family

Happy First Birthday Party Sprout!

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

Happy First Birthday Party, Sprout!

A birthday – especially one as momentous as a first birthday – deserves a party. Of course, Sprout’s first birthday party was more for us than him, but getting through a full year as parents is also worth celebrating! It all turned out well in the end, but the party definitely confirmed that I am not a Pinterest mom.

I love hosting and having parties, but I’m not the fondest of preparing for them. Most of the time my main contribution is washing the loads upon loads of dishes that Chris dirties in his quest for culinary bliss.

But this party was fundamentally different from our former shindigs. Most of them have been in the winter and this was in the summer. We wanted to invite a lot more people than usual, so we could include not only our friends but also our relatives and church folks. As we can’t fit that many people in our small house, we rented the pavilion at a park across the street from our house.  Because we wouldn’t be right next to our kitchen, this (thankfully) limited Chris’ culinary ambitions.

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A Year of Love

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

One year and one day ago, our son came into our lives after 40 weeks and 5 days of pregnancy and 10 hours of labor. We welcomed him on Father’s Day, making space in our lives for this new little person. Yesterday, we celebrated his first birthday, looking back on a year of challenges, sleep lacking nights, learning and a lot of joy.

At his six month birthday, I said that babies distort time itself. While the changes over the first six months astonished me, the changes in the last six have been even more radical. Last weekend, our friends brought over their four-month-old. She was adorable and smiling, but so different from Sprout. In fact, he seemed to have more in common with our other friend’s two-and-half year old than her, even though they’re closer in age.

In the last six months, Sprout learned to scoot, then crawl, “cruise” with the help of furniture, walk with a helping hand, and as of yesterday, stand independently for short period of time. He was just barely starting solids then; now, he’s had nearly 50 different foods. Now, he eats well with his hands (unless he drops food on purpose) and has some skill with a fork. His spatial and social skills have evolved with his physical ones. He now hides behind me, shuffling back and forth from my left to my right shoulder, and giggling when I pretend I can’t find him.

We’ve certainly had our share of challenges over the past year. In the past week alone, I’ve been absolutely baffled at how to handle getting him to sleep (yes, again!), what to do when we have to skip naps, what to do when he spits out his food, how to put his bike helmet on without a meltdown, how to get his pajamas or diaper on without a wrestling match, and why he’s being mood swingy at any particular point in the day. I frequently think – or just say to him – “I don’t know what you want!” He insists on being the center of attention when I’m getting ready for work, which is alternatively annoying and endearing. His adventurous attitude is wonderful, except when he pulls tissues out of the garbage or literally eats dirt. He regularly amazes and confounds me.

But that’s the beauty of parenthood – it’s always full of change and opportunity. Even if one day has gone badly, there’s always another. While he’s learned so much the first year, so have I! As Sprout has developed his own personality, I’ve tried to teach myself as best how to relate to this little person with a radically different perspective in the world. As he’s developed needs beyond the basics, I’ve learned how to listen to someone who doesn’t have any language skills. (As I’m not a great listener to begin with, this has been particularly hard for me.) I’ve learned to play without expectations about what that may mean, just following his lead. Chris and I have both learned to discuss, compromise and teach each other more than ever, reaffirming our shared values.

Even though only a year has passed, it’s hard to process the memories of life before Sprout. I’ll remember doing things, wonder where he was, and then recall that it happened before he was born. He’s so woven into our lives that while some people see children as restricting them, he’s made our tapestry even bigger and more colorful. True, there are certain things I can’t participate in, like office happy hours or bar skeeball leagues and I do miss them. But there’s so much I get to experience with him.

While I was terrified before he was born – even though we planned everything – I realize now that we were as ready for him as we ever could ever be. That was the perfect moment for him to enter our lives and become part of our family. And I’m so glad he did.

Eight Years of Marital Awesome

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

I forgot my eighth wedding anniversary. It was on Tuesday and I had no clue until my aunt texted me congratulations. Honestly, even if I had noticed the date, I’m not positive that I would have recognized its significance.

I’d blame it on sleep deprivation brought on by someone’s teethy sleeplessness, but I know that’s not the only reason. Instead, I know two other holidays eclipsed it in my mind: Father’s Day and Sprout’s first birthday. Sprout’s due date was the day after our anniversary. Instead, he arrived five days later, at 3 pm on Father’s Day. Preparing for these holidays, I bought Chris a Father’s Day gift, decided where we were going to eat brunch, ordered Sprout’s birthday gift and planned his birthday party. My mind was so occupied with making these new holidays special that our anniversary didn’t cross it at all.

