My Little CasaNOAH.

Noey Finn and I have been seeing the same group of mamas and babies on Wednesday afternoons since he was about, oh, 4 months old or so. Early on, we deemed our little clan "Babies On Blankets" (or BOB for short) but as the babies have become increasingly mobile, it was only accurate to revise the title--to "Babies OFF Blankets". And just as the name has changed, so has our meeting location. We had to ditch our soft, green, grassy knoll under the shady pines of Barnsdall Art park in Los Feliz in search of more occupying play structures, sand boxes and ample romping obstacles to keep our toddling tots entertained long enough for us to catch one another up on current spawn news.

This week's meeting found Noah Finn in awe of Louisa's new knack for scaling the rolly slide at Griffith Park. He whined at the bottom as he watched her zoom past with precision and skill. But I saved the most interesting Wednesday bit for last. See the girl holding Noah Finn in not one, but three of the pictures above? No, we don't know her. Nope, Noah Finn doesn't know her either. But, he sure does look comfy snuggling in her lap, doesn't he? He hung with little doe-eyed girlie and her doting female companions for a good 20 minutes or so. I mean seriously, they fawned over him. I know that he has a preference for boobies--but those are mine and they squirt milk. Could it be that my little boy is already loving the not-my-mama ladies? No . . . yes?

Just call him, little CasaNOAH!

As Absent As An Ant At A Plastic Picnic.

Okay weird title, right? Well, that's just how I have been feeling as of late. Absent and weird. Not weird in a bad way necessarily, just weird as in a weird way. But as for absent . . . today marks the one week anniversary of our arrival home from our month long voyage to the land of cold, cotton and fried chicken. North Carolina was packed full of family--lots and lots of family--and eating and sitting and visiting and eating and sitting and visiting and eating and sitting and, well, you get the picture. Don't get me wrong, we loved, really truly loved, spending that much time with doting family members and we even managed to frolic outside maybe three or four times in all. But, come on folks, we venture out into the great expanse of SoCal's sunny 70's at least three to four times a day. You can call it cabin fever or southern cuisine overdose, but whatever it was it had me feeling down right lethargic and all nappy by noon.

The holidays were glorious and Noah's first birthday was a blast. Flying was challenging seeing that he is now intent on crawling and walking into every nook and cranny that appears the filthiest and most difficult to shimmy into. He is now talking more than ever. Not recognizable words (unless you count "mama", "dada" and his all time favorite for the last three months--"ball") but not baby talk either. He's got something to say and it sounds a flair Icelandic when it all comes out garbled and inflected--think Sigur Ros on helium. He's thinking and doing and playing with real purpose now--real intent and concentration and method. It is amazing to watch him amass more and more skills with each passing day. It seems that he can observe something only once before he has it nearly mastered.

So, we are home sweet home now--still unpacking suitcases and pounds around the middle that unfortunately managed to sneak their way through the airport security check. As we get back into the rhythm of our daily lives here in Los Angeles--breakfast and walks with daddy in the a.m. and lunch, playdates and dinner with mama in the p.m.--I realize something that I am truly excited to come home to--other than our abandoned cats and piles of bills--the mama and baby friends that we have made over the last year. These connections and bonds made with women struggling through the hardest year of their life together with me as I struggle alongside of them have been life changing and simply heart warming. I cannot wait to see how much each baby and mama have grown and changed as they all enter into this second year together with me and Noah Finn.

It's so nice to have family and friends to come home to--even if they reside at homes upon opposite shores.

P.S. Pictures from the trip are coming soon.

Doing The "Right" Thing Is Never Easy.

Baby knows best. Really. They are perhaps not scholars just yet, but they do know what they need better than any of us and well, we should listen to them. And, if we would listen they would probably say . . . that doing the "right" thing is never easy.

Like when you were a kid and were forced to apologize and admit error--it was the "right" thing to do, but it was so hard to say that you were wrong. Or, choosing to skip a party in order to study instead of cheating on a final exam in high school. Studying was hard work, but it was "right", right?

I've come to the conclusion, or even grand epiphany perhaps, that doing the "right" thing as a parent is also not the easier choice. I came to this conclusion after struggling once again following sleepless nights and clingy days with the attachment parenting philosophy that we have adopted as parents. The attachment parenting tenets are simple really and were so appealing to us initially because they essentially support the beliefs that we already held about parenting. To us, AP principles just seem like no-brainers: go to your child when he cries--he needs you, breastfeed your baby--it's food that's literally made for him, sleep with your child--because you are a parent at night too, use positive discipline to teach your child--negativity punishes, hold and wear your baby--it fosters bonding and security, etc.

