Jolly Green Norah

Jolly Green Norah

I’m beginning to think that Norah’s first words may well be, “Fee Fi Fo Fum.” We visited Duke and Pinky’s last weekend and met a nice lady with a three and a half month old named Avery. This child, nearly twice as old as Norah and described by her mother as being “big for her age,” was positively dwarfed by our ever-expanding daughter. Norah routinely sucks down 6-ounce bottles and at least once a day will even devour an 8-ouncer. Meanwhile, Avery daintily sips on 4-ounce mini-bottles.

Just how big is Lil’ Miss? Well, a statistically average two-month old would weigh right around 10 lbs. Half the kids are bigger than that, half the kids are smaller. However, very few chart in at Norah’s impressive 16 lbs! And remember, folks…that’s 16 lbs of dead weight to heft around. This is not a child who holds on or helps you bounce her. No, all the effort of lugging her around and holding her falls squarely on the holder. Moonshot had planned on starting a light weight-lifting program…she no longer feels the need as her arms get plenty of exercise calming Norah.

Despite the increased efforts in transporting her girth, I have to say I’m much more comfortable with my jumbo shrimp than with a smaller version. For one, the extra size helps protect her against potential weight loss caused by illness, one of the great risks for infants. While a “normal” child might feel the effects of a lost pound or two, Norah would barely notice. Secondly, Moonshot and I are just accustomed to big babies. Superfly and Mr. Chubbers were both monstrously sized children and have pretty much set our images of what a child should be. So, while I have no idea why our circle of friends is producing Jolly Green Babies, it’s nice for Norah to be part of the club.

In addition to her healthy growth, her two-month check-up revealed that she is perfectly healthy. Her weight and height is pretty close to proportional. Her heart, lungs, eyes, ears, etc are perfect. And she’s met or exceeded all her developmental goals for her age. In short, she’s coming along nicely.

Changes Every Day

What’s truly amazing about this whole child rearing thing is the speed at which she changes. I’d heard this from countless parents before me, but it just doesn’t sink in until you’re watching it happen. Moonshot and I watched some video taken just a few weeks ago and the difference was startling. While the pictures show marked growth, they can’t capture the advances in her movement. Where once arms and legs flailed aimlessly, now you can tell they are going in the general direction she is choosing. Where once eyes flitted about with no pattern, attempting to absorb input that made no sense to her, she now tracks objects of interest and clearly has her favorite items. And where once she could not smile, slowly moving to rare smiles at seemingly random times …she now smiles frequently at people she knows and grins widely at her favorite games. She loves the Itsy, Bitsy Spider…especially when the sun comes up. Big grin for that. She enjoys it when I make random consonant sounds, “Ba, ba, ba….de, de, de” and such. She has a particular fondness for the letter v, flashing her gums when I hold out an extended “vvvvvva.” She has grown to love bath time and enjoys clumsily splashing water about.
And she is sleeping through the night most nights. She has now abandoned the bed-side cradle and sleeps in her own crib in the nursery.

The basic news here is that she is just a much more pleasant person to be around these days. She’s happier. She reacts to you. She’s evolved into a little person instead of the wailing poop machine she was for the first month-and-a-half. And I'm thrilled.

What’s He Got Under His Skirt?

As the proud caretakers of Arlo, we’ve had to take into consideration certain aspects of his breed and personality. Since he is a non-shedding dog, we have accepted the expense of his monthly hair cut. We have grown accustomed to the fact that he will whine uncontrollably when he sees another dog out the window. We have trained ourselves to make sure to occasionally sit down next to his food bowl so he can eat since he will starve himself before he will eat alone. We are careful of his hind feet and regulate his exercise and walks so as not to injure him. And we have made our peace with the fact we have to give him regular baths since his skirt picks up dirt and leaves, and small twigs. It's this last bit that I want to talk about now...that skirt. We thought the increased baths were the only downside to the skirt. However, Moonshot and I recently discovered that the skirt can also pick up other, more alarming things from the yard…namely bumble bees.

* * *

It is last Sunday. I am sitting on the couch, surfing aimlessly about the Internet as I wait for Norah to drift off to sleep. Moonshot is back in the sunroom waiting for Arlo to finish his business in the back yard. As I meandered the web, I hear the jingle, jingle of Arlo’s collar as he reenters the house. More jingling as he runs around a bit, followed by Moonshot calling out, “I think something’s wrong with Arlo. He’s acting weird.”

I look up from the screen to see our little pooch dart into the dining room and crouch under the table. It’s one of his “safe spots” that he seeks out when he’s scared, so clearly something has upset him. He spins around and then abandons the sanctuary of the table to make a dash for my legs. Once he reaches me, the ultimate safe spot, he spins again, sits down, jumps back up and scampers away.

Very weird, in deed.

I jump up from the couch and try to sooth him as best I can, but he doesn’t seem able to sit still. He’s darting about and acting crazed. Thankfully, Moonshot has a brainstorm.

“Maybe he has something caught in his paws.”

A good idea, I think. Especially in the Fall, he often gets little burs or acorn caps stuck in his front paws. And since he can’t really redistribute his weight given his back feet, these unwelcome hitchhikers hurt and upset him considerably.

I pick him up under his armpits and heft him so Moonshot can check his little paws. She bends over, peeks around a bit, and then jumps back as I become aware of a buzzing noise.

“Oh my God, it’s a bee!”

In an instant, I am rushing through the house toward the back door at top speed with my terrified puppy dangling helplessly in my hands. I have no real plan for how to dislodge a bee from Arlo’s fur, but I know I need to be outside to do it.…I’ll work on Step 2 once I’m there.

I arrive at the patio with Moonshot right behind me. The bee is buzzing loudly from Arlo’s nether regions but Arlo is relatively calm, so I have to assume the bee is not stinging him.

“Get a…a…oven mitt,” I say.

Yeah, that makes sense, I think. With the mitt, we can brush the bee out of the fur without getting stung. As Moonshot rushes for the oven mitt, I spin Arlo around as best I can and blow toward where I hear the buzzing…basically Arlo’s crotch. I have just enough time to wonder how this would appear to the neighbors when the bee suddenly gains its freedom and zips into the air. I relax and am about to say something soothing to my traumatized friend when the bee divebombs Arlo’s head. I dodge and look around for the attacker. I can hear it buzz past my ear as I duck, but it’s too dark to find it. I dart back into the sunroom, slipping through the screen door and slamming it behind me just as Moonshot returns with the oven mitt. She looks at my crouched form and at Arlo still suspended by his armpits. “Is he ok?”

I take a moment to breath and set him on the floor, “Yeah, I think so.”

With that, Arlo calmly walks to the living room couch, curls up and goes to sleep…apparently far less upset by the chaos than his parents.


Type, Type, Drip, Sneeze, Type

I have to admit that this blog entry has been exceedingly difficult to write. It seems there’s something in the air has launched an assault on my sinuses. When I sat down, I thought, “Ah, writing. Here’s something that should take my mind off my allergies.” I was wrong. It’s surprisingly difficult to maintain narrative flow when your inner voice is interrupted every few seconds to sneeze. The words reach the page with alarming sluggishness when you have to keep stopping to grab tissues that now feel like sandpaper.

And I’d like to tell you that I now get to lay back and rest. But alas…it’s now time to go out give the hedges their fall trimming so we can put out the Halloween lights. It’s my own fault. I’ve been putting off this trimming until the last possible free weekend so that now I have to drag my sniffling ass out there and get it done. Who knows…maybe the exhaust fumes from the trimmer will counteract whatever has turned me into a snot factory. Come on exhaust fumes…do your stuff.