After nearly 10 months of blaming every fussy episode, drooly face and ear pull to teething, Brody finally sprouted his first tooth!
Unfortunately, that tooth was accompanied by a double ear infection, another first for him. So the little guy is experiencing his first tooth, his first ear infection, and his first antiobiotic all in the same week. It's been a tough week.
He's feeling a little better as long as we keep the Motrin in him, and I expect he'll be back to his old self in a few days. :)
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Brody's first plane ride
Brody took his first plane ride this weekend to visit my dear friends in Hillsdale, Michigan. He got to meet Andrea, Sharon, Crystal and, a new friend, Hillary. He loved them all dearly and flirted shamelessly. I can see already I'm going to have my hands full when the time comes.
I was a little nervous about the journey, but I didn’t worry too much since we only had two hourlong flights to endure.
As we strolled toward our departure gate, I tried not to acknowledge too many of the pitying looks and knowing nods from other glassy-eyed parents. How hard could it really be?
But those pitiful glances turned into glares backed by four-letter words as we chose a seat at the gate. Waiting passengers eyed Brody carefully, trying to ascertain whether he would turn this connecting flight to Philadelphia into the journey from hell.
And when he cried for a few seconds as I prepared his bottle, a few nearby passengers shifted in their seats.
"This is going to be fine," I thought, trying to console myself. "This is obviously a group of ultra-sensitive business travelers."
We boarded the plane, and my prayers were answered — a woman sat down next to us and immediately cooed at Brody.
We spent the remainder of that hour singing with an Elmo hand puppet and reading through a nursery rhyme book. One traveler even thanked us for the quiet flight as we deplaned.
And aside from a baby food episode that left my pants covered in applesauce, the second, and final, flight of the day also ended without the wails of a frustrated baby.
Admittedly, there’s a bit of a trade-off to keep an active 9-month-old baby quiet on an airplane. The passengers immediately beside, behind and in front of you endure endlessly repeated nursery songs, baby babble and, yes, some physical attacks.
I considered it a triumph, though, that the gentlemen in front of us only got slapped on the head once, and our patient seat-mate smiled when Brody smacked her with the safety brochure. Apparently, a physical assault is preferable to an assault on the eardrums.
So when we headed back to the airport four days later, I had a little more confidence. Brody and I were now experienced travelers.
This time, though, after 20 minutes of trying to keep my Tasmanian devil contained inside the tiny parameters of our seat, he decided this just wasn’t going to do. The wails started.
And, how embarrassing, here came the flight attendant.
As she picked him up, Brody’s eyes widened and he quieted. After a few seconds of looking out at the passengers seated around us, I saw him give a sheepish little wave, as if to say "Yes, I am the little boy making all the noise. My bad."
Keeping my head ducked, I maneuvered out of my seat and snatched the noisy little boy to soothe him in the stewardess’ holding area at the front of the plane.
After 30 minutes of standing, rocking and singing, I was looking helplessly for somewhere to sit down. That’s when we hit the jackpot. The flight attendant offered us an open row in first class to relax and play. My high-falutin’ Brody was now content.
As we both sat back infinitely more comfortable, I wondered for a split second whether Brody had been strategizing for this all along.
Here's how I described our travels in my Daily Press column:
Baby knows how to take advantage of uncomfortable flight
Here’s a tip: If your baby cries loud enough on an airplane, you just might get bumped to first class.
To give my 9-month-old son a little bit of credit, he behaved well through the first two legs of our flight to Michigan. It was the flight home that irked him.
It was two months ago that I cavalierly made the decision to take our first flight. Since we were going to visit one of my college friends, my husband opted out of the Easter weekend vacation. I couldn’t bear to leave our firstborn for a whole four days, so I made arrangements for him to travel with me.
I was a little nervous about the journey, but I didn’t worry too much since we only had two hourlong flights to endure.
As we strolled toward our departure gate, I tried not to acknowledge too many of the pitying looks and knowing nods from other glassy-eyed parents. How hard could it really be?
But those pitiful glances turned into glares backed by four-letter words as we chose a seat at the gate. Waiting passengers eyed Brody carefully, trying to ascertain whether he would turn this connecting flight to Philadelphia into the journey from hell.
And when he cried for a few seconds as I prepared his bottle, a few nearby passengers shifted in their seats.
"This is going to be fine," I thought, trying to console myself. "This is obviously a group of ultra-sensitive business travelers."
We boarded the plane, and my prayers were answered — a woman sat down next to us and immediately cooed at Brody.
We spent the remainder of that hour singing with an Elmo hand puppet and reading through a nursery rhyme book. One traveler even thanked us for the quiet flight as we deplaned.
And aside from a baby food episode that left my pants covered in applesauce, the second, and final, flight of the day also ended without the wails of a frustrated baby.
Admittedly, there’s a bit of a trade-off to keep an active 9-month-old baby quiet on an airplane. The passengers immediately beside, behind and in front of you endure endlessly repeated nursery songs, baby babble and, yes, some physical attacks.
