Enter The Nanny

Our new very part-time nanny started this week.

Let me say that again: the nanny started this week! An event filled with joy, relief, a little fear and a little guilt.

She comes from 8-11 on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Not a lot of time, I know. Barely enough time to get started on the million and one projects I'm either late finishing or late starting. But still. Already its making a huge difference. I'm astonished how much more I can get done in three hours compared to before MAS was born. I've become efficient, folks. Before? I was a typical creative: scattered; distractable; prone to sudden insights while doing the dishes. Now? I sit down and do it now because I know I've only got 2.25 hours left and I have X to complete and Y to outline. Yet another way in which I'm not the same Minerva Jane as I was before he so dramatically entered my life.

Yet another gift he's given me.

Back to the nanny.

It took me eight months after MAS's discharge from the NICU to hire someone, even though I was already technically back to work a month before he came home. (Ebronis and I have a marketing firm. We shifted most of our clients over to him during my brief bedrest but I retained one or two.)

My mother-in-law comes one afternoon a week, so this isn't as bad as it seems. Besides, he goes to bed at 7.

Still, things have piled up.

But every time the idea of hiring someone would come up I would hesitate. The money! The drudgery of finding the right person! He was so vulnerable, you see... And I only needed a few hours. Weren't most people looking for full-time work?

All good points.

But behind all of this protesting, all of these compeltely logical reasons, was a deeper psychological one.

I didn't see my baby until 24 hours after he was born. Didn't get to hold him until he was a week old. He spent the first 9 weeks of his life cared for by a team of nurses, a group of predominately Philippino professionals. (I don't know why, but most of the NICU nurses at St. Luke's Roosevelt on 57th were transplants from the Philippines.)

They were all kind, competent people who had MAS's best interest at heart and without whom he wouldn't have survived, but it still felt so unnatural to be told when and how I could feed, hold, and comfort my own child. I had to ask permission every time. Sometimes it was granted, but if it didn't coincide with the nursing rotation it wasn't. By the end a weird psychology had evolved: I started to feel that it I didn't behave he would never be discharged. I tried so hard to be a good enough patient for the both of us.


So when I got him home? It was like I was making up for lost time. I encircled him, protected him in ways I wasn't able to during that last trimester-cum-first two months. And I was reluctant to let anyone else in...


But now? MAS needs more interaction than what I can give. And I need to figure out who this new Minerva Jane is. And get back to the non-mommy parts of myself...

So today she came at 8, fed MAS his breakfast of organic DHA- and probiotic-enhanced brown rice cereal, and took him to the park where they played on the swings and slide. He returned rosy-cheeked and exhausted from the playing. And now? He's napping peacefully in his stroller while I get back to my old bloggy self.

The Sick Baby

MAS woke up this morning with a runny nose.

Mid-morning it morphed into a stuffed nose with a possible low grade fever. (First reading was normal; second reading was slightly elevated; third, he was a little chilly!)

Our pediatrician thinks this is a cold and a minor one at best. Nothing to worry about. MAS also seems to think a cold is nothing to worry about: he spent the morning happily banging his green plastic egg on everything he could find. After a mid-morning snack of sweet potatoes and prunes and milk he's contentedly sleeping on my bed while I type this.

But me? I'd be lying if I didn't admit to a frisson of fear when I saw that clear snot snaking down his upper lip. It could be: flu, swine flu, RSV... ?! Anything, really. But it also could be nothing.

Yes: I know that overprotecting him will never be the answer. Kids need to get sick so they can develop immunities. Put MAS in a bubble now and his first year at school will be a disaster.

Still. I thought I'd put the whole NICU roller coaster behind me, you see. At the beginning of the summer I made such a huge effort to not talk about it and to brush it off as nothing nothing, a little blip whenever it came up. He was born early but he's fine now. Quick, let's change the subject. Have you guys started solids yet? I even stopped blogging here because I didn't want to think of him that way. I wanted to pretend that MAS started life like all the other babies.

All it takes is a whiff of a cold, a whiff of allergies even, and all that comes tumbling down. MAS's story isn't like the others'. I can't change that. No matter how much I would like to.

It will always be there in one way or another. No matter how robust MAS is, there will always be some part of me that remembers my first glimpse of him: my 2 lbs 5 oz half-cooked baby hooked up to god knows how many wires, his nose irritated from the CPAP and his soft mewling cries more feline than human.

During our NICU stay my challenge was to step up to the plate and be there for him in as positive and consistent a way as I could. I spent hours by his side and even more hours holding him in kangaroo care, telling everyone--myself, my husband, my in-laws, the nurses and all the other grief-srtiken parents--that MAS would not only survive but thrive. If I could WILL him better, I would.

But now? My challenge is to step back a little and let him be... With all the flus and colds and scrapes that come with any normal childhood.

As one of the neonatalogists told me when she discharged us that last cold day in January: "Well, he's not a preemie now. He's a former preemie. Now he's just like everyone else."

We Moved!

