KidKate

Dear Ellie

Dear Miss Eleanor Louise,

(Don't ask us why, but we seem to have changed your middle name from Frances to Louise. We have no intention of making this an official change but for some reason we started calling you that and we can't seem to stop. We even sing "Hey Louise" to you by Neil Diamond. Don't tell your grammy, though. Frances was her grandmother--your great-great-grandmother--and we were all really excited about bestowing her name on you. So for now that's just between you, me, your daddy--who incidentally thought your middle name was Kathryn, which is my middle name--and the Internet.)

My, I am a bit behind with this letter aren't I? At nearly nine months old, you are doing a spate of new things fast and furiously. You are sitting up by yourself, and when your naps are over I find you sitting cross-legged in your crib punching the buttons on your kick toy and looking pleased as punch; you have stood up in your crib twice; you are mere minutes away from crawling, which I wish would happen like YESTERDAY because you are so unbelievably frustrated that you can't figure out how to move forward; and you have even attempted to say the dog's name and Daddy's name a few times. They come out largely the same: "NAN-DE" for the dog (Mandy), and "DA-DE" for Daddy. You also have six seven teeth, with numbers seven, eight, nine, and ten just below the gumline. These new teeth mean you are biting and chewing food and looking so grown up picking food off your high chair and putting it directly into your mouth. You also want to help when I feed you--you guide the spoon and water cup into your mouth, then flush with pride at your accomplishment. It's been a busy nearly three months since I last wrote!

At your six-month pediatrician's appointment, your weight was down to the 50th percentile (and your head was up to the 50th percentile), while your height was past the 95th percentile, making you quite the little string bean. The comment I get most often about you by friends and strangers alike is how "delicate" you are (a nice word, I think, and interesting that so many different people use it to describe you), followed by how big and blue your eyes are (and how long your eyelashes are--all Daddy). I find the comments about your size a little amusing, as at six weeks you were in the 91st percentile for weight and you continue to inhale anything I put in front of you as well as nursing four times per day. Still, two weeks shy of your nine-month appointment, you are only a wee 16 pounds (and a very tall 28+ inches--I can't get you to sit still long enough to measure your height) and I am a bit concerned that they will want me to supplement breast milk with formula or some such thing. However, I am pretty sure you come by your height genetically, as my biological father is rumored to be six-foot-six, and your grammy Diane is five-foot-ten (tall for a woman). Her brother, you're great-uncle Dilly, is six-foot-seven. And if you are anything like your parents, your weight will catch up eventually.

Every three months or so, I still struggle with whether I should go back to work or not, and I am shocking myself by continuing to enjoy staying home with you so much. You are just a delight to be around, particularly as you play and grow, and I still feel just really lucky to get to hang out with you all day. I know Daddy feels the same way and is a bit envious of our time together. Don't tell him, but sometimes I feel like being home with you is like an extended vacation. But I hear that things change rapidly with mobility so check back with me in a month or two.

On the same note, I feel like while I'm home it's important to expose you to as many other children as possible, and recently we have been around the same babies and moms more and more. I love this not only for the social stimulation it provides me (and boy, do I need it!) but also because although you seem to be kind of a shy kid (much like your mother), you recognize the other moms and babies and greet them with huge grins each time you see them. Occasionally, you'll even let another mom hold you. This was one of the reasons I was interested in having you go to daycare a few times a week and although we haven't found a workable solution (the nanny we were sharing flaked out and part-time daycare is too expensive on one salary) we continue to go to playgroups on Fridays and meet up with other moms several times during the week. And this month I have joined the gym so that we can take you swimming and you can go to the daycare while I'm working out (we'll see how that goes--you will probably find me lounging in the hot tub instead!).

We are also expecting the birth of your cousin very, very soon, and I am hopeful that the two of you will be great friends. Since your dad and I moved away from New York a year and a half ago, we don't see as much of your aunt and uncle as we used to, and I like to think that getting the cousins together will be a good excuse to plan family outings between New York and Baltimore. I only hope that you don't end up wishing you were growing up in New York like your cousin is. Of course, that is always an option but for now we are firmly entrenched in Baltimore.

