Baby Squared : Baby Daddy

Please, let it be food poisoning.

Roper — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 00:31:00 GMT

Has anyone ever wished for food poisoning before? (For themselves, I mean.) Of course, I'd rather not feel sick at all. But I'm really hoping the reason I threw up last night and felt nauseated and weak all day today was that I ate something a bit "off" yesterday. Perhaps the leftover chicken I had for dinner. Because if it's a virus, that means chances are Elsa and Clio are going to get it, too, and I can't deal with any more sick babies. They just got over colds. Then before that it was a stomach virus. Colds before that. And more colds. They don't even go to daycare, for God's sake!

As for me, I have been sick more times in the past six months of my life than I think I've been in the previous six years. Several colds, a stomach virus and a case of (I hope!) food poisoning. Oh yeah, and a month-long bout of clinical depression which still hasn't entirely cleared up. Grrr. What gives? I've heard a lot of people comment that this has been a particularly bad year for illnesses, but I feel like people say that every year. Does having children weaken your immune system? It's not like I'm sleep deprived. I eat well, I drink a lot of water, I wash my hands. Don't these viruses realize I'm trying take care of two toddlers, hold down a job, and write the great American novel, among other things? Could they show just a teensy little bit of mercy?

In other, healthier news, on Saturday, at the invitation of BabyMama (wife of Babby Daddy), we joined her and Josie and apparently every child under seven in the city of Arlington, Massachusetts plus their parents at an Indoor Beach Party for little ones in a school gym. And let me tell you, that Josie sure is a bitch. (JUST KIDDING!!!)

Seriously, we had a great time. There were beach balls and inner tubes for kids to play with, cardboard boxes and containers for them to make "Recycled castles" with, wading pools full of toys and a couple of "sandboxes" with rice for sand. There was pizza and ice cream and donut holes (three of the four junk food groups), Beach Boy tunes, and general chaos. Outside it poured rain, but inside it was surf city, man.

This season it's all about the lei-as-choker

Adding to that genuine "real beach" feel, was the fact that a couple of times I no idea where one or both of my children were. Keeping tabs on both of them at once wasn't easy, especially when Alastair ducked out for a few minutes to run an errand. But it was a pretty friendly crowd. And, unlike at the real beach, there was no ocean for the girls to wander haplessly into. Mostly they just went toddling up to various groups of parents and kids and stared longingly at their food. Here's Elsa in action:

I was amazed, actually, at how independent and adventurous all three girls were -- Josie, Elsa, and Clio. They were happy to walk around and explore, braving belligerent three year-olds, barrelling six-year-olds and lots of distracted adults. Clio stuck a little closer to us, but struck out on her own a few times. She also had some inner tube adventures:

As did Elsa...here seen making her new "uh oh" face. And hanging on to a souvenir from the Recyled Castle-making area. (You venture out in the driving rain to the next town over for something fun and different, and what do they do? They play with tupperware. Just like at home.)

So, that was our day at the beach. I guess with so many people crammed into one space, tossing around baby-slobber-infested beach balls and things, it's not terribly unlikely that I could have picked up some kind of virus. But until somebody small starts puking, I'm going to hold onto hope that it was salmonella, e.coli, anything -- just not another something we can all catch!

Only Make-believe

Roper — Thu, 03 Jan 2008 04:00:00 GMT

OK, OK. Game over. I confess: my last post about the play-date with Baby Daddy and co. and his subsequent rebuttal, were totally planned by the two of us, purely bogus and meant only for fun. In truth, I think the whole Almond family is delightful, particularly the newest member. We were just goofin'.

It wasn't our intent to dupe anyone -- we thought folks would know we were kidding. We just wanted to satirize the whole fawning, "my kid is the center of the universe" nature of parental blogging. And maybe also mock how snarky and downright mean people can be to each other on blogs -- as if basic standards of courtesy and kindness somehow don't apply on the internets. The fact that so many readers thought we were being serious suggests that the situation is even worse than I thought. Are there people out there who are really that horrible to each other in their blogs? Yeesh!