Thankfully, Chris made up for my deficiency and wasn’t disappointed at my incompetence. I suspect he was a little thrilled that he was more on top of something than I was. While we usually go to a really fancy restaurant, neither of us made reservations and we still haven’t found a trusted babysitter anyway. Instead, we found a little Latin American place in an industrial looking part of town with amazing authentic food. I had the best chimichanga I’ve ever had and Chris had steak with tomatoes and onions. While we brought Sprout’s dinner, he also enjoyed beans and rice off of my plate, as well as a tortilla chip, even though he tried to eat it sideways. Rather than a place where people would look askance at bringing a baby, our waitress and fellow patrons were totally charmed by Sprout and his big blue eyes. It was a wonderful family dinner.

When we got home, I put Sprout to bed then and read the Interwebs for a while, like any other night. Chris kept asking when I’d be done, but I thought he just wanted me to watch Wil Wheaton’s new show with him (yes, we are uber-nerds). Instead, his supposed act of “putting the kettle on for tea” was a feint. He was actually pulling an adorable tiny ice cream cake out of the freezer! Who knew Ben & Jerry’s made 2-person cakes? He remembered me talking about wanting ice cream for the last week (damn you Ben & Jerry’s ads on the Metro) and ordered the cake the day before. Because it was too little to write “Anniversary,” it said, “Happy 8th” with a heart. He even bought me a card, something he hasn’t done in ages. I was terribly impressed with his thoughtfulness.

Overall, it was a really good day to celebrate a really good year together. Some moms say they resent their spouse after giving birth, but I (almost) never did. Chris has offered everything he has in the last year, always being there when I needed him, even when it involved puking, sleeplessness, or hospitals. He held my hand through all of labor and metaphorically hasn’t let go. We’ve supported each other, offering encouraging words when the other person has the “I suck” monster running loose in their head. We see each other more than we have in years and work to both carve out time to be with each other and be alone. He’s even gone on multiple bicycle rides with me, which is a major sacrifice for him. And we’ve both learned to trust ourselves and each other more than ever before, even when the situation seems helpless. I haven’t actually read his book (yet), but this quote from Jason Good is totally true: “When your co-parent says, ‘Come help me,’ what she or he really means is, ‘Please join me in suffering through this situation neither of us can control.'” As frustrating as the situation can be, for me, the key there is “together.” Because I can’t imagine doing this – the good and the bad – without my husband and would never, ever want to. I married Chris in part because I knew I wanted to experience all sorts of adventures with him and this is the ultimate one.

The Play’s the Thing

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Play is a curious thing. Before I was a parent, I would have never thought someone waving his arms randomly or shaking an object would be considered play. But after almost a year of playing with my baby, I have a much broader definition these days.

Playing “with” newborns is a bit of a stretch. Most of our non-feeding or sleeping activities with Sprout were limited to shaking things at him while he laid on his back. When you don’t have the motor control to reach for an object, the options are limited. Despite that, we tried to be creative. Even though we knew he couldn’t understand us, we made up songs and stories. We’d imagine personalities for his stuffed animals and have them talk to him. We’d read him books, even when it was obvious he wasn’t paying attention. I’d dance with him, cradling him in my arms and swaying to our collection of children’s music. In those early days, finding different activities entertained me and kept me sane, helping me feel like more than just a source of food.

With Sprout developing more strength, especially in his neck and back, we were able to play in a much more physical manner. We love playing “flying baby,” whether under our arms or above our heads. When I’m lying on the ground, he lies on my stomach, our faces nearly touching as we roll from side to side. My dancing has become much more varied, carrying him on my hip, waltzing or shimmying across the room with an occassional dip thrown in. We get the best laughs out of these activities, a high-pitched giggle that sounds a little like a cartoon character.

As Sprout’s mental capacity has developed so has his sense of humor, as rudimentary as it is. He no longer laughs just because we’re laughing; we have to work for our audience! Peek a boo became much more fun once he gained object permanence. Finger games like I Am Thumbkin started to make a lot more sense once he understood the idea of conversations. Recognizing when something differed from normal opened up a whole range of possibilities. I’ve greatly expanded my silly expressions and frequently resort to putting ridiculous things on my head. I especially like putting his monster or shark hooded towel on my head and making chomping noises right before I take him out of the tub.

