A Soliloquy on Solids

For the first few months, an infant lives in a world that is almost completely liquid, much like Kevin Costner in Waterworld, but without the muss and fuss of those pesky, psychotic oil pirates.

From intake to output, including the middle stages of spit up and drool, it seems babies are merely surfing the wave of development. The books even refer to such things as “fluid” sleeping and eating patterns.

Thus, it is the new parents’ job to take the baby to higher ground; to make the baby solid. We eagerly await the opportunity to feed her solid food, hoping that will help in getting her to sleep for an unbroken period during the night. We play with her, trying to solidify our bond.

It would appear that our entire function at this point is to drain away her liquid lifestyle and move her safely towards a solid world.

That being the case, we thought it might make sense to take a look at what the word solid actually means. It turns out that there are more than 13 definitions for solid , ranging from a three-dimensional object to being of one substance and character throughout.

The word comes from the Middle English solide, in turn from Latin solidus; akin to Greek holos, whole. Since Penny’s full name, Penelope, is of Greek origin, we suppose this means that it is our job to make her solid, to make her a whole person. Of all the thirteen definitions for solid, the one that probably makes the most sense as we aid in Penny’s development, whether we’re talking about solid food, a solid sleeping schedule, or a solid relationship, should be:

4 : (adj) of good substantial quality or kind.

In lieu of a poll this week we propose a new feature, the New Parent Blog Call for Comments! Post a comment about your favorite infant feeding experience. If you remember your own first experience with cereal, we’ll all be amazed.

On Parenting

The martial minded among you will recognize the reference in the title of this post to Clausewitz’s On War, a classic treatise on military strategy. This posting follows in this strain, since it is time to confess to what most new parents probably keep to themselves – that these first few months are kind of like a war, the parents versus the infant...in reality, a war of the parents versus themselves. In keeping with the point of this blog, perhaps a look at ourselves can lead to some revelations about all (apologies to Montaigne).

You see, we spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to get Penny to do what we’d like her to do: maybe if we feed her more, she’ll sleep more, and so on. We find ourselves looking for the right philosophy. Since we’ve entered into a social contract with Penny, shouldn’t she be bound by the same rules that govern our behavior?

Or maybe, we should accept her curveballs with grace, supposing that all of our actions, both hers and ours, contribute to the greater good. But then, having submitted to the idea that we’re all in it together, shouldn’t we be able to choose whatever regimen we want?

Maybe we’re overthinking things a bit, a common trait of the new parent. Maybe we should leave the cave and go out into the sunshine. Maybe we should just bag all these fancy philosophies and go with the one proven to work: let it be, let it be.

Pounds, Pet, Pounds

So…we made a serious new parent mistake this week. There’s really no excusing this one. It was just plain dumb. We even feel a little embarrassed exposing our egregious error in cyberspace. We really don't know what to say.

We believe, as many of our fellow new parents have confirmed, that Pampers are the best diapers. They cost more…they cost more because they hold more. No, the longstanding diaper making company did not pay us to endorse their brand, but perhaps if we provide a link to their website….

We tried a couple of other brands but quickly discovered that Pampers provide the best leak protection, which when you’re debating in the middle of the night whether to change the baby’s diaper and risk bringing the baby back to full consciousness, is a serious benefit. The Pampers also fit her little legs most snuggly, preventing many soiled outfits.

Just about a month ago, Penny saw her pediatrician and weighed in at a healthy 12 pounds. Now being the attentive and dutiful parents that we are, we had bulk purchased 166 size one diapers about the same time as said pediatrician appointment, figuring that at her average of one to two pound per month gain, she’d use up the bulk pack just in time for her to switch to size two.

So imagine our surprise, about a week later when we started to experience more nighttime diaper leaks…soiled outfits during the day. How could our beloved Pampers fail us!?

Of course, all of you out there who remember diaper size parameters are saying to yourself, silly parents, you forgot to check the pounds carefully. Well, we had, but somehow, the parameter of size one, 8-12 pounds, had changed to size one, 8-14 pounds in our heads.

Well, Penny is much drier now, and our friends with the newborn who live up the street are 58 Pampers the richer.

On another note, following the resumption of standard time, we reset the clocks on our walls. We reset our alarm clocks. We even reset the clock in the car. If anyone can tell us how to reset an infant’s internal clock, please let us know.

How many films are referenced in this posting?
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	Two
	Thrice is the number
	Four
	Five
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Have you heard this one?

How many adults does it take to assemble an exersaucer? How many new parents do you need to put together a baby bathtub?

Too bad it’s not really a joke. This is no laughing matter.

We’ve covered batteries and touched on the ubiquitous tiny screws, but now we must bemoan the assembly instructions required for Penny’s accessories.

A little background: we are accustomed to lengthy instructions and the headaches that accompany self-assembled items and do-it-yourself projects. After all, half of our furniture and all of our bookshelves came from Ikea, for goodness sakes! The instructions for our eight-foot tall computer cabinet had 44 steps and took us seven hours to assemble (full disclosure – we had to disassemble it once during the process due to an inverted shelf. Stupid upside down instruction manual…).

We renovated our entire kitchen with professional assistance only from the electrician, plumber and floor refinisher. The kitchen cabinets came in 85 flat boxes and required total assembly, down to measuring and drilling holes for the drawer pulls and cabinet knobs.

So, on a recent, pleasant Sunday afternoon, why did it take three adults 90 minutes to assemble one exersaucer? Perhaps it’s the copious quantity of plastic pieces? Rarely do the instructions come with an inventory list: were we supposed to have one plastic monkey or two?

Maybe it’s the lack of detailed instructions when you need them—such as in assembling the adjustable footing—and too much detail when you don’t. This is a direct quotation, honest to God:

“ALWAYS remove baby from ExerSaucer before folding.” Thanks for the tip.


We could have used such clarity for an earlier instruction:

“Lift tray C up so that upper leg assembly D is hanging from tray. Place the large spring E on the cross center guide F on the upper leg assembly. Place spring cap G over spring E. Compress spring with spring dome until spring cap meets the tray C.”

Got all that?

And why should you need both a flat head and a Phillips head screwdriver, not to mention an electron microscope to see the nano-screws, to assemble a baby bathtub. Perhaps bathing little Penny in our new kitchen sink will do just fine. After all, even though it came from Ikea, no assembly was required.