Even rereading these as I type them, I find myself nodding in agreement--unable to imagine parenting any other way. But problems arise for this gentle parenting scenario not from any inherent flaws in a plan that seeks to parent gently and respectfully, but from other parents who have found an "easier" way. See, this kind of parenting requires a mom and dad who are fully committed to sacrificing much of their own needs for that of their baby's. In other words, it takes dedication and patience--a lot, a lot of patience--and a great deal of self-sacrifice.

I am specifically talking about the issue of nighttime sleeping. Fewer issues get as much airtime during playdates, mommy groups, or any other gathering of moms and babies--it's simply at the heart of every discussion. Exhausted, delirious and desperate mommies eagerly compare notes and exchange sleep tricks in search of something that will help them get more sleep. And, no matter how you try and spin it or how much you try to avoid the inevitable final conclusion, the sleep issue comes down to two dismal options: "sleep training" your baby, or not.

Sleep training methods vary greatly from one to another, but the one thing that they all have in common is that they all include some degree of crying. I have written before about my feelings as they pertain to "crying it out" and though that was many sleepless months ago, I still do have a problem with my baby crying--yes, I've said it, I do not let my baby cry without intervening in an effort to alleviate the cause whatever that cause may be. Why? Because I believe that my son is communicating with us when he is crying--I do not believe that babies cry just to cry, in other words. Sometime this communication may be asking for basic needs to be met and other times it may just be a way to ask for a hug, a cuddle, or a kiss. But, you see, one does not surpass the other in importance for me. My baby's need to be touched is just as importance as his need to be fed or changed. I will respond in either case and at any time. And that is where myself and my husband diverge from the parents who try to sell us the success of sleep training and tout the amount of sleep that it has brought them. But, at what cost, I want to ask them.

I believe family bed advocates when they claim that co-sleeping raises independent, confident and secure children--I also believe that leaving your baby to fend for them self during these times of nighttime need may produce children who are more dependent, anxious and insecure. I also know that these one or two or three years dealing with his sleeplessness as a baby is small in scale when compared to the number of years that we won't have to. I will be old and he will no longer by my baby--I will look back on these years with a tender heart yearning for the moments when I was able to hold him in my arms to return.

I do, however, from time to time grow weak--very weak. I do whine and fuss and complain about exhaustion and the need for a moment to myself. During these times I do momentarily wonder if we should not also "train" Noah to self soothe, to sleep alone, to quiet his need for love, comfort and affection just because it is the moon, not the sun, that has risen above the horizon. Those parents are convincing and proud. They're confident and I suppose, maybe even some look rested.

But, then I give it a second thought. I listen to my heart and am reminded of why I have chosen the more challenging path. When I grow weak and weary, I turn a listening ear to my instinct, my mama gut--and find that I know deep down in my heart that parenting this way, for me, is the "right" way to parent. And, like all things that are "right" it is most certainly the more difficult choice--it may continue to be for a while still to come. But . . . doing the "right" thing is never easy, right?

The Ever-Pleasurable Playdate.

Today was a busy day. The mid-morning was enjoyed at mama Carrie's house where we spent some quality blanket time with little Henry while his mama packed boxes and prepared for a move just a few miles east into the valley. I am not sure how much help we were, but we sure did enjoy their company.

The afternoon was lazed away at the park with our regular Wednesday "Babies On Blankets" crew followed by a frolic through the Farmer's Market at the bottom of the park hill.

I used to laugh at the idea of "playdates" before having kids. How silly, contrived and suburban, I used to mutter to childless myself. Now, they are an essential and anticipated part of each day. Mingling with mamas and bantering over beautiful babies is one of my favorite ways to spend an afternoon. And, by gosh, I think N to the Finn enjoys them too!

DirectionLESS.

I am without direction. Not in life, but in my car. I have a cruddy internal compass and I am easily distracted. These two qualities combined make for a very unsuccessful 4-wheeled voyage.

Imagine this: It's hot. It's summertime in Los Angeles. Your air is working and its working hard. You have "Sesame Street Sings the Alphabet" CD on repeat to soothe your sweaty screaming infant in the backseat. You're late, again, and you realize you've passed the street you were looking for . . . again. You're stuck in traffic. You give up. You pull to the side of the road to console your baby and . . . yourself. You eat the plate of cookies intended for the playdate--the one you'll never make it to.

Poor Noah Finn.