Someday you will want to know why after living in places like New York and London that we decided to raise you in Baltimore. And the answer to that is multi-faceted: We wanted to raise you in a city so that you could be exposed to all kinds of people and cultures, but we also wanted more space to live in and a car so that we could take long leisurely drives together out to the country together on the weekends. We could do those things in New York or London but not as easily, and if we ever decide to give you a sibling the lack of space would be increasingly difficult. And despite your being born there, London never really felt quite like home (though I do miss those lovely accents!). This became more clear after three of your grandparents had long waits to see you until after you arrived in the US. And then there was the fact that your dad's new job is based in Baltimore. He worries a lot about raising you here, actually. The schools aren't as good (yet--but they are getting there) and Baltimore still has more crime than New York. There was a (police) shooting on our street not long after we moved here and last night there was a fire in a row house across the street. And your dad's favorite show, The Wire, is based here (not exactly a ringing endorsement). However, I am loving it. I love that we're walking distance to the water, I love the eclectic row houses and stately old brick buildings, I love the edgy East Coast vibe mixed with the friendly Southern hospitality, I love that we are an easy train ride from New York and DC, and I love that we can walk everywhere we need to go in our neighborhood. I hope you will feel this way too.

In sum, my darling girl, life is good. And I can hardly imagine it getting any better. I feel so incredibly lucky to have you and your dad (and Simon and NAN-DE) in my life.

Love,
Mama

UPDATE: At your nine-month appointment, you are in the 25th percentile for weight and remain in the >95th percentile for height and 50th for head circumference. Still my little string bean but no cause to supplement.

At long last, London: The Verdict

Eh.

That is what I always think when I'm in London, from the very first time I ever visited, to when we lived there to now: "Eh." I know, I lack culture, but I apparently can't help it. When I'm in New York, I think LOVE LOVE LOVE LIGHTS PRETTY ENERGY COLOR LOVE LOVE but in London I'm just, eh. It's no shortcoming of London's but one of mine. The city just doesn't vibrate for me the way New York does. Of course, neither does Baltimore, or nearly anywhere else for that matter (maybe Paris?), but I digress...

The one thing I really miss about London is its people and of course, our lovely lovely friends (two of whom we stayed with, even allowing us to hijack their beautiful little girl's room, one I unfortunately missed seeing due to conflicting schedules but hope to catch up with Stateside [Hi, Kate!], and two old co-workers I met up with over lunch in Hammersmith). Incidentally, I have to say that while I did not have the "Oh yeah, I hate London" reaction I was not-so-secretly hoping for, I did think, as I was exiting the tube in Hammersmith and looking around the all-too familiar surroundings, "Oh, how I HATE HATE HATE Hammersmith." Of course, Hammersmith was the site of my old job and my miserable pregnant commute, so I suppose that is no surprise. Not that I didn't squeeze in a little shopping at the Mothercare there before fleeing its treacherous grasp.

I guess I can finally say that moving to Baltimore was the right decision for us. I know because 1) I did not dread coming back, 2) When people asked how I liked it, I said, "I really like it!" without pause. (It's always taken me a long time to profess my love to anybody or anything--if I remember correctly, I was second to say I love you to each of my two dogs and even to my daughter--so I expect that will come with time.)

As for Ellie, in spite of sprouting three new teeth on our trip and keeping all of us up most nights (Sorry, Mara!) I think she had a pretty good time visiting the place of her birth and her very first friend, who wasted no time getting the younger Ellie into serious trouble while her mother was in the other room:

Delinquents. No doubt hoodies are in their future.

Brave ... or stupid?