Along with his physical and mental capacities, his ability to be engaged and proactive in playing grew. His first mode of play – and still a favorite one – was shaking things. If he could pick it up, it was bound to go in his mouth or the air. He also considers banging things totally awesome, as is knocking down or taking apart things, like my block towers. Once he got used to crawling forward, he started chasing objects. Now, his favorite toys are anything that he can scurry after, from a pullback train to four different large balls (squishy with tags, hollow with a rattle ball, mini beach ball and a bouncy ball).

Lately, the biggest leap has been Sprout’s ability to understand the idea of playing with other people. The first time it started to sink in was when he was just on the edge on crawling. One day, I got down on my stomach and mimicked his motions. When he hit the floor, I hit the floor; when he babbled, I babbled. After a while, he realized that what he was doing and what I was doing were related. He looked very intently at me, and then smiled. As we went on, he laughed and then inexplicably became upset. Obviously, I stopped, but do wonder what was so upsetting. More recently, he’s decided to play the classic toddler game of Dropping Things on the Floor For Mommy and Daddy to Pick Up. What’s particularly funny is that he doesn’t even look at what he’s dropping, as if we won’t see him drop it if he doesn’t see him dropping it. But Chris and I aren’t willing participants, so that game has a pretty short lifespan.

But the advance that really excited me was when Sprout really followed “rules” of a game for the first time a few weeks ago. All three of us were sitting on our living room floor and Sprout was playing with his new mini beach ball. He handed the ball to me, which is rare in and of itself. He thinks feeding us is hilarious, but doesn’t usually share his toys. Seeing an opportunity, I handed the ball to Chris, who then handed it back to Sprout. Who, much to my surprise, handed it back to me! We went around in a circle for about 15 to 20 rounds. Finally, Sprout either got bored or distracted and bounced the ball somewhere else. But I never knew I could be so impressed by such a simple game.

While all of this is fun, I can’t wait until Sprout starts playing imaginatively. I want to hear his stories and songs and puppet shows and everything inside that marvelous little head of his.

Out-Growing Mommy’s Favorite Things

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 6 Comments

We all hold certain childhood objects fondly in our memories, even if we no longer have them. But until I became a mommy, I didn’t understand the relationship between the parent and the child’s possessions. Lately, Sprout has grown out of a number of things that are my favorites. Even if we have another child who uses them, knowing that he will never use them again makes me a little sad.

Most recently, Sprout got too big for his whale baby bathtub. I had needed to switch him into the real bathtub for weeks. By the last bath, his legs were squashed to the point where he had no choice but to bend his knees. Depending on his position, either his legs or butt were on the slanted section, throwing him off balance. While I kept saying that he couldn’t switch because the bathtub desperately needed to be cleaned (which it did), at least part of it was that I was sad to move him out of the little tub. I remembered picking it out for our registry while pregnant, charmed by the marine mammal theme. (We also got the whale faucet cover.) I remembered his first bath, when I gingerly laid him on the padded section, worried he would slip and drown. He spent the whole time frowning, punctuated with occasional crying. I remember him learning to sit up in it and discovering the joy of splashing. And by the end, I remembered him nearly crawling out of it, pulling up to his knees. So now it’s at least temporarily retired, well-loved, with its padding pulled off and its sides scratched.

Sprout has also grown out of a huge amount of clothing, much of which I was fond of. The first one that I really missed was a onsie my sister-in-law gave us a few days before he was born. It has a picture of the earth and says, “Hi. I’m new here.” The thought of that phrase in my tiny baby’s imaginary voice was so sweet and hilarious. We planned to bring him home from the hospital in it, but it was way too big. Once it fit, I dressed him in it in often because it brought some light to those difficult early days. Although he swam in it at first, he grew into it quickly and then out of it just as fast. He was no longer all that “new here” anymore. It was probably the first thing I was sad to put in storage.

More recently, we had to retire the most awesome pajamas ever. Over the winter, he regularly wore fleece footie pajamas with rocket ships. They were the epitome of everything kids’ pajamas should be – warm, fuzzy, comfortable, a little retro, and fantastical. I actually Googled “women’s fleece rocket ship pajamas” to see if I could find similar, non-footie ones for myself. Unfortunately, they do not design the same pajamas for grown women as they do baby boys.