If you were offended or unamused or annoyed by our silliness, what can I say: it's hard to resist a little mischief now and then. Especially after the stress of the holidays. Self-indulgent mischief? No doubt. But then, isn't this whole business of baby blogging (All narrative blogging? All memoir, commentary and opinion?) a little bit self-indulgent on some level? We were attempting to make fun of that --- and ourselves, by extension -- too. Gosh, It's so, like, totally meta and post-modern and self-aware of our self-awareness. Blah blah blah. Snore...

Anyway, back to the regularly scheduled program: We had a sweet, loud, absurd and chaotic party for Elsa and Clio to celebrate their first birthday last week. We slightly underestimated how many people would actually accept the invitation and more than slightly overestimated the size of our house, so it was a wee bit crowded. But it was also a lot of fun. I now have a new theory, that the ear-shattering baby screaming you endure in the early months of new parenthood actually serves an important purpose: it deafens you slightly, so that a year later, when you start having parties and play dates with multiple babbling / crying / yelling babies and toddlers, it doesn't bother you quite so much.

Here's a snap of the grand celebration. Note the bedecked garland o'er the windows -- my Very Martha solution to the fact that if we'd gotten a tree, the babies would have eaten everything on it and/or pulled it over. Note also our friends Steve, Erin, and Josie Almond beneath said garland, eating Oswalda and Clita's birthday cake. (We invited them; they didn't crash. Honest.)

Happy New Year, dear readers.

Why I'm no longer a fan of Baby Daddy

Roper — Tue, 01 Jan 2008 17:15:00 GMT

I was going to write about the girls' (too big, too loud, but quite fun) birthday party, but before I do that, I just have to vent. If you're readers of Baby Daddy you know that both Steve Almond and I live in the Boston area. We thought that, in the spirit of blog-raderie, it might be fun to get our kiddos together for a play date of sorts. Yeah. Well. BIG Mistake. Josie seems so sweet and sociable on her dad's blog, but in reality, I'm sorry to report, she's a total prima donna. Get that girl a onesie that says "Princess" on it, stat.

Here, for example, is Josie is holding court in one of Elsa and Clio's bouncy seats. Note how my girls are sweetly fawning all over her (the mean girls always do hold a certain sway over the nice ones, don't they?) while all she cares about is trying to get into a more flattering pose for the camera.

Of course, you really can't blame the child in these situations. It's all about the parents. Or, one parent in particular, in this case. Within five minutes of their arrival, Steve started in with his stage-dad one-upmanship: "Hey, Josie, can you tell Elsa and Clio how many unique hits your blog gets per week? Remember how to say ga-jillion?" and "Josie, why don't you ask Elsa and Clio if they've ever been recognized in public by their readers?" and "Josie, remember how we talked about being extra nice to Clio and Elsa because their mommy hasn't published a book yet -- not even one, let alone a ba-jillion, like your daddy --and how that's very, very sad and pathetic?"

What was even worse was the running list Steve kept of "bloggable moments" during the visit. Every time Josie did something cute or funny or impressive (in Steve's eyes), out would come the list. (I had to lend him a pen, which he stole, incidentally.) He advised me, in his condescending way, that I really should start doing the same. "Not that I read your blog much," he said, "Because I'm too busy answering Josie's fan mail in the funny little voice I've created for her, but I've noticed that your material is a little repetetive. I mean, you've posted three videos of your girls doing their so-called 'dancing.' It's cute once, maybe cute twice, but three times? Come on."

He then turned on our animatronic, singing snowmen and told Josie to show us the routine he'd choreographed for her. And yes, I admit, it is impressive when a 15-month-old can do two grand jetes and a pas de bourree couru followed by the "running man" without missing a beat. But I don't think that automatically makes her "high superior queen of the baby blogosphere" as Steve kept calling her, in an annoying cutesy-wootsy voice. And it certainly doesn't justify this kind of behavior:

Honestly, I feel sorry for Josie. How could she not be expected to turn into a little monster with this kind of parenting? I just hope I won't repeat Steve's mistakes with my precious, perfect little angels. (Who, incidentally, you can buy autographed 8x10 glossies of for $20 each. Suitable for framing. Contact me privately.)