I considered it a triumph, though, that the gentlemen in front of us only got slapped on the head once, and our patient seat-mate smiled when Brody smacked her with the safety brochure. Apparently, a physical assault is preferable to an assault on the eardrums.
So when we headed back to the airport four days later, I had a little more confidence. Brody and I were now experienced travelers.
This time, though, after 20 minutes of trying to keep my Tasmanian devil contained inside the tiny parameters of our seat, he decided this just wasn’t going to do. The wails started.
And, how embarrassing, here came the flight attendant.
As she picked him up, Brody’s eyes widened and he quieted. After a few seconds of looking out at the passengers seated around us, I saw him give a sheepish little wave, as if to say "Yes, I am the little boy making all the noise. My bad."
Keeping my head ducked, I maneuvered out of my seat and snatched the noisy little boy to soothe him in the stewardess’ holding area at the front of the plane.
After 30 minutes of standing, rocking and singing, I was looking helplessly for somewhere to sit down. That’s when we hit the jackpot. The flight attendant offered us an open row in first class to relax and play. My high-falutin’ Brody was now content.
As we both sat back infinitely more comfortable, I wondered for a split second whether Brody had been strategizing for this all along.
Sharon also memorialized her time with Brody on her blog. Check it out here.
Monday, April 6, 2009
You just can't have too many naked baby pictures
I try to refrain from taking zillions of baby-at-bathtime photos, but you just can't resist sometimes - especially when it's Daddy giving the bath. Here's one from tonight:
We live with a dinosaur!
This is another photo from the Mom&Me magazine shoot. No story to go along with this one, it's just a great picture.
A famous family
Some family members tease me about having a "famous" family member because my picture is in the paper a lot, and I've started appearing in short shopping segments on the local news. (I've only had one person recognize me so far, so "famous" is a bit of a stretch).
BUT, I'm bound and determined to make my family members famous! Brody has been in the paper a few times, and now his picture is in the paper bi-weekly with my column and on our Daily Press website to promote our Kids Picture Gallery.
He'll also be in this month's issue of the local Mom&Me magazine. I write the cover stories for that mag, and this month the topic is childcare. So, naturally, I highlight two of the most important women in mine and Brody's lives. Moms/Grandmas!
They had their own photo shoot, and here are two of the pictures. They turned out beautifully!
(Photos by Judy Lowery, Daily Press)
BUT, I'm bound and determined to make my family members famous! Brody has been in the paper a few times, and now his picture is in the paper bi-weekly with my column and on our Daily Press website to promote our Kids Picture Gallery.
He'll also be in this month's issue of the local Mom&Me magazine. I write the cover stories for that mag, and this month the topic is childcare. So, naturally, I highlight two of the most important women in mine and Brody's lives. Moms/Grandmas!
They had their own photo shoot, and here are two of the pictures. They turned out beautifully!
(Photos by Judy Lowery, Daily Press)Sunday, April 5, 2009
My first golfing experience
Brody recently met his great-aunt Jody and second cousin Lani (who calls herself Aunt Lani). Unfortunately, he was pretty cranky the whole weekend they were here (who knows why), but we did have fun on this putt putt outing at Portsmouth City Park. 
We didn't get a picture of it, but Brody and momma chased a few geese with the stroller. The geese were surprisingly nonchalant about it.
And we all praised the Lord
Wonderful news today! Duane's cousin Megan became saved, joined a church and was baptised! We all went to her church this morning to see her baptism, and it was such an awe-inspiring moment. The preacher gave a great sermon on Salvation, and it was great to attend church with the whole Paitsel/Thomas clan.
Of course, Brody had to look his absolute best for this exciting moment. And, boy, was he pleased with himself!
Of course, Brody had to look his absolute best for this exciting moment. And, boy, was he pleased with himself!
Friday, April 3, 2009
An earlier Daily Press column
Here's a Daily Press column from about a month ago. Since this column, Brody has been out and about and loving it. He's even started swimming classes at the YMCA (which we both love!).
(This is the image that runs with the column every week.)
I've recently discovered that my 8-month-old son, Brody, is just like me in one specific way — he's a go-and-doer.
Recently, snow, wind and fears of the evil flu bug have kept my chunky baby boy sequestered at home for a little more than two weeks. It didn't take him long to mount an organized and persistent protest.
Admittedly, I'm a little embarrassed that it's taken me this long to figure out that boredom is the primary source of his fussiness. Brody has shown signs of "high intelligence" — according to a few sympathetic friends — since the day we brought him home from the hospital.
He howled when we strapped him into his car seat for the first time, a howl that didn't stop until my husband took him across the hospital threshold. And when he was just weeks old, bouts of crying could be immediately shushed by opening the back door and letting the sun shine on him. We started calling him our little outdoorsman, because fresh air seemed to be the miracle cure for our perpetually cranky child.
At barely 2 months old, Brody nicely weathered his East Coast family tour, making stops in Tennessee, South Carolina and North Carolina. It was only after we made the mistake of staying in one place too long that Brody's cranky side made an appearance.
"Oh, he's spoiled," says my grandmother, often.
That's partly true.
But I remember how frustrating it was when my mom would admonish me to be more like my little brother, Shawn.