Packing up these items did help me better understand a conversation I had with my mom a few years ago. I was sorting through a number of things in my old bedroom at my parents’ house, deciding what I wanted to keep and what to get rid of. Having decided not to keep a set of ceramic bear figurines, I told my mom she could give them away. Much to my surprise, my mom got rather upset. To me, they were just some cutesy knick-knacks that had always been on a bookshelf and didn’t reflect my personality. But she struggled with the fact that they didn’t hold any nostalgic value for me because they had so much for her. She bought me one each year for my birthday, so they symbolized all those passing years watching me grow up. For her, they evoked the memories of all of those birthdays that for me as an adult, were hazy at best. The bears had much more tangible echoes of the past for her.

It’s funny how even the simplest things – a bathtub, a pair of pajamas, a ceramic bear – can have such meaning imbued in it when it’s your child’s. I know we have so far to go, with so many clothes and toys yet to be bought, used, and retired. But those earliest things of Sprout’s will always hold a special place in my heart.

Baby’s First Movie?

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

While I was proud of Chris’ handling of Sprout’s and his own illness last week for a number of reasons, I was particularly impressed that he didn’t pull out the big gun of baby entertainment: video. As much as Chris loves TV himself, he didn’t even think about it. Because video is so rarely part of Sprout’s life (except for regular FaceTime), the few times we’ve shared it with him were supposed to be particularly special. Unfortunately, they haven’t always gone as planned.

The first time Sprout really watched TV was during the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special. Both Chris and I are giant Who nerds and had specifically put down Sprout for his nap (in his TARDIS onsie!) just before the worldwide live simulcast began. Of course, he woke up from his nap early. Most of the episode was already over, so we stuck him on the couch next to us. I don’t think his eyes once left the TV. I hope to reintroduce him to the show in a few years, once he understands it better and isn’t so mindlessly mesmerized.

About a month ago, we decided to bring him to his first movie. We missed Frozen in the theater, but a local neighborhood was showing it as part of an outdoor film series. Chris and I both wanted to see it, with our shared love of animation and the glowing reviews from traditional and activist pop culture critics. We’re also visiting Disney World this summer, so I wanted to see it before being bombarded by Frozen merchandise. (Plus, Chris was only slightly obsessed with watching adaptations and mashups of “Let It Go.”) The outdoor venue was a perfect opportunity because if Sprout got upset, we could head out without disturbing anyone or losing any money. We found out about it weeks ahead of time, so we were really looking forward to it.

Because the movie started near Sprout’s bedtime, we went through his whole bedtime routine so we ready to put him to bed as soon as we got home. We even dressed him in his pajamas in case he fell asleep during the movie. (So cute!)

Once we got there, the lawn was filled with families, looking at a giant inflatable screen. They had some technical glitches, at first, with the operator switching the closed captioning back and forth. Just before 8 pm, they finally started the movie and the antsy children started paying attention.

Unfortunately, the sky had been growing darker and darker and not just because of the dusk. Clouds blanketed the sky and the wind started whipping the screen in and out. The characters and scenery were warped and obscured, despite the organizers trying to hold the screen still. Whether because it was hard to see or there were more interesting things to look at, Sprout didn’t seem that interested in the movie.

Then the inevitable happened – the sky opened, sending down rain. A minute or two later, the screen completely collapsed, falling on one of the handlers. We think they were trying to take it down on purpose – just not in the manner it happened. Fortunately, the guy seemed fine.

To the tune of complaints from preteen girls, we packed up our stuff and hustled back to the car. By the time we got home, the rain was torrential. After sprinting inside, we put Sprout right to bed. It was already a half-hour past his bedtime and watching it on our TV wouldn’t have the same excitement as the outdoor venue. Part of the whole experience was supposed to be his First Movie and our couch just wasn’t going to cut it.

Instead, we rented the movie through On Demand and watched it from the comfort of our living room with a snoozing baby in his crib. It was very good and I really enjoyed both the themes and plot. But as lovely as it was, I was a little disappointed that we couldn’t share a special experience with our little boy. It just means we have the opportunity to make it even grander next time. Perhaps we’ll catch something at the grand Uptown in D.C. or even the Frozen sing-a-long version they’re showing near us this summer!

