Pool

Summer's here. Time to get Vivian in the pool. But the pool's gone. Here's a picture of the pool in the sky. And here are four shots of the pool area taken from about the same angle: in Feb 2006, as it gets lifted out, a bobcat where the pool used to be, and lots of mud.

Stay tuned. This project ain't like the nursery room doors. It's moving fast.

All Grown Up

Three days ago, I finally run out of excuses. Vivian's nursery has been ready since Sunday, and the immunization shots that she got on Monday are not causing her any discomfort. So, when it comes time to lay her down for the night, Jo puts Vivian in her own crib for the very first time.

Dad is up from 2am, waiting for her to wake up. Mom pops her head into the nursery at 5am for a quick breathing check. Dear Vivian sleeps straight through till 730am. It's not that I enjoy being up at 4am. Or that I can't sleep soundly without a baby noisily snorting and squealing in her sleep next to my bed. It's just that Vivian has me trained to a 3 hour sleep cycle.

Vivian's probably saying - jeez - I can finally get some sleep on a regular mattress instead of being stuck in a fucking pack-n-play.

Interested in a lightly used baby monitor? We obviously didn't need it when Vivian slept an arm's length away. It turns out that her lungs are good enough when she's in the next room.

Dads in the know tell me that they grow up so quickly. I am steeling myself for the next big milestone - college.

It's Always Dad's Fault

Today (well - it's 5am - so make that yesterday), Vivian turned 2 months old. Bloody amazing. To celebrate, we got her immunizations. Five of them - one oral and four requiring shots.

She woke up in the best mood. Sunny and smiling. Didn't grumble when she was strapped into the child seat. At this point, Jo looks at her and says: "Honey - I love you. What happens next is Dad's fault".

We get to the vet's (it's what we call our pediatrician's office). Vivian is beaming at everyone. Even the doctor (who talks fast and little to minimize office time) has to comment on what a nice disposition she's got. We dread the needles that are silently waiting around the corner (literally).

The nurse walks in. We've had her before. She calls Vivian "Mama". She looks at Vivian seconds before plunging in the needles and says: "Fat Mama - Daddy is making me do this". I am pretty sure she hasn't had time to discuss this with Jo. Me - I am thinking Conspiracy and Scientology (unrelated).

By the way - this nurse is the fastest needle plunger I have seen. She stuck four needles and emptied the contents of the syringes in less than 2 seconds flat. She was practically out the door before Vivian started screaming. If this lady kicks pediatric nursing, she can have the fastest drive-through meth place in town.

We get home. Vivian is doing remarkably well. Jo calls her Mom and tells her what the nurse said. Carol replies: "It is always Dad's fault".

I decide not to fight the upside-down world and read from Dr. Seuss and the Mahabharata to Vivian for her afternoon nap.

The Doors

The doors are done. Amazing. Vivian's nursery is finally ready. Yesterday, the final touches were put in place, and it's time to declare the doors done. If you are lost, look at my Mar 03, 2007 posting (Cats in the Cradle) for more context. Here are two pictures, one from the back living room and the other from inside Vivian's nursery. The doors came out very nicely. Mom will appreciate the fact that good things take time...:-)

To celebrate, Jo gave Crazy a bath. She smells nice but doesn't have her own room anymore.

I still find it amazing that the doors are done. Only slightly less amazing is that Vivian will be two months old tomorrow. Mom has gone grocery shopping (another thing only slightly less amazing!). She put Vivian down for her nap before she left. But now, five minutes later, Vivian and I are chilling out in the back living room. I took another few dozen pictures of her. Life is good.

New pictures

Some new pictures of Peanut in a slide show. A couple with her cousins from Nebraska. One of her in her bath (she loves baths). A few mug shots. And a link to all of Vivian's pictures as usual.

I took 48 pictures to get these 5 mug shots. Most of them were fuzzy or grainy. And she sneezed in one. Jo tells me that if I keep doing this, Vivian will think that her Dad's a camera.

GW

What makes a baby cry? One easy way to gather a lot of data quickly is to walk around with a screaming baby. You don't have to solicit input - it is thrust upon you.

I used to think Vivian has it easy. When she cried, I naively attributed it to one of Three Problems: I am hungry, change my diaper, or burp me - all firmly anchored deep in her GI tract.

It was little Grace who first drew my attention to the fact that the answer lay elsewhere. One day, Jo was walking around, trying to soothe a less-than-happy Vivian. Grace was following her, and spouting off suggestions. I thought she'd stop after she ran through the usual suspects. But she kept going: "Aunt Jo - you need to clip Divian's nails".

What if Divian (in Grace-ese, Vivian Bina translates approximately to Divian Peanut) has other worries besides passing gas (don't we all - even if you are a self-absorbed farter). Maybe she is upset about her finger nails. May be her left knee itches. May be it's Global Warming. There's enough reason to cry for a long time.

Vivian's cousins, Kim, Tracy, and Amy, are visiting from Nebraska (thanks for the Nebraska onesies and bibs, Aunt Anna - after the obligatory photo op, they are quietly going to Goodwill). We are enjoying breakfast at the Upper Crust. Vivian's happy. Then her face gets cloudy. She clears her throat - signs of impending trouble. Referring to global warming in adult-code, Kim warns "Don't anyone say anything about GW". Amy says "Sure - speaking of George W would upset anyone".

Vivian agrees. She likes her Nebraska cousins.