So, we're unexpectedly headed to London for a few days next week. This will be our first overseas trip since Ellie has been on a consistent schedule, though we've had a few domestic trial runs. (Houston was horrible, sleep-wise, which may have been due to teething; New York was great.) Also, we'll be traveling overnight, which I actually think will work out well since she sleeps best at night (nap times can be dicier) and particularly because international flights have the bassinet option for babies.

More importantly, though, other than being ecstatic about seeing a few friends while we're there, I'm hoping to get some closure about whether moving to Baltimore was the right decision. My secret hope is that I'll think, "Oh, yeah, I hate London" and be reminded why we moved back to the US. Living here is for sure easier--especially now that we have a car--and lord, so much cheaper, but I can't help but miss the Brits. The sense of permanency that we have back stateside is nicer (we were never going to be in London longer than five years) but I do wonder what it would have been like for Ellie to grow up in a culture that is just kinder, gentler, and more easy going in general (I say this as memories of me cursing various customer service offices conveniently fade...). I think my big regret is that I had planned to spend my generous maternity leave really exploring central London and getting to know it intimately, and now I will likely never have that chance. And though I did not like the job I had in London, it was nice knowing I had something to return to rather than floundering around here trying to find a new career. Trade-offs, I know. But I'm looking forward to seeing what this trip will reveal.

Scammed.

On my way home from Ellie's six-month pediatrician's visit this afternoon, I was stopped at a red light trying to air out my sweaty gas pedal foot when a man knocked on the window. Surprised out of my weird little reverie, I rolled the window down a crack.

"Don't be scared," he said. "I don't look homeless, right?" He was missing most of his teeth, so he in fact did look like he could be homeless, but who am I to judge? "Uh, no." I faltered. He thanked me for smiling (apparently nobody else he'd approached had) and told me that his car--he pointed to my right across the lanes of traffic--was broken down and he just needed four more dollars to get it fixed.

Stop right here. You know where this is going, right?

I've lived in Austin, New York, and London and heard versions of this story a million times: "My daughter is in the hospital and I need two--no, three--more dollars for cab fare," "Somebody stole my wallet and I just need 5 pounds to get something to eat." "I'm trying to get to Florida to see my family and I need ten more dollars for bus fare." Or my very favorite, in the 14th Street subway station in New York: "Can I have some money for Starbucks? $5 would do it."

I usually approach these situations by making a compromise with them. Listen, I'm no fool--I know they are  likely lying (except the Starbucks guy. Even if that was a lie, it was a good one)--and I know they approach me because I am (or look) young, am female, and it's true, I smile a lot. I'm an easy target. But what if they are telling the truth? What if their daughter really were in the hospital and my money would get them that much closer to where they need to be? Or let's face it, if they just really, really, need a beer or some other quick fix? What if I were in that situation and nobody believed me? So what I normally do is offer up a dollar, two at most. I consider this to be a fair deal--I can afford to part with the occasional dollar--and if they are lying, it's no skin off my teeth. Whatever the truth of their situation is, it's not easy having no money.

But today I let myself get taken advantage of.

"I just need $4. I can give you change for a five," he said. When I opened my wallet, he peered in through the window and saw my two 10-dollar bills and a one. "I only need eight," he said as I removed the $1 bill. "If you give me ten, I can give you $3 back." (I know, none of this was making any sense.) I was put on the spot, the light had changed to green, and I had the baby--grumpy from her vaccinations--in the back seat. I handed him the ten. "How can I get this money back to you?" he asked, handing me a pocketful of change that included two quarters, four dimes, and several pennies, including a Canadian penny. "Don't worry about it," I answered predictably, as he headed away from where his car was supposed to parked. An (I assume empty) laptop bag banged against his hip as he walked.