Travels Without my Baby

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 7 Comments

I left my baby last week. I left him in his daddy’s very capable hands, but nonetheless left him overnight for the very first time. And of course, everything went to hell.

Normally, I travel about twice a year for work. I work with people all over the country, so it’s nice to connect in person once in a while. However, between my pregnancy and maternity leave, I hadn’t traveled since January 2013. So when my bosses suggested that I travel to a conference in California, I thought it was a good opportunity. I would have preferred being away for one night instead of five days, but that’s not how conferences work.

I did everything I could to prepare. I stocked up milk in the freezer, so Sprout would have plenty while I was gone. I looked up the nearest Starbucks with wifi so I could FaceTime in case I couldn’t get it at the conference center or hotel. I booked a 7 AM flight on Friday with a 4:45 AM hotel pickup to be home before his bedtime. I steeled myself for being away, kissed my baby goodbye, and got on the Metro to the airport.

The first day went very well for me. The hotel had free bike rentals, so I took one out and toodled around bike-friendly Long Beach, free of a trailer. (I also had the exciting experience of using a single speed bike with no hand brakes for the first time!) Later in the week, I took a bike down to the beach, where they have a multi-use trail split into separate lanes for bikes and pedestrians!

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Long Beach's bike and pedestrian path

Afterwards, I went to dinner with my co-worker at an adorable coffeeshop without needing to worry about how many literal spoons I needed to entertain Sprout. I strolled along the street without a concern, looking at all of the neat art along the way.

Wyland mural in Long Beach

I took note of the many vintage shops, local art stores, and boutiques I looked forward to visiting. I laid down in my hotel bed at 9 pm and slept until 6 am, for a glorious 9 hours of sleep. I felt a little guilty at how little I missed Sprout and Chris, but welcomed the rare freedom.

The only bad part was all of the pumping. Oh, pumping, the mother’s reward for trying to keep up breastfeeding. To keep up my milk supply, I needed to pump 5 to 6 times a day, including on the plane and at the conference center. As I thought it was more likely I would spill the milk, break my expensive pump, or expose way too much of myself standing in a bathroom than sitting in a non-conspicuous public spot, I went for the latter. I threw my nursing cover over me and intensely stared at my phone, hoping no one would bother me. It was particularly fun on my two flights to California, both of which I had the middle seat. Nothing to see here; just ignore this absurdly awkward lady attached to a small motor.

The second day started as well as the first, going on a pre-conference “field trip” to an alternative fuel station and going to a conference session. I even got to see my baby live over FaceTime, feeling like I was living in The Future. Chris had a challenging night, with Sprout wanting me instead of him, but we hoped things would calm down.

Instead, everything fell apart, at least for Chris. I was out to a late dinner when I noticed I had five missed phone calls and several texts from him, far past midnight Eastern time. The first message wasn’t exactly comforting: “He threw up. A lot. I don’t know what to do.” Of course, I called him even though there was little I could do to help. As I talked to Chris, I found out the story was even worse – Sprout had actually vomited multiple times. Fortunately, by that time, the pediatrician’s office had responded to Chris and said because Sprout didn’t have a fever, it was probably just a stomach bug. They advised Chris to feed him clear liquids and only to check back if the puking started back up. The next day was somewhat better, but Chris still had to deal with a cranky, sleep-deprived baby and the last of the bug clearing his system via diarrhea. Needless to say, I felt terrible that Chris had to handle this situation on his own. Besides the stress, it’s physically difficult to handle a squirmy sick baby by yourself. On the other hand, I was relieved that I didn’t have to handle it.

My conference continued on the rest of the week, as I fit FaceTiming with my family in-between attending sessions and staffing our booth. By Thursday, I really started to miss Chris and Sprout and was glad I was leaving the next day.

Everything seemed to settle down at home as well – until Friday morning. At 4 AM my time, I checked my phone and saw another dread-inducing text from Chris: “I’m sick.” He had caught Sprout’s stomach bug. Now I felt really guilty and wished without reservation that I was already home. When I was staying at home with Sprout, I had a nasty fever with serious dizziness and it terrified me. I told Chris to call on help if he needed it, but he said he was fine. Thankfully, he managed to survive until I arrived at the Metro station at 6 pm that evening.