My husband must get on average, at least five panicked, frustrated or sobbing (it depends on the day) calls a month from me pleading for him to stop what he's doing at work and Google map me to my destination. It doesn't happen often, but every once in a blue moon, he doesn't answer--he's busy (imagine that, he's at work!). And then I call my dad. My dad lives 3,000 miles away in North Carolina.

The thing is, we have lived in California for almost 10 years now. That's no sneeze in the familiarity bucket. That's a decade's worth of burning rubber on southern California's potholed and pathetically congested paths of earthquake cracked asphalt. Why can't I find my way?

I know where I am going most of the time, but I just cannot reliably seem to always get myself there.

Does this direction dilemma sound familiar to anyone? Please say yes, then I won't feel so . . . lost.

Busy Bees Make The Sweetest Honey.

This week goes down in the record books as one of the best with baby so far. No, Noah is not sleeping better. He's actually sleeping worse than he ever has before (up every 20-45 minutes) at night. No, Dean hasn't had a ton of time off and no, we didn't decide to hop on a plane for a spontaneous family summer vacation. This week has just been busy--but in the best possible ways.

Here's a rundown:

• Monday--we hosted our first large group playdate . . . and it was a HIT!
• Tuesday--we went to a pool playdate at Mommy Sherry's house and swam with all of the other M.I.L.K. babies and mommies.
• Wednesday--we hosted another large group playdate, "Babies On Blankies" and again, in MY humble opinion, it was HIT!
• Thursday--we went to another pool playdate at Mommy Andrea's house and swam with more M.I.L.K. mommies and babies.
• Friday--we went to a playdate at Mommy Fenche's house.

Actually, Noey and I have been quite busy ever since he was very young--we joined the Los Angeles M.I.L.K.S. mom group when we was only 8 weeks old, for example--and not to forget hiking in the Hollywood Hills when he was only 3 weeks old. But our attendance at events and all of the other activities on our social calendar for the last nearly 7 months has been spotty, irregular and unpredictable. Why? Because Noah has been possibly the most challenging sleeper in the state of California since the day that he was born.

But this week, and I am not sure why because Noah's horrible sleeping habits are still horribly horrible, we have successfully made it to an activity every day of the week. The end result is a super socialized mommy and, it seems, a very happy baby who has gotten to chew on a plethura of other babies' toys. I somehow feel as if I have achieved yet another mommy milestone. I am not so sure that it's not just Noah's age--about to turn 7 months next week--that is allowing us to mobilize more easily, and thus, more regularly . . . but hey, I'll take it!

With Daddy working hard in the studio on a project until possibly next weekend, we have even more other mommy and baby time in our near future. We have a Saturday trip planned to IKEA for a high chair purchase--and of course, tacos at Chevy's right across the street! I may even make a toast with my frosty margarita that goes something like this . . . Yay for busy happy, albeit sleepless, babies!

Mommy Milestones.

Yup, moms have milestones too. And one of those includes being able to host a successful playdate with your wee little tot. Noah and I, today, hosted our first official "group" playdate--and it was smashing! Sure, we've had one or two babies over here and there, but most of our socializing has been done elsewhere--allowing our dirty dishes, piles of laundry and dusty furniture to remain a well hidden secret.

For six months I dreamed about the time, somewhere in the future, when I would be able to manage hosting again. Pre-Noah, Dean and I used to have somewhat of a revolving door--frequently throwing dinner parties, birthday parties, wine parties, funday parties, any reason to party, really. But, since baby that has understandably taken a back seat to say, just simply showering and making dinner for the two of us to eat cold and separately while the other puts junior to bed.

But . . . today we triumphed. Even though we gave up going to the Lotus Festival in Echo Park this weekend to stay home and scour the spitup stained floorboards and wrangle cathair tumbleweeds from the corners, it was well worth the sacrifice. Nearly ten moms brought their spectacular spawns to drooble and dribble on the playmat, hiphop in the jungle bouncer, bebop to the babytunes and teethe on all of Noah's toys.

As soon as I finish picking up from today's smash, I will mark this occasion in our "milestone calendar"--"Noah and Mommy host their first playdate: July 13, 2009"--right beside "Noah Finn's 2nd tooth: July 4, 2009".

And . . . we're doing it again on Wednesday!

Mommy Group Mutiny.

Noah and I just returned from what was to be a pool playdate by the beach, but it ended up being a livingroom playdate instead because the ocean fog never burned off and it was too cool to swim--yes, Hollywood has deceived you, this is typical of Los Angeles, even in the summertime. And while Noey now naps, I am left pondering all of the ways in which a good mommy conversation can go bad.