And I don't know why, but the whole interaction made me feel terrible. I am actually OK with being kind of gullible (or at least people assuming that I am)--I never want to be somebody who is rude or spiteful toward the homeless or anybody else when a simple "no, thank you" or "sorry, I don't have it" will do. One of the saddest things I saw in New York was a man carrying several large black trash bags worth of stuff and smelling of dirt riding the train during rush hour one morning. The only free seat in the entire car was the one next to him and person after person (including myself, although I had gotten on before the train was full and sat down across from him) raced to that seat and then, realizing who was sitting there, quickly veered away. For most the trip he appeared to be asleep and unaware of what was going on around him, but at one point he looked over just as a man in a suit made the same mistake all the previous riders had made. And the homeless man--an older guy, possibly somebody's grandfather--looked so very hurt by it that it makes me unbearably sad even thinking about it now. I spent the rest of the ride impotently wondering if I should go and sit beside him myself, but he had closed his eyes again and I never could work up the nerve.

But back to today's state of affairs. I think what depressed me so much about it is that dishonesty lay at the heart of the  transaction. It's not so much that I'm upset over being separated from my 10-dollar bill--though it does sting a little--but if I had called it for what it was and parted with $1 instead (all I had to say was "I'm sorry, $1 is all I can spare." I've said it countless times before), I would have felt like the playing field was closer to even. Instead I was left with a feeling like the man left thinking, "Ha! She bought it." It was unfair.

Part of what was different about today was that I was in a car. Other than the occasional forced window washing, all of my transactions with those asking for money have been on foot or on a train. The car somehow changed that dynamic, though I suppose next time I will be more prepared. Not that it's any of my business, but I do hope that the guy uses the $10 to buy a meal or something. But if he just needs a quick fix (whatever that fix may be), well, then that's his business as well. I continued home to my comfortable house with my beautiful, healthy infant daughter and was greeted by two dogs who probably eat more regularly (or at least get better dental care) than this man. Take that for what you will.

Scrapple

Wow. I haven't posted in a while. That's because we've been busy loading our stuff into storage, getting out of our lease, and moving back to England.

I kid. Although given this recent news (Hi, Mara!), it is tempting.

Actually, Ellie and I were in Houston paying respects to my old house and my hometown for one of the last times before my parents retire to New Mexico. I'm thrilled for my parents but selfishly very, very sad that Ellie won't have Texas roots.

Also, I have been preparing to host my first infant playgroup, which (gulp!) took place this afternoon. So much for me and all those SAHM types having nothing in common. I am now officially one of them. At least for now. And I am OK with that.

We think about 12 babies and moms came to the playgroup today. Do you have any idea how many babies that is? Well, for the level of noise it created, it could have easily been 100. Playgroup begins around 12 and ends promptly at 2 pm. The thing that always strikes me about this is that people sort of roll in noonish and by 1 pm things have reached a fever pitch. Babies are babbling or rolling over or pulling hair or staring into each other's faces at maximum output and then by 2 pm sharp they are either sleeping or crying and being ushered out by their moms in infant car seats. Ellie's never been one to sleep in my arms, so at this point she's usually got her thumb in her mouth and her head on my shoulder and is being startled awake over and over again. I get her into her crib and she absolutely crashes for two or three hours.

But the best part about playgroup today? It was noon and nobody had showed up yet. I was patting myself on the back because the food had been put out and the dogs had been put away, I had successfully showered, dressed myself and the baby, laid out blankets and toys for the wee ones and was completely ready. The first person to show up? My husband. He surprised me by taking a rare (read: only) long lunch and coming home to help me man the fort. He doesn't want to miss an instant of this child's life and I just love that. Every time I looked up during playgroup, he had a different baby in his arms. And the women liked having him around to help lug bulky strollers up and down our stoop. After I left, everybody told me what a great husband I have. I do. How did I get so lucky?

Christmas in Baltimore

OK, with all this talk of blood and guts and the recovery and all that, I am starting to bore even myself. So, let's focus more on the outcome of all that, shall we? I present Ellie and her first visit to Santa (adorable outfit from Hannah Andersson courtesy of my old boss in New York):

Getting ready...

Santa arrives by tug boat...

Chillin' on Santa's lap...