When I finally did arrive home, Sprout had a surprisingly muted reaction. Picking him up for the first time, he kept looking at other things. Fortunately, that apathy changed the next morning, when he greeted me with a huge smile. Seeing me then was the real confirmation that I was home and wouldn’t be leaving again. He was quite attached to me the rest of the weekend. When he wanted to be picked up, I obliged of course. We had some nice bonding time on Saturday afternoon playing and listening to music when Chris took a mental break and got out of the house.

While the circumstances of me being gone were terrible, it really highlighted Chris’ abilities as a dad. I’m proud of how well he handled the situation and am so grateful to have him as my husband and father of my baby. He worried about getting me a Mother’s Day gift, but I told him that his caretaking last week was better than anything he could buy me.

A Tale of Two Day Trips

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

We’ve had a lot of visitors the last few weeks with my parents visiting two weeks ago and my in-laws visiting last weekend. While they both came to see Sprout, no one really wants to sit around the house the whole weekend. So we took some day trips: one to the National Zoo and one to the Maryland side of Great Falls. While both were good ideas in theory, they did teach us about the right – and wrong – ways to bring a baby on adventures.

My mom was very keen on bringing Sprout to the zoo for the first time. After the success of the aquarium trip, she justifiably thought he would enjoy seeing the animals.

Unfortunately, we totally botched the timing – we went on peak Cherry Blossom weekend, the height of tourist activity in D.C. On top of this annual surge was the massive interest in the baby panda born earlier this year. On top of all of this, it was also the first nice spring weekend, as we’ve had weather alternating between unseasonable cold and unpleasant rain most weekends. It added up to a big honking mess, with both us and the zoo being unprepared for the people swarming the place. Between the crowds and the poorly-designed map, it took more than an hour to get a very overpriced and under-flavored counter-service lunch. While my mom, Dylan and I sat on a bench and waited (and waited and waited), Chris and my dad walked almost half-mile looking for a food stand before ending up exactly where they started. Then, they waited 45 minutes in a line with absolutely no shade. To add insult to injury, every single vending machine was out of ice cream, soda and water and all of the water fountains were broken. As my mom doesn’t like crowds, Chris wilts in the sun, and I get cranky when I’m hungry, we were destined for disaster.

Even our baby’s beautiful smile couldn’t cheer us up much, because he wasn’t all that happy himself. When we were in the vaunted panda exhibit, he didn’t even seem to notice them, decided that he was really hungry and started crying. The elephants were too far away to make much of an impact of him – they could have been cars, for all that he could tell. Even in the gorilla house, he was far more interested in the little girl’s braids in front of him than the animal. Of all of the exotic species, his favorite part was the farm animals and even there he seemed more interested in the split wood fence than the cows or llamas.

In contrast, our trip to Great Falls went beautifully, although not without its hiccups. It certainly helped that the temperatures were cooler and the crowds less dense. We took the stroller along the C&O Canal, then a series of waterfall overlooks. Sprout seemed fascinated by the waterfalls, leaning forward in his stroller and watching them with real focus. The loud noise, expansive view and constant motion held his attention, even though he didn’t know what he was looking at. The only quirk in the trip was that I hadn’t learned from the weekend before and once again failed to bring any food or drink for the adults. And of course, the water fountains were also broken there. (What the heck, federal government?) We ended up eating at a nearby restaurant, but if we had planned and brought a picnic, we would have saved some money and possibly been able to go on the boat ride.

Thinking about these experiences, I think I’ve learned some lessons about going on trips with the baby:

1) Know your own limits and be flexible to accommodate them. If there are a bunch of different factors that don’t mesh well with your group – crowds, heat – just say no to that trip. I really should have known better than to go to the zoo on Cherry Blossom weekend.

2) Pick destinations based on what everyone wants to do, not just on what the baby might enjoy. What infants like or comprehend is really unpredictable. We thought Sprout would like the zoo because he liked the aquarium. But that’s thinking like an adult. While we thought he liked the animals, it’s more likely that liked the fish’s close-up quick movements and bright colors, which the zoo lacked. Even if it’s guaranteed to be baby-friendly, the kid might just be in a mood that day. At least if you pick something everyone has some interest in seeing, you’ll enjoy it even if the baby is apathetic.

3) Remember to pack for yourself, not just the baby. We packed a bunch of stuff for Sprout that we didn’t use, but we didn’t pack any food for the adults either trip.