"Shawn knows how to play by himself," my mom would say as I persistently requested playtime ideas. "You should learn to use your imagination like him."
Even now, I can't take a 15-minute drive without searching through my cell phone address book for someone to call.
But, as the old cliche goes, I have, in fact, turned into my mother.
This became even more clear last week as I interviewed potential baby sitters and reflected on the cocoon I've been weaving for the past eight months.
Petrified by coughs, sniffles and general ickiness, I've taught family members and friends to make a stop at the kitchen sink for a thorough hand washing before handling the goods. Trips to the grocery store are sanitized with cart covers and pacifier holders. My mother-in-law even covered her face with a surgical mask when she came home with the Christmas crud.
When he was born at the end of June, it was too hot to stay outside for any length of time. And then it was much too cold. Or windy, or raining, or flu season.
When I have no choice but to take him out of the house, I am always surprised by his good behavior. He carries on full baby-babble conversations while waiting in checkout lines and dutifully smiles at white-haired grandmothers whose children live in different states.
He watches, interested as I explain the contents on the cereal aisle and point out the screaming toddler a few feet away."That is not how good little boys act," I whisper to him encouragingly, a technique borrowed from my mom. "I would never do that," his round, brown eyes relate.
So when a family friend wanted to take Brody shopping, I encouraged her. It was getting warmer, after all. And when Brody's behavior issues vanished after a few days of regular outings, I knocked myself in the head with exasperation. How could I be so blind?
In my effort to protect him, I did what I always said I would never do — I babied him. I babied an 8-month-old little boy so much, he couldn't stand to be stuck in his house for one more day.
So, as I let him roll around in the grass and dirt over the weekend, and packed him up to head to the store at 7:30 p.m. one night, I worked hard not to cringe. I even laughed when he almost stuffed a ladybug in his mouth.
And as we embarked on our new adventures, I made a silent promise. "Brody, flu season, or not, I will never lock you up in this house again."
(This is the image that runs with the column every week.)Even infants don't need to be babied
I've recently discovered that my 8-month-old son, Brody, is just like me in one specific way — he's a go-and-doer.
Recently, snow, wind and fears of the evil flu bug have kept my chunky baby boy sequestered at home for a little more than two weeks. It didn't take him long to mount an organized and persistent protest.
Admittedly, I'm a little embarrassed that it's taken me this long to figure out that boredom is the primary source of his fussiness. Brody has shown signs of "high intelligence" — according to a few sympathetic friends — since the day we brought him home from the hospital.
He howled when we strapped him into his car seat for the first time, a howl that didn't stop until my husband took him across the hospital threshold. And when he was just weeks old, bouts of crying could be immediately shushed by opening the back door and letting the sun shine on him. We started calling him our little outdoorsman, because fresh air seemed to be the miracle cure for our perpetually cranky child.
At barely 2 months old, Brody nicely weathered his East Coast family tour, making stops in Tennessee, South Carolina and North Carolina. It was only after we made the mistake of staying in one place too long that Brody's cranky side made an appearance.
"Oh, he's spoiled," says my grandmother, often.
That's partly true.
But I remember how frustrating it was when my mom would admonish me to be more like my little brother, Shawn.
"Shawn knows how to play by himself," my mom would say as I persistently requested playtime ideas. "You should learn to use your imagination like him."
Even now, I can't take a 15-minute drive without searching through my cell phone address book for someone to call.
But, as the old cliche goes, I have, in fact, turned into my mother.
This became even more clear last week as I interviewed potential baby sitters and reflected on the cocoon I've been weaving for the past eight months.
Petrified by coughs, sniffles and general ickiness, I've taught family members and friends to make a stop at the kitchen sink for a thorough hand washing before handling the goods. Trips to the grocery store are sanitized with cart covers and pacifier holders. My mother-in-law even covered her face with a surgical mask when she came home with the Christmas crud.
When he was born at the end of June, it was too hot to stay outside for any length of time. And then it was much too cold. Or windy, or raining, or flu season.
When I have no choice but to take him out of the house, I am always surprised by his good behavior. He carries on full baby-babble conversations while waiting in checkout lines and dutifully smiles at white-haired grandmothers whose children live in different states.
He watches, interested as I explain the contents on the cereal aisle and point out the screaming toddler a few feet away."That is not how good little boys act," I whisper to him encouragingly, a technique borrowed from my mom. "I would never do that," his round, brown eyes relate.
So when a family friend wanted to take Brody shopping, I encouraged her. It was getting warmer, after all. And when Brody's behavior issues vanished after a few days of regular outings, I knocked myself in the head with exasperation. How could I be so blind?
In my effort to protect him, I did what I always said I would never do — I babied him. I babied an 8-month-old little boy so much, he couldn't stand to be stuck in his house for one more day.
So, as I let him roll around in the grass and dirt over the weekend, and packed him up to head to the store at 7:30 p.m. one night, I worked hard not to cringe. I even laughed when he almost stuffed a ladybug in his mouth.
And as we embarked on our new adventures, I made a silent promise. "Brody, flu season, or not, I will never lock you up in this house again."
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