We had a wonderful time, but during our playdate the topics of sleep methods, vaccinations and television came up. And while the children casually played unaware of the slight intensity that ebbed and flowed as moms voiced then skirted the more controversial aspects of these issues, I quickly realized that I could be one of those "moms"--the mom who is talked about when they're not in the room, the mom who chooses paths scolded by the AAP, the mom who *gasp* doesn't believe in "crying it out" or in babies watching T.V. and is waiting to vaccinate. As the moms chatted, I at times found myself eager to share my ideas and the decisions that we had made on these topics. But, I kept finding myself self-censoring instead.

I don't want to lose all of these nice new mommy and tot friends that Noah and I have just made. Heck, we are just beginning to emerge into the world of pre-noontime playdates for a change. But, am I the only mommy that doesn't want her baby to cry himself to sleep in a cold and empty crib (despite the fact that we have been having sleep difficulties since he was born!)? Are we the only parents that have chosen an alternate vaccination path after doing hoards of very conflicting and confusing research and experienced our own vaccination horror at the 3 and 4 month checkups? I am sure that we are not--it's just that we can't, as moms, always feel comfortable enough to casually chat about these topics because of the taboo that surrounds them and plain and simply, not wanting to hurt someone's feelings, I guess.

I am not bellyaching. Okay, maybe I am, perhaps I am even being a little overly dramatic--but I don't mean to be. Really, I am proud of the decisions that we have made and respect those of others, don't get me wrong--I just don't want to go back to the "O Mothers, Where Art Thou?" days again!?

We actually do know quite a few crunchy families like us, I guess I just didn't hang out with any today. *pout, pout*

Rock 'N' Stroll.

Yesterday I discovered that Noah Finn does not share his mother's affinity for public radio. Classic rock it seems, is more his thing. While driving the short distance between Target, the park for a playdate, and our home, there was no classical station to be found and I had left all of the classical compilation cds that daddy had made for Noah at home. The only thing found on the radio dial to soothe the screaming beast in the backseat was Led Zeppelin--nada to mariachi, nada to alternative rock, nada to slow jams. Only the rockin' rhythms of Bob Seger and Fleetwood Mac calmed my mighty car seat crooner. I truly don't mind a nostalgic trip down bygone decades' memory lane, but several stoplights of The Eagles while I could be indulging in the stimulating intellectual acrobatics that only accompanies a good dose of "All Things Considered" seems detrimental to my mental health--but then again, so does a screaming baby. So, Ms. Stevie Nicks, we welcome you with open arms to the Surette-Nelson mobile.

In other Noah news, Noah Finn is making more friends than Mr. Rogers due to the rigorous social calendar that we have been keeping. Really, it's no more than an outing or so a day that has us meeting and mingling with other "grown-up talk" deprived mommies and their little spawns. The L.A. M.I.L.K.s. has turned out to be a great group of moms. Last weekend I ventured out for my first "mommy's night out". Despite mediocre Chinese food at an even more questionable dining establishment in Chinatown, pumping a bottle of breast milk for Dean and Noah while I indulged in some mommy-to-mommy face time amidst sweet and sour soup and stale cookies of fortune was just what the Dr. ordered. Weekly walks, playdates and other pint-sized adventures have forced us to practice getting out of the house at a specific time--which is harder than it sounds for those who have never had to do it.

So, if it seems that all things in babyland lately are sunny and splendid, well they are. For the most part, we have moseyed on by the dark days of blog postings past. Dean and I have been continuing to experiment in an effort to find what's right for us and little Noah Finn. I guess it's just a matter of getting over mental hurdles--the hurdle that makes it difficult to accept that you are on your little one's schedule or "not-schedule" now--your time is no longer your own. Once that revelation is realized and embraced, life with baby it seems is sweet.

First Week Flying Solo.

So, we've survived, Noah and I, the absence of Daddy. He of course calls several times a day to both hear Noah coo and make sure Mommy isn't spouting baby gibberish from our apartment building's rooftop--but, nope, no signs of new mommy insanity in sight--it's been smooth sailing so far. One of the many good things about living in the city is the many walkable outings that are possible--grocery stores, outdoor shopping malls, farmer's markets, restaurants, parks . . . not such slim pickin's for cabin fevered families! And despite the rainy cold weather as of late, we've even managed to begin to get into some semblance of a routine and it's only day three. Forbearing no major munchkin mishaps or meltdowns, Mr. Noah Finn gets a baby massage in the sunshine that comes through our bedroom window and a bath every other morning, a mid-morning walk to the Tar Pit Park and afternoon walk to the Pan Pacific Park every day, and a sponge bath every night. In between all of that, we spend our time singing, reading, talking, sunning, gazing at our spacemat mobile, chillin' in our bouncer chair, pooping, peeing, eating and napping.