4) Be aware of strollers’ limitations. The limits on where strollers can go wasn’t a big deal on either of these trips because the zoo houses that banned strollers were too crowded anyway. However, this has been really important in the past when we visited the aquarium and art museum, both of which didn’t allow them. In addition, strollers really limit kids’ ability to see. Sprout would have been able to see everything much better in both locations if we had the baby backpack. Instead, we had to keep taking him in and out of the stroller.

5) Be thoughtful about timing. We left for the zoo after Sprout’s morning nap and hoped we could get him to sleep in the stroller in the afternoon. As a result, we hit everything during the busiest, hottest part of the day. For the Great Falls trip, he refused to take a morning nap, so we left a lot earlier. In the future, I think we’ll be better off if we try to do the morning nap en route and get home for the afternoon one.

Of course, all of this could change tomorrow! But that’s the nature of parenthood, whether you set venturing out or staying at home – you learn what you can from the past and adjust on the fly as necessary.

The Day I Thought My Baby Had a Brain Tumor

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 12 Comments

The Day I Thought My Baby Had a Brain Tumor. When my son had uneven pupils, we went through a whole battery of tests to find out what might be the cause, including a MRI. (Photo: MRI scan of a brain)

My son has the most beautiful blue eyes in the world. But they aren’t quite flawless. In fact, they’re uneven; his pupils dilate to different sizes. I never noticed it until my husband pointed it out, but from then on it was obvious. While I still think they’re gorgeous, they caused one of the most stressful periods of my life as a mom.

Chris noticed the difference in Sprout’s eyes when he was about three months old. We were eating at a diner booth lit by an old-fashioned lamp. At first, we thought it was a trick of the light. Nonetheless, we agreed we should bring him to the doctor – just in case. Uneven pupils can indicate a concussion, right?

The First Round of Tests

The call to the nurse the next morning didn’t assuage our fears. They encouraged us to come in for an appointment right away. Clearly, this wasn’t a common issue. When we got to the pediatrician, he said that yes, Sprout’s eyes were uneven. With a  look of concern on his normally optimistic face, the doctor recommended making an appointment immediately with a pediatric ophthalmologist.

Chris and Sprout went to the specialist without me. I desperately wanted to go, but I couldn’t take time off right after returning from maternity leave. To dilate Sprout’s pupils, the doctor administered eye drops. If both pupils were the same size after the eye drops, there was no underlying problem. But if they were still different, he would need “more tests.” A dreaded phrase. His pupils still were off by several millimeters.  We were off to another specialist.

Part of the 15%?

The next stop was the Children’s National Medical Center in downtown Washington, D.C. After giving Sprout even stronger eye drops derived from the main component of cocaine, the specialist found his pupils were still different sizes.

On one hand, he said that 85 percent of kids with this result are fine. They just have an inborn quirk. But the other 15 percent? They have a brain tumor or something else dreadful pressing on the nerve leading to the eye.  85% usually isn’t bad odds. But any number feels like bad odds when you’re talking about your infant possibly having a brain tumor.

To find out for certain, Sprout would have to have an MRI. Because most MRIs require patients be perfectly still, they’re difficult for adults to do. They’re impossible for infants – unless you put them under anesthesia.

Even with national experts caring for him, the thought of anyone putting my baby under made me catch my breath. Not to mention the horrible possibilities of the potential MRI results.

All of it seemed horribly predestined. My pregnancy and his early babyhood had gone easily compared to the horror stories of people I knew. I felt like this was the other shoe dropping.

The earliest appointment was available in a month. For the first few weeks, I was fine; I simply refused to think about it. Every time the thought of the appointment wandered into my mind, I shoved it out.

But then, the Children’s National Medical Center started an ad campaign at the subway stop I walked through every day. My baby’s upcoming test struck me square in the face every morning. I flinched each time, averting my eyes. The ads were supposed to be comforting, but all I could think was, “He could be one of those kids. My baby could have cancer.”

Facing the MRI

This thought pounded through my mind the day of the appointment.

As we paced through the winding hallway from the security desk to the check-in to the MRI waiting area, I saw so many sick children. Children with scars on their heads, children in wheelchairs, children with bandages. And those were only the outward signs. The horror that raged through their little bodies was left up to the imagination.

I couldn’t help but think of Sprout here for his second, third, fourth, seemingly infinite treatment. As I looked at the parents, I saw a future version of myself. I’ve been in situations that others would find terrifying, but that hospital is the scariest place I’ve ever been.

