From Mobile to Mobile, Part II

The other day when I went to pick up Reilly at daycare, Jenya—Reilly’s primary caregiver—said to her co-worker, “Alright, I’m outta here!” You see, there were four babies left, and since there is a 3:1 ratio in the Bunnies classroom, my arriving meant that one teacher was allowed to leave—Jenya. At the time, I found her attitude a little too jovial and slightly unprofessional. I mean, I was standing right there. Couldn’t she have said, “Another great day with the babies. I just can’t wait to get back tomorrow!”

Today, I spent my day chasing after Reilly. Reilly has healed from her virus and is rapidly making up for lost time. She spent the day crawling all over the apartment and pulling herself up on anything that was pull-up-able.

First, she inspected the exersaucer

then, she relieved the basket of its afghan

then she crawled into the kitchen

and got into her momma’s bag of clothes

and checked the ph levels in the soil of the houseplant

inspected the metal shelving

then crawled back to the living room, where she climbed the chair

and her dad.

Even my shoes were not spared the wrath of my mobile baby.

At the end of the day today when Shawn got home, I cracked a beer and said to myself, Yeehaw! Mom is home and I am officially off the clock! Then I thought of Jenya, who not only cares for Reilly, but two other children (directly) and six other children (indirectly).

And then I thought that maybe I should buy her a present.

Because she’s a saint.

Bounce Back Baby

It all started at 4:30 pm yesterday with a phone call from Joyce at the daycare center. “Hi Brian, I just wanted you to know that it seems that Reilly has a fever, and she is really cranky and unhappy.” My primary reaction to this message was annoyance. Since the daycare workers are not allowed to take the baby’s temperature, I had no way of knowing if “it seems Reilly has a fever” meant that her temperature was 100 degrees or 104 degrees. Since I always fear the worst, I ran out of work assuming that Reilly was suffering from a 104 degree fever.

Of course, just as I got down into the subway station the W train pulled away, so I had ten minutes to sit there and stew. I stood on the platform, watching a rat drink the water from the floor of the subway tracks, and thought about what drinking that water would do to me, and respected the rat for somehow evolving the ability to drink the dirtiest water in America.

When the W train finally came I hopped on, and after what felt like the slowest commute ever, made it to the City Hall stop. I then sped past all the slow walkers and sprinted against the flashing hand of two intersections to make it to FedKids in less than 20 minutes. The security guys must have seen the my-baby-has-a-fever look in my eye, because they let me go with only a cursory screening and without having to show my ID.

When I burst into the daycare room, Jenya (Reilly’s primary caregiver), was sitting in the rocking chair with Reilly all wrapped up in a pink blanket. As soon as I got Reilly into my arms, I knew that she had a high fever. I packed her up as quickly as I could and rushed out the door, then called Shawn on the way to apprise her of the situation. When I got to the subway station, the train was just pulling away.

#$%@^@^$*&#$#*@!

Another 30 minutes later we arrived home, stripped down the baby, and took her temperature. Rectally. Which she didn’t appreciate one bit. The verdict? 103.6 degrees. Imagine worried shadows invading Shawn’s face. See father gulping down lump in his throat while rushing for the baby Tylenol. Shawn started cuddling our very quiet and burning hot baby and asked me in the meantime to get a cool towel for her forehead.

One hour later, Reilly was back in action:

Week 37 Pictures

Week 37 pictures are up at the Smugmug site. Click here to view, or click the link on the sidebar at the right for the main photo page.

Here is your picture of the week:

Tastes great on chips

This week, Reilly graduated from baby food. This is not to say that we are giving up those little tiny and expensive jars of pureed goodness. We are simply supplementing her diet of Earth’s Best with some homemade numma-nummas.

We knew Reilly was ready to move on from jarred food when she gobbled up the one jar we were saving for last. We saved this jar for last because I have a policy of tasting all the foods we feed Reilly, and frankly, I didn’t want to go near this one. The flavor? Chicken and sweet potatoes. Now, were you to serve this to me at a restaurant, I’d eat it up, but in pureed form…not so much.

We started Reilly’s new food adventure with some Gerber puffed cereal. The book we’re using has suggested we try some finger foods so that Reilly can learn how to feed herself. She took to the process rather quickly, picking up the little stars:



Aiming them at her mouth:


And sticking them in:

Now, she didn’t digest every star. Some fell out of her mouth, and some she spit out, but at least she’s got the concept down.

The next day Shawn made Reilly some homemade baby food by combining avocado, banana, and oatmeal together, adding a little hot water, and serving. Reilly loved it, and greedily ate the whole bowl, which was approximately twice as much food as she has ever eaten before. Before you turn up your nose at this food combination, just imagine a sweet guacamole instead of a hot guacamole. It tasted great on a Triscuit.