In other Baltimore news, there was a shooting last night on our street, and I am kind of a witness (but not really). I heard a pop, followed by sirens, and then a policewoman knocked on my door and asked what I'd heard. She took my name and oddly, birth date, but said they probably wouldn't contact me. Turns out a police officer shot a suspect who had just knocked over a Burger King. Classy.

Also: it snowed this morning! So Ellie has experienced her first shooting and her first snow within 12 hours of each other. Maybe I'll, er, leave the former out of the baby book...

So, we're moving to Baltimore.

I've started and stopped this post three times already.

In fact, we are already in Baltimore. Which means I should probably go ahead and change my tagline.

It's been hard to write about because well, one, I have a new baby at home and two, because we were in the process of moving overseas for the second time in a year with two dogs and said new baby, but also because  I was feeling very mixed about it. When the opportunity first presented itself, I just wanted to get through the labor and birth in London, but as the interview process dragged on, I became intoxicated with thoughts of Rowhouse! and Car! as we've always lived in approximately 500 extremely overpriced square feet and relied exclusively on public transportation.

Also, I hated my job and didn't want it hanging over my head during maternity leave. It's funny how that job colored everything about my experience in London and now that it's firmly in the past, I've been torturing myself wondering if we've done the right thing.

While Yan packed up our flat and got the dogs and himself into our rented rowhouse in Baltimore, I took the baby and headed for my parents' house in Houston. Though it was wonderful to see my parents--it was my dad's first time seeing the baby--being in hot, suburban, ugly Houston made me miss London intensely. I wondered in my head where the "lift" was in the airport (now that I wheel a person in a stroller around with me) and realized that I'd naturally go back to calling it an "elevator," which made me sad. Turning in my pounds for dollars for the last time made me all sentimental. Every time I said "bit" or "quite," I got pangs of missing England and its wonderful, colorful people.

The funny thing is that we had the chance to stay in London. Yan's job made him a pretty nice counter offer right around the time I was beginning to doubt whether we should leave, but we already had movers booked and a house lined up to rent and it just seemed too late to turn back the clock. And then Yan arrived in Baltimore and said the house wasn't at all what he thought and I got more and more panicked that we'd blown it, given up this wonderful once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live in London, given up a truly special gift we could give our daughter by living abroad, given up, of all things, the NHS. Yes, after having a wonderful birth experience, I admit that part of me wanted to stay in the UK for socialized medicine. (Although we used a private consultant and gave birth in a private wing of an NHS hospital, all of our aftercare was through the NHS.) I didn't even want to leave the doctor who delivered Ellie, even though we left just after my six-week postnatal check and I'd likely never see the man again anyway.

But then I arrived in Baltimore and I love the house, even if it is difficult to navigate a spiral staircase while breastfeeding a baby, and my good friend of nearly 10 years lives right next door (she found the house for us and even negotiated the rent, bless her) with her husband and two small children. And there are lots of coffee shops and restaurants and little boutiques and even a Whole Foods in walking distance, just like my neighborhoods in New York and London, and I am fine. I am still sad about leaving behind the friends I made in London (Hi, Mara! Hi, Kate!) and some of the lovely neighbors we had and women I met in my antenatal--excuse me--prenatal class, but we will see each other again.

Yan and I have always wanted to be able to live in a house in a city (as opposed to the suburbs) and now we finally can, even if it is a quirky house and not technically ours (we are waiting to buy until the market turns around and until we know if Yan's career change suits him) and even if that city is not New York. Even better, after seven years without a car--and 35 for Yan--we are now the proud owners of a Honda CR-V, which we will use to explore the countryside on weekends. Happily, Yan can walk to work and I can walk to most of the places I need to go, so we can live easily for now with one car.

There is one downside, though. Although I won't have to return to the job I hated in London, I do have to find myself a new career. While I am sort of panicked about this (I plan to give myself the length of maternity leave I had in London, six to nine months), I am also sort of thrilled by the prospect, as my old career, while satisfying and well-paid, was something I sort of fell into.

The world is our oyster, no?