In the waiting room, I bounced Sprout. I couldn’t stay still. Time slowed in a way that it hadn’t since I had been in labor. When they finally called us, the staff were calm and smiling without being excessively so. The nurse complemented us on using cloth diapers, saying how rarely she saw them. The anesthesiologist explained that they usually don’t allow parents to stay when they put the babies under.

We must have hid our anxiety well; they called us in a few minutes later. Sprout was restrained with the smallest Velcro straps. I held his tiny hand as they put the mask on. He squirmed and then fell still.

Chris and I waited in the cafeteria. We held food and hot tea in our shaking hands. We shifted back and forth in the sculpted plastic and metal seats. We talked about the hospital, about politics, about everything but the answer to “What if?”

When they called us back, Sprout was lying on a hospital bed. He was so still that I could hardly tell if he was breathing or not. I ached to hug him, but we had to wait for him to come out from under the anesthesia. I hadn’t fed him for hours, so my breasts were sore. As he started to stir, I started to breathe again. I picked him up and cradled him.

Hearing the News

The days waiting for the results dragged on and on. After a few days, the doctor called Chris directly, informing him that the MRI was clear. I was frustrated to hear the news second-hand – it would have felt more concrete to hear it straight from the doctor. Relief washed over me anyway.

We had our follow-up appointment and final report a few weeks ago. This time, the hospital wasn’t so threatening – it offered a potential confirmation of health, not illness. Everything checked out normally. The doctor said he was relieved that nothing had changed. In the report, he said Sprout is a “a delightful young man,” which I thought was an amusing way to describe a nine-month0old.

Now, I look into Sprout’s blue eyes and see an inquisitive baby looking back at me. But behind that beauty, there’s a lurking fear, a reminder of what might have been. Fortunately, I also know that the fear is no match for our love for him. I know even if he was sick, he and his eyes would still be beautiful. Because beauty and love always win out over fear.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the only struggle our family’s had. I talk about the complications with my second pregnancy over at the Good Mother Project. For hearing more about the joys and the struggles of our experiences as parents, be sure to follow us on Facebook. 

Of Board Books and Bibliophibians

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

Chris caught Sprout “reading” earlier this week. He obviously didn’t understand the words, but there he was on the floor of his bedroom, flipping through a book page by page. As a touch and feel book, he was running his fingers over the textured spots and even had it the right side up! Moments like this make me glad we haven’t abandoned physical books yet. As convenient as e-readers are, they don’t have the material presence of books, which is essential for a child to build an appreciation of them.

For one, e-books can never provide the tactile feedback of board books. You can’t allow babies to gnaw on the edges or turn the pages with drooly little fingers, even with the best covers. There’s no such thing as a touch and feel e-book, with furry and fuzzy patches that simulate the baby’s senses. Having a direct interaction with books, not just seeing them held at the parent’s arm length and out of reach, is important for a baby. It builds an inherant affection for books that they’ll carry throughout their lives. Many lovely e-picture books have sounds and animations, but those just aren’t the same, especially for infants.

E-books also don’t have the physical presence in the house that regular books do. While this is a huge advantage when you are traveling or facing a serious lack of shelf space (who, me?), you can never get the sense of being “surrounded by books” as you can with a good family library. It’s been shown that kids that see their parents reading regularly are much more likely to read themselves. I feel that having a physical library reinforces the self-image that “we are a family who values reading and books.” To quote Wondermark, I want Sprout to be a bibliophiban, to breathe books as he does air.

Relatedly, e-books also don’t allow a child to have a personal library, unless you purchase them their own tablet. Despite Amazon’s claim that an Kindle is a perfect Christmas gift for a one-year-old, I disagree. But with board and picture books, Sprout already has a whole bookshelf full of wonderful stories that he enjoys pulling off the shelf on a regular basis. Many of them carry special inscriptions in the front, reminding him of the fact that a gift of a book is a sign of love in our family. With electronic versions, it’s much harder to pass down beloved books. It’s simple to let a child read one, but it lacks the history of worn covers and bent pages that remind you that you were once their age.

I’m glad that in this day of electronic media – which I’m certainly prone to favoring myself – that there’s still a place for physical children’s books. I know reading to him on my lap, watching him turn the pages (even if it’s often backwards), has given me more appreciation for their simple charms.