Yesterday evening, Shawn made Reilly a combo of Kale and brown rice, which she cooked, cooled, and blended. She stored the mixture in the freezer in an ice cube tray. Today I popped out a kale cube, defrosted, mixed it with banana and oatmeal and served it up. The verdict:

and later, her best imitation of Popeye.


Best of all, it tasted great on corn chips.

In Penance

I remember several months ago, Shawn and I were walking through Babies R’ Us and discussing the best way to baby-proof the apartment. We considered this electrical outlet cover vs. that one, we looked at door gates, radiator screens, and guards for the corners of our coffee table. How much of this have we actually completed thus far? Zilch.

So, in penance for our procrastination, I offer this picture:

Yes, that is Reilly chomping on an electrical cord.

Yes, that is an exposed outlet in the background.

From the Archives: March 20, 2001 - Age 25

Bad storm last night. Ocala Street was so black, so dark and empty. Went to pick up Scott, Maura and Claire at the airport at 1:30am. His plane circled Tallahassee twice, but couldn’t land. They had to return to Atlanta. I was pissed because I knew none of this, and my selfish self wanted sleep and to blame it all on someone, when it was the weather’s fault, and one cannot blame Mother Nature—she will scream winds to block out our protests. So I slapped my hands across the Volvo dashboard like a child and we returned home to walk the dog in the howling rain.

Give in to the "F" word

Shawn has been breastfeeding Reilly since the day our wee lass was born (I’ve been using Irish-isms ever since St. Patrick’s Day yesterday. Forgive me.) For those who don’t know, this is no small feat. To breastfeed every day is to have a second job. It requires a level of commitment that I don’t even know if I have. You see, an average women’s body only provides as much milk as there is a demand for. So, when Shawn goes to work each day, she has to tote along her breast pump to ensure that she is fooling her body into thinking there is a baby latched onto her boob. This is where the commitment comes in. There is no, “Gee, I don’t really feel like pumping today.” It just takes a few of those choices, and the milk supply will begin to dry up.

The other problem is when the baby is actually able to eat more. It was a major crisis a few months ago when Reilly went up from a 5oz bottle to a 6oz bottle per feeding. Shawn was only producing 5oz per pumping session, so there was the problem of the additional ounce. It was a major victory for me to convince Shawn that the extra ounce could be made up with formula, rather than having to increase her pumping regimen.

The pumping regimen is really where the whole breastfeeding thing wipes away a mother’s dignity. Shawn is connected to that Medela breast pump like a Siamese twin. She should name the thing for all the time she spends with it. She pumps every few hours all day long, (about 40 minutes per day), unless she is feeding Reilly directly.

I don’t escape the curse of the breast pump either. My day is sprinkled with the “whee-whoo, whee-whoo” sound that emanates from the blasted machine.

Shawn calls me at work, “Hey, Bri, how’s it going?”
Me: “Good, busy today.”
Then I ask, “What are you doing?” even though I know she’s pumping, because I can hardly hear her over the phone with the “Whee-woo! Whee-woo!” droning away in the background. (I swear, in fifteen years or so, there will be a study that shows that mothers who used Medela hospital-grade breast pumps are more prone to hearing loss.)
Shawn: “Pumping.”

The worst part is that Shawn’s place of employment does not have any special rooms for breastfeeding mothers, so she has to do this activity, three times per workday, in—get this—the Janitor’s closet.

I’ve been encouraging Shawn to slow down, or give in to the “F” word (formula), but I think that only makes her want to keep on plugging. You all know Shawn doesn’t back down from a challenge, nor does she give in on her goals. Originally, she made a goal of breastfeeding Reilly for six months. At six months, she upped her goal to one year, and come hell or high water, she’s going to make it. In fact, Shawn has this obsessive desire not only to breastfeed Reilly for a year, but to create a Breastmilk Reserve in case the milk fairy comes and steals her milk in the middle of the night. The reason for the Reserve is actually a good one. Shawn used to have only a one-day backup supply of milk, so it used to stress her out to no end when I was home with the baby. She would call me throughout the day to get tabs on Reilly’s breast milk consumption so that she could determine how much she had to pump. As her reserve has increased, her anxiety has dropped, but the strain is catching up.

The thing about breastfeeding is that it essentially sucks the life (read: calories) out of you. The hardest part of my day is watching Shawn pump right before bed, her face drawn, her body slumped in exhaustion. I wish there was some way I could help her, but as you know, anatomy is working against me on that one.

