Confessions of a Germophobe

For a germophobe, having a baby is like being in the middle of a video game: perils all around and a strange, highly situation-specific thrill when you avoid them. Allison Clare has had two colds, and I know exactly how and where she got them . . . in both cases, other babies were coughing up a storm right by her, and manners prevented me from leaping in to interve with my own body, an umbrella, or a spray bottle of Lysol. I don't mind people holding her, but I do groan inwardly when visibly sick people want to hold her or touch her hands, often strangers who have just coughed into their own hands. She sucks on her fingers ALL THE TIME, so anything on them is definitely entering her system.

Somehow, I don't mind the dirt around our own house; I let her suck on toys that have fallen onto the floor after just giving them a cursory swipe on my own t-shirt or jeans, if that. But public germs are different, particularly in the Germophobe's House of Horrors, the public rest room.

I have never yet used a rest-room diaper changing table. I once gamely tried, but the whole "family restroom" reeked so awfully that I high-tailed it out of there, unable to imagine even putting the changing mat down on something quite so filthy--because then the mat would contaminate the whole bag when I put it back in! I changed her as discreetly as I could manage in the stroller (which reclines so I can lay her flat), in that little quiet hallway off the mall. Then I thought, "This is a solution." I hope I've never appalled anyone who's happened to see me doing it, but I do carry everything with me, from changing pad, diaper, wipes, and vinyl "wet" bag, to hand sanitizer for use after putting everything back into the diaper bag. I'll use the rest room to wash my hands afterward--I just can't lay her down onto the surface.

I can't bear the thought of what I'll do when she starts having to clamber up onto a public toilet. I may just have to keep her at home in a turret of some sort until she's tall enough and old enough to be instructed in the ways of avoiding all contact with surfaces.

Tummy Time

"Allison Clare . . . Allison Clare!"


"Gimme a smile, baby girl! Show me those teeth!"

Taking After Her Mother

She may be looking more and more like Sam every day, but Allison Clare demonstrated a certain loyalty to her maternal lineage this afternoon, when for the first time she wholeheartedly protested something beyond her own physical discomfort. What provoked her anxious cries? Someone tried to take Fluffy Chick and Friends away before she had reached its scintillating conclusion. A girl after my own heart:



This book is soooo good.

What? Did you need something?

Uh, I don't know how that spit-up got onto your shirt. Maybe it was the cat?

Okay, okay. You got me.

You're talking, but all I'm thinking about is what Fluffy Chick is doing right now.

Engrossed again.

In the second and fourth pictures, she looks so much like Sam that it's almost hard to tell which one is sitting in the high chair.

Old Man Humor

Toting Allison Clare around in public, I've noticed something: the elderly love babies. Everywhere we go, they crane their necks to see into the baby carrier and peer at Allison Clare. One day I walked down the grocery store aisle with her and passed one old lady, who shouted to her friend further down the way, "Francine, look out--don't miss this beautiful baby that's coming!" Another time, while checking out, a lady (not so old this time) said, "Your baby is so beautiful I think I might cry."

What's been especially surprising to me is how much old men love babies. At the grocery store (it's always the grocery store), old men practically follow us up and down the aisles, grinning. And they make old men jokes. "Doesn't that baby have a job?" Or as I push AC around in the cart: "Ya know--they passed a law. She's got to push you next time!" Guffawing, they slap their knees and shuffle off, their pants pulled endearingly up to their armpits.

Falling Far From the Tree

Tomorrow, I will re-enter a group I belonged to back in college, before it became cool: Mac users.

UPDATE: Oops--I didn't realize I had actually posted that sentence. I'm lucky it was even a complete sentence. I started writing and it was time to leave, so I thought I hit save, but accidentally hit post.

Anyway, my old Dell laptop, which my parents bought for me as a gift to celebrate passing my doctoral exams, has served me well (that is, with the assistance of a number of beleaguered souls in India). I wrote my dissertation on that laptop, carrying it back and forth to Davis Library at UNC on the S bus every day (ah, the S bus . . .); I conducted my job search on it and received the invitation for my on-campus interview here on it; I developed materials for about 30 courses, including 16 at my job here. It was with me just about every day from March of 2003 on.

But now it's time to think about a successor. My old computer is slow and doesn't really work with our fancy home network, which does things I don't quite understand the appeal of, like playing iTunes through the t.v. In thinking about what to buy, I had to confront the reality that at our house, the Windows operating system receives no technical support. Or rather, it receives only very grouchy technical support (those people in India were comparably very cooperative, if unintelligible) as my husband is a Mac professor--and that is in the deeply religious, zealous, even evangelical sense that the early Christians were "professors."

Thus, in the interest of marital harmony, I've assented to making the switch. I used a Mac in college, and when I say that was before it was cool, I don't mean I was ahead of the curve--I mean it wasn't cool at all when I did it, didn't even have a hint of future coolness. I'm not sure how I feel about switching to a brand that now has such a distinct identity. I am not sure I am cool enough for my new computer.

Peas and Cues

When she tasted her first smidgen of green peas, she looked at me as if to say: Mom! Worst milk ever! WHAT have you been eating?!"

Foodways

Going back to work has seriously limited my blogging time--how tragic. But I've learned that my mother-in-law checks in (Hi Brenda!), so I figure I owe her some baby updates . . .

Allison Clare tasted her first rice cereal while we were on vacation a few weeks ago, and she slurped it right up. So, a few days later, for her six-month birthday, we tried some string beans, which I had gotten at the farmer's market and pureed. She opened her mouth up eagerly, we slid the spoon in, and then--

The look on her face was first shock, then disgust, and finally violation. She gamely opened back up for several spoonfuls, but it was clear that each time, she was horrified to find more green beans on the spoon. I suspect that I didn't cook them long enough--they were still a little crisp, making them yummier for adults but probably too firm even when pureed, for those whose diets have been comprised almost entirely of milk.

So, our next food was sweet potatoes. These she likes better, and thankfully, her eating of solid foods has coincided with my return to work. Her solid food consumption lets Sam hold her off for an hour or two longer until I can get home on my two longer mornings (as I've mentioned before, I haven't been able to pump successfully for the last couple of months--no "let-down" reflex).

They are doing very well together; Sam has weathered a couple of diaper storms, and eagerly gives me his meteorological report when I get home. It's funny to see how many outfits Allison Clare has been through in a couple of hours between diaper emergencies and sweet potato explosions, and to know that Sam has manfully attempted to keep her clothed for my sake (he personally would rather let her hang out in a diaper and undershirt--and why not?--but does his best to dress her in actual clothes for my benefit I think).

And for me, the return to work has been fine. I get up with Allison Clare, then Sam is with her for 2 to 3 1/2 hours while I'm in class, and I take over for the afternoons, doing as much work as I can with her on my lap or nearby, or napping. And two days a week we have a babysitter for a few hours later in the day so that I can go to meetings and have office hours. At school, I have two really good classes, which makes me happy to be there, and as soon as I walk out, I'm buoyed by the knowledge that Sam and Allison Clare will be sitting on the front porch waiting for me when I arrive home. It's exhausting going back and forth twice a day on a very strict schedule as I do on some days, and when I get home at the end of the day, cooking and cleaning and lesson planning await, but if I can be very disciplined and super-organized, and if we don't have any crises, we may all just survive this semester!