And for those of you who were wondering, yes, we made all three mommy group's "final cuts"--but now we've decided to make a few cuts of our own. "The No Drama Mamas" it turns out, were everything but "low key"--the group leader seemed to be something of a diaper dictator and required attendance from moms at least several times a month along with other obligatory silliness. It was my intention to meet other moms for leisurely park strolls and have a real tangible reason to spend three hours preparing to leave the confines of the home via a vehicle for playdates once in a while--not feeling guilty for not making a meetup if Noah and I feel like sleeping in and ditch a date because we want to stay in our jammies all day. The "Stroller Striders", too, were nixed from our list. They require an $80.00 a month "membership fee". I don't know about other new mommies out there, but cloth diapers, enough clothes to keep up with weekly growth spurts, and other "necessary" baby baubles and gadgets have drastically curtailed our expendable income. Which brings us to the last mommy group that we applied to--"The LA M.I.L.K.s." (The Los Angeles Moms I'd Like to Know)--no fee required and no rigid obligations--just other mamas looking for fun, friendship and support. Our first meetup will be tomorrow at a park just a few blocks away. It's at 9:00 a.m. which may pose a slight problem for us because of our nighttime nursing schedule, but the promise of our first mommy & me friendships will hopefully be enough to pull us out from beneath our snugly covers. So, wish us luck--the idea of adding regular mommy group playdates to our new schedule is simply thrilling!

Before we close, a quick breakdown of Noah's current daily friends and foes--and luckily there are more loves than not:

• loves bathtime
• hates getting dressed--particularly the putting the shirt over the head part
• (still) loves watching the ceiling fan go round and round
• hates tummy time
  
• loves being on his changing table
• hates his swing--sorry Grandma and Grandpa Surette--this could change . . .?)
  
• loves being naked--particularly without a diaper
• hates the feeling of wind on his face--he wrinkles his nose, clenches his eyes shut, and gasps for air
  
• loves his spacemat mobile
• hates sleeping without being swaddled
  
• loves sleeping in his Baby Bjorn carrier
• loves his "white noise" machine
• loves dancing around the living room with mommy
• loves classical music
  
• loves getting his baby massage
• loves sunning on the sand at the beach
• loves breastfeeding every minute of every day even when he's not hungry
• loves sucking on his fist (his hand is a newly discovered body part)
• loves sticking out his tongue and licking his lips (a newly discovered skill)
• loves cooing, gooing and giggling at mommy and daddy instead of taking naps
  

O Mothers, Where Art Thou?

Yesterday signaled great things--I cut my nails and pushed back my cuticles. Yes, this rather mundane and routine grooming ritual is probably something you take for granted--something you may do after you get out the shower while getting ready for work in the morning or something you might do while simultaneously brushing your teeth and having a conversation with your spouse before bed at night. But not me, nope. This marks for me a crowning clipping achievement--the first indulgence in any kind of self-beautification that I have taken in the last 6 weeks--and Dean, I think, is ecstatic.

This small leap back in among the more productive living is moving me one small step closer towards preparedness for Dean's departure from our current den o' baby with two parents full-time, to just one. Though he has been working from home this week in an effort to help ease the transition, we've sort of been pretending he's not home as a test of my ability to fare diaper explosions, cooking lunch one-handed and mitigating nap time breakdowns solo. Whether he's actually gotten much work done is up for debate--he, rather, may be the better one to ask as I feel that my ice cold stares as I purposefully pace by his work area with the crying baby has everything but not distract him.

Nevertheless, I really am trying to use this time to ready myself for the inevitable. And that's why yesterday I embarked on a quest for other mothers. You know, a collection of clucking, cluttering and clacking postpartum mamas whose solemn goal each morning is to make it out of the house at least once a day a little further distance than it takes to check the mail. After two days of desperately combing the world wide web for groups of mommies with a similar mission, I stumbled across three prospective winners: "The No Drama Mamas", "The Stroller Striders" and "The LA M.I.L.K.s." (which stands for "The LA Moms I Want To Meet"). After filling out applications and answering profile questions that were eerily reminiscent of a college or first job application, I now sit in eager anticipation to be one of the "chosen ones"--a member of the "in crowd"--admitted into the the "inner circle" of breast pump pilates and diaper bag debates. As I wait while constantly refreshing my e-mail inbox in search of those three letters of acrimonious acceptance, I am reminded of the time I tried out for the cheerleading squad in the 10th grade. I didn't make the team then--let's hope I fare better this time--for Noah's sake, at least.