And now, a one-word photo essay:

“Dedication”

Week 36 Pictures

I've posted the Week 36 pictures to the Smugmug site. You can click here to view them, or just click the link at the sidebar for the photo mainpage.

Just to get your appetite going, here is one sample of Miss Cuteness:

Photos anyone?

Hello all-

Due to the fact that someone (yours truly) recently paid for and had printed 180 pictures that he had previously printed a few weeks prior, the Overcast household finds itself in a glut of Reilly photographs.

Rather than let them continue to collect dust on our coffee table, I figured I'd ask my readers out there if you'd like a dozen or so Reilly photos.

Please post a comment to me below if you'd like a random selection of Reilly G. goodness sent directly to your doorstep.

To post a comment, please:

Click on the comment link in the white box below to get started.
When prompted for your identity, click in the "Other" circle.
Type your comment, enter your name in the "Name" box, and click the "Publish" button.

Wait patiently by your mailbox.

Reilly's first pull-up

Yesterday I was sitting with Reilly in her den, and together we played with her wooden stool that has her name engraved in big, colorful blocks.

Reilly likes to pull out the blocks and gnaw on them. She especially likes the letters “i” and “l,” which fit into her mouth the easiest. (Either that or they taste better. Who knows?) As Reilly finished tasting each block, she would throw the letter over her shoulder and start on the next. After she had scattered each letter of R-E-I-L-L-Y across her den, she then grew bored and started to whimper. Taking my cue, I put each letter back in its place and let Reilly begin her sampling all over again.

Later in the play session, after she had moved on to other toys, I watched as Reilly crawled back to her stool to get back to work. She started by putting each hand up on the ledge of the stool, and then slid her knees up underneath her. Then, much to my surprise, she flexed her legs and pulled herself up with very little effort.

Since Shawn was home with us yesterday, I yelled to her in the kitchen to come see what our daughter had done. When Shawn came in the room, I pulled Reilly away from her stool, and in moments she had repeated the feat. Shawn and I locked into that gosh-our-daughter-is-growing-up-before-our-eyes-look, and then Shawn snapped to her senses and grabbed the camera to get some photographic proof.

You can see how proud Reilly is of herself.

From Mobile to Mobile, Part I

It used to be that the only thing moving in Reilly’s crib was her mobile; various different shapes and colors spinning around to the tune of “Rock-a-bye baby.” Now, it is Reilly that is mobile.

Her den (a single blanket on the floor) no longer defines her play-space, as she has learned to roll over, pull, kick, soldier crawl, and sometimes even get up on her knees to explore what is on the coffee table, couch, or daddy’s chair. Her new abilities of self-propulsion have required an increased amount of attentiveness from her mother and father. Gone are the days of reading or typing on the computer while the baby played quietly in her den. Also gone is the option of shutting the door when Shawn or I go to the bathroom. The baby pees in front of us, and we pee in front of the baby.

Reilly has recently begun pulling herself up on different items—like her stool—but she is still cautious, and backs down when it comes to the moment for her to stand on her own. Still, she loves to hold my index fingers in each of her hands and stand before me, though more and more she is willing to just hold one finger. Her legs, once wobbly, are growing smart and balanced.

Shawn told me that when she was Orlando, she sat Reilly down in front of a mirrored closet and watched as she tried to pull herself up to standing using the “baby” in front of her, their hands meeting like small starfish, both mouths smiling from ear to ear.

Week 35 Pictures

Hello all-

Week 35 pictures are up. You can click on the site link at the right, or you can go here:

Week 35, Part I

or here:

Week 35, Part II

Who's your daddy?

Today I rode the subway out to JFK airport to “pick up” Shawn and Reilly. I met them at luggage carousel one in the JetBlue terminal, and as I walked up to my girls, I have to say I was a bit nervous.

This morning, I went to see my barber, Marko, at the Astor Barbershop. After he gave me my customary haircut, I asked him to shave off my beard. With spring coming around the corner here in The City (it was a high of 65 today), I decided that it was time to be rid of my scruff. After Marko shaved the beard off and I gave a look at myself in the mirror, I realized that I looked totally different without my beard, and that Reilly might not recognize me without it.

So, when I walked toward Shawn and Reilly this afternoon, my heart was palpitating a bit as I grew near. When I reached them, I kissed Shawn and looked at Reilly and she gave me a rather blank stare, as if to say Mom, why did you just kiss this guy?

Shawn then turned to Reilly and said, “Reilly, it’s your daddy!”

Reilly still looked at me skeptically.

Then I said, “Reilly, don’t you recognize me?”

With that comment, her face lit up. She might not have recognized me without my beard, but she did know my voice. She reached out from Shawn and touched my chin, the way she has so many times before, but there was nothing for her to tug on.

