Megan Stielstra's Blog

We've gotten all sorts of wonderful emails from people, asking about Caleb and checking up on us, and I'd like to thank you all.

Here are some FAQs:

Where’d his name come from?

Caleb is from Steinbeck. James is Christopher’s grandfather. Jobson is our name.

How’s he doing?

Awesome. Getting chubby (he better be. He eats like a champ, this kid, although sometimes it feels like I’m getting milk everywhere EXCEPT inside the baby). Last night (and I’m scared to write this ‘cause I might jinx it) he slept for FIVE STRAIGHT HOURS which, like, I can’t even explain the glory of that much uninterrupted sleep. As I type this, he’s chilling in this bouncy-baby-lounger seat. I set it on the floor, and bounce it with one foot while he checks out the apartment, and me, and the dog, and the air, and the plants, and the sky … all this new stuff. I’d kill a dragon to know what’s going on in his head as he takes everything in. Anyhow, this arrangement earns me an hour or so of writing time every now and again, unless he gets hungry, or poopy, or bored—whatever’s making him wig out at any given time.

For the record, this got a LOT easier as soon as I realized that sometimes he’s going to wig out for no reason at all, and instead of driving myself batshit trying to solve any and every possible problem—THE BABY IS COLD THE BABY IS HOT THE BABY IS TOO LOW TO THE GROUND HE WANTS TO FLY THE BABY HATES ME HE HATES CHICAGO HE HATES OXYGEN,—we ride it out. Sometimes, you just need a good cry.

Me AND Caleb.

How’s Christopher?

ME: I’ve been getting these emails from people asking how you are.
CHRISTOPHER: Tell them I’m doing great. Tell them I’m happy-thrilled to be a dad. Tell them I’m waiting for the weather to warm up so we can go on long walks to the lake and help Caleb with his first bicycle riding lesson.
ME: Shouldn’t he, like, be able to hold his head up on his own before you start talking bikes?
CHRISTOPHER: Don’t deter him.

How’s Mojo?

Wonderful. He loooves the baby. He stands guard at the bassinet. He wants nothing more than to lick Caleb, especially when he’s crying (he does the same thing when I’m crying, FYI). He is the greatest dog in the Universe and I want to give him bones and squirrels and people food under the table for all eternity to make up for the reduced attention he’s gotten as of late.

Since the weather is getting better (or, GOT better, past tense, ‘cause I read it’s going to be poopy again [I’m trying to clean up my vocabulary here, people, ‘cause we all know I’ve got a mouth like a sailor and I figure I have a year or so to forget certain words before my sweet darling son starts repeating whatever comes out of my mouth. While POOPY does not have the same weight as SHITTY, it’s a start. And, certainly, there’s been a lot of discussion in my house about poop as of late. “Did he poop? When did he poop? He POOPED!” are oft-uttered phrases. If Caleb was ready for his first word, it would be POOP for sure. Or maybe CALEBPLEASEGOTOTSLEEP. Or MOJO. Wouldn’t that be awesome? If his first word was MOJO? I should get on that.

Uhm, what were we talking about?

Oh yes, language] No, the weather’s getting bad) No, the weather’s getting better, so I put Caleb in the sling and we walk Mojo around the block. I am OVERWHELMINGLY proud of these walks. Funny, how taking my dog for a walk used to be the simplest of tasks: leash, plastic bag, let’s go. Now , it seems mountains must be moved to get out the front door. I have to DRESS MYSELF (‘cause who are we kidding, I’m lucky if I get out of my pajamas. Out of pajamas, face washed, bed made: if I can accomplish these three things in any given day, than I am successful indeed); get Caleb into the sling; get Caleb CALM in the sling; get Mojo’s leash on (bending over in the sling is sort of terrifying, and squatting after having an episiotomy is no joke, people. Happily, that’s healing nicely, and now I can get up and down with greater ease. Like, I REFILLED MOJO’S FOOD AND WATER BOWLS yesterday with Caleb in the sling, which involved squatting between floor and cabinets, and afterwards I looked around for applause. Or someone to give me a high five). I think he (the dog) knows I’m having a rough time of it, ‘cause he’ jumps on the couch and puts his front paws on the back cushion, thus bringing his neck level with my hands so I don’t have to reach down; time praising my dog and telling him he’s a genius for executing this couch manuevre to make my life easier, and sometimes tearing up a bit because he’s just so GOOD, and he loves me ALL THE TIME, and my baby only loves me SOMETIMES, it feels like; get into my coat; get down the stairs (we’re on a third-floor walk-up); and onto the street.

