait for it -- "I recommend they stop for a few weeks and try again."

Even just last night, I was just scanning my college's alumni updates after submitting our own birth announcement six months slow, and I found parents who felt the need, in the scant space afforded a briefly worded announcement, to fit in a boast about an especially young baby who already calmly slumbered from dusk to dawn.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

I've become my mother — or every mother

Every once in awhile, I leave Mikko in someone else's lap when I have to do something super exciting like, I don't know, pee, or bend down to pick something up (he's a big kid, so my back much prefers this option). If I'm out of the room and hear him start to fuss, I try to hurry back because I know he needs me specifically if he's hungry or tired.

I was thinking about how I looked at my parents as a little kid — those people who meant to me familiarity in a room of strangers, reassurance and safety when I was sure ghosts were hanging out around my bed, food and provision when I needed something in particular, knowledge and competence when I had a problem to solve.

And I realize, I'm that person now to someone. I am Mother. Not just a person now, but sort of an icon.

Because, as I look back, I realize that my parents, though excellent in those roles, were really just people under it all — only human, not all-knowing, infallible, unconditionally loving in every second. And that's a relief, because I sure as heck am not those things either.

But, see, it doesn't matter, because like it or not, that's how your child will see you for a long time, and you just sort of have to embrace the role and do what you can to build and maintain the trust they give so freely.

When I walk into a room after a 5-minute absence and Mikko's crying in someone else's arms, he'll see me enter and his cries will change — at once abate (in sadness and anxiety) and intensify (in energy). They'll transform into a sort of hiccuping, reaching-out, half-laughing sort of cry that's equal parts relief, reproach, elation, and expectation of needs met.

I am Mother, and I am all important to my child. Do I deserve the title? Certainly not. But I'll do what I can to earn it.

Saturday, December 1, 2007

Happy December!

Well, as I enter the season of Advent, I also enter the insane Christmas buying season. I'm not the one doing the buying -- Sam & I run our own online retail business. So, seeing as how this is our busiest period of the year, I'm suddenly free-time-free. I'll try to jump in here when I can and will post more often when I catch my breath the other side of New Year's.

You Are a Trifle

No doubt, you have many intricate layers. But deep down, you're a little squishy.

I'm not even clear on what a trifle is, but I liked the description.