Snugli Snafu

She told me he would get like this. She warned me. I didn't believe her. Now I believe her. Mom said that one day Theo would cry and freak out and it would take a lot to soothe him. Yeah, right. Every time I picked up Theo he went right to sleep. What was she talking about? Today I found out.

Today he was freaking out; meaning, crying and not stopping. I chose this very bad moment to try and put him into the new Snugli carrier I received in the mail last week. Surely being in the Snugli would calm him down!

I had been so excited to put him in the carrier and take him for a walk. I imagined it. I'd put him in, walk down to the Starbucks, perhaps the local bookstore, and return in 30 minutes or so. Passersby would stop and coo at my little charge, and compliment me on my slick carrier, complete with a herringbone pattern and racing stripe down the middle. "It's a Snugli" I would say. "Oh, I only know about the Baby Bjorn..." they would reply, and regret buying the ubiquitous blue carrier that everyone in our neighborhood had. I would walk away smugly with my Snugli.

But that's not what happened. Picture this: I put the Snugli on, and struggle with the fasteners. I think I've got the movements down (face plastic bar away from the baby, then slide up. Squeeze here, then unlatch here). I put Theo in the carrier and he starts crying. I'm trying to fasten the fasteners, but his little arm is in the way. He's turning red. I begin to sweat. I have 3 generations watching me: Aurora, Mom, and Grandma Spokane. GS tries to help, and Mom tries not to. Aurora pays no attention (thank goodness for the iPhone!). Theo cries and cries, and I finally slide, and click, and click again. I stand up and walk. He stops crying. I think about going outside. Theo feels me thinking about going outside, and starts crying again. When I move his little arm away from his chest and out of the arm hole, he cries harder. When I move his hood so it's not obstructing his face, he continues. Then he starts kicking his feet. I may not know jack about baby carriers, but I know when someone's not happy. Theo was not happy. I decide to take the blasted Snugli off and hold him the way he likes me to, with my arms that feel and smell like a person, not like plastic. I walk with him into his room to give everyone some peace and quiet.

But I can't take the carrier off by myself. I can't hold his head and unsnap the fastener with two hands, let alone one. I calmly walk back into the living room and say to GS, "Can you come here a minute?" She, professional nurse, mother of four, jumps right up and is at the ready. She helps me unlock Theo from his decorated torture device and holds him while I fan myself from sweating profusely. She teaches me the football hold, known in England as Tiger in a Tree. I copy the hold and walk back to the living room. Theo is as happy as...well, as happy as a tiger in a tree. All is calm. We would not be going outside this day.

Tomorrow I'm going to a baby store and I'm going to try on every carrier they have. The first one with latches that don't require a pit stop team, that's the one I'm getting. I just hope Theo likes it.

Conflicted about Conflict

My girl does not like conflict. When we're watching a show and someone gets in trouble, or the music changes and you know something bad is about to happen, she starts breathing heavy and covers her ears. I always talk her through it, and she comes out fine. In shows, there's always a happy ending.

Last Monday Boston got bombed. On Tuesday I prepared to take Aurora for an outing. We live close to Boston, and in fact I had been planning on taking her into Boston before the tragedy.

 I wanted to know what she knew, so, with her mom there, I asked her what she knew. She said, "You know. You know..." Her mom coached her and told me at the same time, that some bad guys were at the marathon and there was an explosion and some people got hurt. Aurora nodded. She did not want to say it herself. Why would she want to? 

When we got outside, she said, "I don't want to go downtown." I assured her we wouldn't, and I wondered when we would be able to. Just a few weeks ago I had taken her for a nice long walk a block from the area that is now a crime scene. I want to take her for a nice long walk again, ending up at the Public Garden, a beautiful space to run and play.

Yesterday, a week after the bombings, there was a moment of silence in Boston at 2:50 PM, the time when the first bomb went off. We were at the pool, getting ready for her swimming lesson at 3:00. A mom and child from Aurora's class, and Aurora and I had our own little moment of silence right there in the hallway next to the pool "for the good guys who helped." It felt really good.

One day I'll take Aurora downtown again. We'll make our own happy ending.

Nanny Barbie

There's this nanny who takes her kids to story time at the library. The first time I saw her, I wasn't sure if she was the mom or the nanny; she looked young, but I didn't want to make any assumptions (the average new mom in my town is about 38).

The next time I saw her, she told me she was the nanny. This young woman appears to be between the ages of 20 and 23. She's American. She has highlighted blond hair done up in a high ponytail, and a trim little body. She is naturally beautiful, but she adds just a touch of makeup so that her beauty is enhanced. Her outfits look like they come from Ann Taylor, without stains, spit up, or stray threads. She looks like a Barbie doll. She's not a Barbie, however, because I've talked to her, so I know she's a real person. She's not from Boston, though, I can tell. Maybe from the south, but without the accent. I'll ask her where she's from next time I see her.

Nanny Barbie takes care of not one, not two, but three children! The first time I saw her, she only had one, a little boy of about three. Next time she had a baby with her, 4 months old. The baby sat quietly during story time, cooing and drinking from a bottle, not making any noise at all. The third time I saw Nanny Barbie, she had an older girl with her, about five years old. She spoke nicely to each child, asked the older one to help the younger one with the art project, all while holding the angel baby and smiling radiantly. Perhaps I should call her Stepford Nanny.

Me? I'm a nanny too. I'll be 45 this month, but look 35 (just don't look at my grey roots). I don't wear makeup, and it's a good thing, because I was just diagnosed with chronic hives, so now I have to buy all new products that have no perfumes, dyes, or attractiveness in them. I have a slight muffin top that I cleverly hide with cardigan sweaters. I wear jeans every day; they may have stains of marker, chocolate, or just plain old dirt on them at any given time. My clothes come from wherever I bought them five years ago, or from friends. I do not look like a Barbie doll. Maybe Barbie's much shorter cousin.

I take care of a girl who just turned 4 and 3/4, and her 2 1/2 week old brother. My girl sits quietly during story time and loud in the library cafe. She cheers me on when we're running late for swimming. Yesterday at the Boston University campus where she takes swimming lessons, I was pushing her stroller very quickly. She belted out, "GO Alex, GO Alex!" like one would chant on the dance floor. We laugh, wrestle in the library coat room, and belt out Sunday school tunes on the T. I'm still learning how to take care of The Brother, but today I wore him in the Baby Bjorn, changed his poopy diaper, swaddled him, and put him to sleep by shushing loudly in his ear.

Nanny Barbie ain't got nothing on me.