Note To Future Self

Are you growed up yet?

(just kidding)

Em is now two months old, so we brought out the woolly mammoth to check her progress.

Sadly, she has still not reached the “neanderthal” stage, as she failed to fashion a rudimentary spear from the pointy sticks and broken glass we’ve left casually scattered around her crib.

Better luck next time, sleepy girl.

sticky carseat
too hot for clothes
sweaty baby

Need a reason to party? How about a fresh box of big girl hand-me-downs?

Yee-haw.

Before believing that we have indeed produced a next generation of taxpayers, the US guvment insists on inspecting said little citizen in person. Under normal circumstances this involves a plane trip to Auckland**, but the State Department deigns to send a lackey to the far reaching corners of the empire, oh, three or four times a year.

(** side note: it took me about a month of thinking about this to realize that our beloved government has sited its consulate in Auckland … which is not the capital of New Zealand. True, there is an Embassy in Wellington, but the US has clearly sited the Consulate with business on its mind)

Since this was our one chance to do our important business while avoiding a trip to the North, we were a bit nervous about collating, filing and copying all our important documents in triplicate. Somewhere along the way, however, I failed to procure passport photos (cue Anna: I told you so).

Luckily, we had an easy three or four hours to scramble around trying to put together decent passport photos, before the US Government skived off, back up north. The price of failure: plane travel with a two month old.

Unfortunately, the State Department holds babies to adult standards for passport photos.

No distracting backgrounds. Head straight.

Eyes open. Mouth closed.

No hands visible.

Head between 1.53 and 1.65 inches in height.

Photos 2.00 +/- 0.005″ square.

Eyes level, even, and not at all shifty.

Try to look happy about your lot in life.

And for pete’s sake, don’t look swarthy.

Yes, we managed it. Yes, there was sweating, swearing, crying, and some frantic driving around town which I hope never to repeat.

p.s. I waited till she had scratched her face before taking the photos. I thought it would make her look more dangerous…

Like many addicts Em likes to drink herself to sleep. However, when her favorite barmaid is unavailable, she will accept a substitute.

although it would be nice if Em would suckle on a dummy that was a bit more… detachable

For those suffering through the boreal winter, have no fear. We, your poor austral cousins have our own weather woes.

Sunday afternoon we enjoyed a light sprinkling of hail, followed by a much heavier dousing with hail.

(it’s a gloomy picture, click to zoom)

Blech. Several streets in our neighborhood flooded, including ours.

Which didn’t stop people from hooning through the puddles, sending bow waves of ick into local businesses.

C’mon people. Get a grip.

Like it or not, I’ve returned to the ranks of the gainfully employed. Admittedly, it’s only three days a week, which is pretty darned nice, if I’m being honest.

After a hard day at the office, it’s nice to come home to a little peace and quiet (ha ha).

In a desperate attempt to get out of the house, we’ve been taking near-daily trips to our local library. It’s a pleasant walk, and there’s a cafe.

However, given that our reading rate has fallen quite dramatically, we don’t need anymore books. But since you can’t go to the library without checking out something we have taken to seeing who can find the most absurd parenting books.

Our library has a pretty impressive selection. There are sociological critiques like “Cotton-wool kids: why neurotic mothers are spoiling not just their kids but childhood itself”; “Caustic culture: why the media is making mothers crazy and why their children will never recover”; “Kids today: all society’s problems would disappear if mothers stayed home” and “The subprime crisis – solely the fault of indulgent mothers or are dead-beat dads also to blame?”.

Then there are the more practical books: “breastmilk – better than windex “; “Everything your grandma told you is wrong: modern parenting”; “Everything your grandma told you is wrong: parenting the  [insert name of romanticised pre-industrial culture here]  way” and “Instinctive parenting: breastfeeding on demand will eliminate all childhood difficulties” with its follow-up volume “Curing your child’s problems: breastfeed harder”.

Usually this produces a good rant and a new dent in the woodwork. But last week Aaron hit the jackpot with one that was too good not to share. I’m three-quarters convinced that it was ghost-written by alan sokal — it’s got a cover blurb from Stella McCartney, for chrissakes.

Here are some highlights:
“I appreciate that the creative healing method is more complicated than traditional baby massage, and I have produced a DVD (see resources)”

“… the lower back (sacrum) is massaged only in an upwards direction. The sacral nerves flow downwards like the roots of a tree, and it is physiologially sound to lift and reposition the nerve roots …”  [note: apparently knowledge of human anatomy is not necessary to practice obstetrics in the UK]

“a water bonding tip: A wonderful mother-baby bonding exercise is floating your baby on her back whilst maintaining eye contact. You can do in the bath or in a pool (but if the pool has cool water, invest in a neoprene baby wetsuit – see resources)”

“I was told by a wonderful women, Paradise Newland, who I met in Hawaii that children are unable to hear the word ‘no’ so she replaced it with ‘Zero can do!’”

P.S. – for future reference, Em is much more interested in dogs whose tightropes have stairs in them than in learning how to make a damascus-steel butterfly knife.