From the archives: March 9, 1988 - Age 12

Actually, I might—I say might—get straight A’s this grading period. I got a massively big scratch in my Swatch watch somehow. I still hate David B. He thinks he can run my life. This morning he told me to roll up my jeans. I said no that they fit perfect. It went on like that for awhile and I ended it with a cut-down.

A Desert(ed City Street) Mirage

In the absence of baby, a brief, only in New York story…

Last Saturday morning, as our driver cruised in the early morning light up 3rd Avenue, I saw an interesting sight. It was about six o’clock in the morning, so the only people on the street were those who have to work early on a weekend morning, and the typical undesirables. At a red light we stopped at, I watched as sanitation workers emptied the street trash cans into the back of their garbage truck. Two of the men at the truck were laughing and cheering on one of their comrades, who was racing across the street, trying to catch a fast-moving wiener dog.

At that moment, the light turned green, and as we drove closer to the chase, I watched with disgust as the man attempted to kick the little dog. He missed. A moment later my disgust turned to amusement, as I realized that it was not a dog he was kicking at, but rather a large sewer rat. As we drove past the man, I saw that he was smiling; his chest heaving from the sprint and the thrill of the chase. Were I a mind-reader, I’d surely have heard him thinking, “Almost got the little bastard!”

The problem of the baby

Shawn, Reilly, and I spent last weekend in Florida, warming our bones. The City has cold temperatures for six months per year (October through March), and here on the sixth and last month, Shawn and I were beginning to wear a little thin. Reilly, for her part, soldiers on through the cold, but that is only because she is too young to remember that warm July day that she was born on. That amnesia affects us adults too—after awhile in The City, one forgets that it can actually be warm, and one begins to despair that it will never be warm again.

Warming our bones was really a secondary reason for flying down home. The primary reason for our trip to Tampa was because Shawn has a conference in Orlando through the week, so to attach a long weekend so that we could see our friends and family was no problem. And see our friends and family we did. On Sunday, we had a picnic out at Millennium Park on a nice spring day—not a cloud in the sky—warm in the sun, cool in the shade.

It was fascinating to look at all of our friends at the picnic with their kids in tow and to fully realize that our demographic as a group has begun to change. As my good friend Aaron said, “Wow. You don’t see people for a couple of years, and all of a sudden there are kids all over the place.” It was a strange moment, because for the first time, I really felt like a parent. I mean, I know that Reilly is my daughter, and I am her dad, but standing out there on the grass, I saw that I now belonged to a new subset within the larger group.

On Monday, Shawn, Donna, Reilly and I packed up the Lincoln and drove off toward the airport. We fought a little traffic over the Howard Franklin Bridge, but arrived at TIA with plenty of time to drop me off. Yes, just me. The problem that Shawn and I encountered with this trip was with who would take Reilly. Would I take her, or would Shawn? Since Shawn is still breastfeeding, it made sense that she would take our baby girl, but then who would watch the baby when Shawn was in her conference meetings? The solution came in the form of Grandma Donna, who offered to nanny Reilly during the meetings. (I did explain to her that she was technically not a “nanny” in that nannies receive money in exchange for their services.)

Reader, I know you’re wondering if I miss them, and the simple answer is that I do. True, it is freeing to be alone, to worry only about myself, and to have complete control of my movements through my day. However, these small things pale in comparison to the absence that surrounds me. I miss my wife, my one true comfort in life. I miss Reilly’s smiling face (always smiling!). I miss the sounds of my little baby growing up, growling in her den. The house is quiet, and yes, I am lonely.

An Ode to Packing

I don't have much time to add an update before we fly off to Florida for the weekend, but I've updated Reilly's photo site with her Week 34 pictures. Hopefully that'll keep you all satisfied until I return on Tuesday...

For Reilly's newsest photos, click here to see our cute baby.

Who moved my baby?

On Tuesday, I was sitting at the computer while Reilly played behind me in her den. I would glance back from time to time to make sure she was okay, but typically she’ll let out a cry if she’s unhappy, so for the most part, I was typing along in peace. It was then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I looked down next to my chair, and there was Reilly.

“How did you get over here?” I asked.

Since she hasn’t yet learned how to answer me, I placed her back in the middle of her den, and watched her. She leaned over to her hands and knees, flopped to her stomach, and then slowly crawled all the way over to me. Just like that.

Now, if this was the crawl Olympics, Reilly wouldn’t have scored well on the technical side—her crawl resembled that elbows and knees shuffle that military trainees do underneath the barbed wire. As her dad, though, I’m not interested in judging her, so when she reached me I picked her up and swung her in the air in a congratulatory whoop and swoop.