From Cobble Hill to Carroll Gardens.

Hence the radio silence.

Stay tuned: we'll be back on air shortly.

In Which I Talk About Poop

Be forewarned.

MAS, like a lot of preemies, was anemic in the beginning. He even had a blood transfusion at 30 weeks gestation, two weeks after he was born. And several rounds of some drug I've since blocked out that stimulated his bone marrow to produce red blood cells. And he's been on iron supplementation ever since and will be for his first year.

Iron, as we all know, slows your system down. And so it is with MAS. He only poops about once or twice a week, which to be honest I'm grateful for. Granted that poop is always a massive black mess, but he's not constipated nor in pain.

Here's the thing, though: the bigger he gets the bigger those weekly poos get.

This morning? He had a full diaper and so, when I saw what I was dealing with I called The Husband in from the other room for reinforcement. (Despite having two cats and a 6 month old, poop frankly grosses me out.) As we were both cleaning MAS off--and before a new diaper could be secured--he projectile pooped all over the room.

Poop everywhere! On a pile of freshly laundered sleepers! On a towel! On the goddamn window folks!

Ack! Ack! Ack!

MAS, though, seemed pretty pleased with himself, smiling and giggling away.



MAS, the previous afternoon, shows no sign of the coming storm. And yes, that's a Sophie giraffe he's holding, hip toy du jour.

13 Things About Brownstone Baby

1. He was born on Thanksgiving Day.

2. He was born 12 weeks early.

3. He therefore, like all preemies, has a double identity: Sagittarius and Aquarius.

4. He loves the stuffed loon on his activity gym.

5. He thinks diaper changes are funny.

6. He’s ticklish.

7. He abhors being hungry.

8. He finds his Fisher Price swing sometimes hilarious, sometimes disturbing.

9. He had a full head of hair when he was born; no mean feat for a 28 weeker.

10. Since he learned to stick his tongue out it’s become his favorite trick.

11. He loves bath time more than any other time of day.

12. He loves speed whether its in the car or stroller: stoplights and traffic jams make him angry.

13. He's been hitting every single milestone when he would have had he been born on his due date--sometimes earlier. (Rolling over at 3 months!)

Avian Analogies

To take the bird metaphor further: she who lays her eggs in an open field has to be more aggressive in defending her chicks than she who lays in a camouflaging tree.

Me? I laid my egg on a freshly mown suburban lawn. Danger all around: kids playing ball and dogs digging and cars speeding past.

Nestless, I used my very own puffed up self to protect him. And letting go of that? Ah. Harder than I thought.

Mountain Buggy Strollers In Brooklyn

MAS in his Mountain Buggy Urban Elite


First off, let me say that I don’t really think you can get by with one stroller or one baby carrier anymore than you can get by with one pair of shoes. Sometimes you need a sandal, sometimes you need a sneaker and sometimes only a rain boot will do.

In the best of all possible worlds you’d get a lightweight stroller for hopping on and off subways, a rugged jogging stroller for marathon training (see how funny I can be?) and a chichi but durable Bugaboo for urban restaurant and shopping excursions.

But. Financial circumstances being what they are, forced to make a compromise Ebronis and I were when MAS entered the world.

So we bought a Mountain Buggy jogging stroller. Because I had—still have—this idea that I’m going to get back in shape this summer by training for the NIKE 10k. Not that I really have all that much more to lose—skipping the entire third trimester was a really great way to forgo the whole mommybody thing. (And no: I don’t recommend it as a strategy: a 2.5 pound baby is a frightening thing.

Back to the stroller.

Things I love about my Mountain Buggy Urban Elite:

The rugged wheels handle the often-crappy Brooklyn streets & sidewalks without once jostling the baby awake.

A swiveling front wheel makes turning city corners a breeze but it also locks into place for stability on long runs.

The water bottle holder puts a cold drink at my fingertips.

The seat is extra comfy and MAS has no trouble napping out.

The entire seat and sun canopy snap off for easy cleaning.

The $50 car seat clip meant I never had to wake MAS when going from car to stroller to apartment. (If you have a colicky baby like I did, you’ll understand the true value of such a feature.)

Things I Hate About My Mountain Buggy Urban Elite:

Since it weighs in at 23 lbs there’s no way I’m lugging that thing up or down any subway stairs soon.

The wide wheelbase makes for a stable ride over a variety of terrain but also means I can’t get into certain narrow Brooklyn storefronts.

There’s no coffee cup holder. (Hello people: caffeine is the only antidote to infant-induced sleep deprivation. Sheesh.)

Keep in mind that this thing is the SUV of strollers: its overall appearance is mountain bike meets REI fashion. Not surprisingly, maitre d’s see us coming & cringe. Some, like the folks at Chestnut, mask their chagrin so well they deserve a medal for the effort.

Given all the above we’ve decided to purchase a second lightweight stroller for subways & restaurants. A used Maclaren, for example: 11 pounds or less & folds into near nothingness.

Got one?