All this before we’ve even GONE ANYWHERE, let alone PICKED UP DOG POOP.

But, oh, getting outside is breathtakingly wonderful, and Caleb always conks out in that sling after fifteen minutes or so, and he’s such a little angel when he’s sleeping, curled up into my stomach, and having both hands free is a joy, and the dog is so happy to be out of the house—we just ooze joy, the three of us, when we’re outside. Even when it’s cold. Even when my pants fall down as I walk (‘cause, see, I still have that baby bump. This is one of the things they don’t tell you: you still look pregnant after having the baby for the first six weeks or so. There’s still a bump. Not as big as the nine-months bump thank Our Lord Jesus Christ, but big enough where you still need the Pregnant Pants instead of the Before Pregnant Pants, but—f’ing Catch-22— the Pregnant Pants are too big and they fall down. Which is fine in your living room, but not so fine walking down Lawrence Avenue towards the dog park).

For the record, I know all this gets easier. It takes practice, is all. It’s navigating an utterly new lifestyle, and we’re getting used to it.

So to answer the How’s Mojo question—he’s good, even better now that there’s sunshine.

I can say the same about myself.

What kind of music does Caleb like?

Christopher made the Caleb Mix: Juana Molina, Sigur Ros, Orba Squara, Iron and Wine, Ladysmith Black Mombaza. He falls asleep to that Brian Eno song, Music for Airports. Calm stuff.

Also, a neighbor gave us this musical seahorse development toy that makes ocean sounds and plays Bach. You’re supposed to have it near the crib and it’ll help put the kid to sleep. I’m not sure if it works for Caleb yet, but it sure the hell works on Christopher.

Also, I sing to him a lot (mostly so he knows where I am if I leave him in the bassinet or the bouncy chair, which you’ve got to do sometimes to, like, eat. Or go to the bathroom) and the songs that work best in calming him down—especially when sung repetitively in a very dark room—are My Little Buttercup, from the movie Three Amigos (?) and Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog (????).

Also, Christopher sings to him, too. A very spontaneous, inspired song called My Dad is Super-Great.

Have you had any Maker’s Mark yet?

HA.

No. Probably not going to do the bourbon while breastfeeding, but I’ve had some wine. My mom was here last week (Dear Mom Oh My God thank you for lifting the beaten shell that was my former self up off the floor and putting me back together) and on her last night she took the baby and pushed Christopher and I out the door. We went to this little French place in Bucktown and ate mussels and cheese and chicken and profiteroles and it was so good I thought I’d die. We ordered a half bottle of wine (the couple we used to be would kill two full bottles during a dinner like this, followed by cognac or Muscat or something) of which I drank half a glass and was TANKED. TANKED, people.

Gone is my tolerance, and it was an impressive thing, FYI. One that I worked hard over the years to cultivate, and while I have no doubt I can gain it back with diligence and fortitude, now is not the time for liquor. Not so much because of the breastfeeding (this is why god made pumps), but because the idea of willingly engaging in something that will make me MORE TIRED seems the greatest of all insanity.

So what products would you recommend now?

This question, I’m assuming, is in reaction to this post about STUFF, specifically what is necessary for a new baby. Which I didn’t know. ‘Cause I had no baby. But now I do, and while I don’t feel qualified to speak to babies in general I can certainly speak to THIS baby, because my life is currently devoted to his needs to the exclusion of all else. Including sleep. And personal hygiene.

note: my kid is five weeks old. I’m sure, were I making a list for an eight week old or a four month old or whatever, it’d be different.

1. Good Friends.

2. Lactation Consultant. This woman saved me. No joke.

3. Blankets. Cute outfits bedamned—our kid wears diapers and blankets. It saves time. There’s just. too. much. poop.

4. Sling. OHMYGOD I LOVE MY SLING. He falls asleep in the sling. I have my hands free in the sling. I can, like, brush my teeth. Change the laundry. Leave the house, go for a walk, buy a decaf latte, and, sometimes, write.

5. Chair. My kid likes to rock.

Do you get any writing done?

Sort of. A lot of journaling, for sure. I have about one tenth of the time I used to have, but I use it better ‘cause I respect it more. There’s no surfing the internet now, no dicking around—just getting to it because who knows how long I’ve got. It helps having shows in the future that I need to be prepped for (hint hint!).

Who does he look like, you or Christopher?

I’ll let you decide.

Caleb:

Christopher:

Me: