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And what a skip, hop, and a jump that was…

We’re back from Rome, which was as great as ever. Ditto for Emelyn, who hit the Italians with a shock-and-awe charm offensive so big it deserved State Department funding. (I’m sure Emmie would’ve toned down the maximum-wattage cuteness if she’d realized that nearly every Italian man, woman, and child seemed to think she was our darling boy. The multitudes kept stopping in their tracks to say “Ciao Bello!” to her - not quite the same as “Ciao Bella”.)

Anyhow, it was a fine time, and thanks to a few years’ worth of Starwood Points, the whole affair was a mighty luxurious free ride, to boot. We stayed on Via Veneto, in a hotel that was palatial in style and scale. Emelyn, for her part, quickly discovered she had more space to crawl around than she does at home, and promptly went nuts venturing from the bathroom to the bedroom and back again.

The clear highlight of the trip from her perspective was the hotel’s bathroom scale, which she joyously clambered on every two minutes. A bit obsessive, perhaps, but still a better fixation than her very first object of desire, namely, the cable that dangled from the plasma TV screen. She’s her dad’s daughter, for sure - Emelyn started pulling and yanking on that bit of high-priced technology about 30 seconds after we first entered the room - but Azure and I quickly jerry-rigged a Grand Barricade that kept her from the electrics.

We didn’t spend the entire time in the hotel, of course — we pushed across most of the Centro Storico in our five days there. For Azure and I, the trip was prioritized solely along culinary lines, and we hit pretty much every target on our list. I’m proud to report that Emelyn’s first pasta was from Da Tonino’s (the staff there not only recognized us, but gave me the kiss-kiss) and her first bite of pizza was equally proper, coming from Pizzeria Da Baffeto. Nuthin’ but the best for my girl.

Food and caffe aside, it was a surprisingly mellow trip. Azure and I both went to bed at 8pm or so every night, since Em’s crib blocked the door - no in and out privileges for either parent. The Easter holiday also meant that a lot of the city was closed. We spent Easter Sunday lunching and lounging in the Villa Borghese with some friends who run a hostel in Rome, and wound up splurging on room service later that night, as every restaurant outside the hotel was shut down or full up. (Pity the Starwood points didn’t cover that doozy of a bill.)

Sleeping in is never an option, anymore, but in Rome the mornings were still infinitely more civil than the workweek here. The most treasured part of my day was rolling out of bed, grabbing Emelyn, and heading down the block to a Bar for a morning cappuccino. (It was also a chance to learn just how fast Emelyn’s become — she swiped my very first cappuccino in Rome right off the bar, and sent the full cup clattering to the floor. But that also taught me how carrying a baby is like wearing a VIP pass in Italy; the staff were ludicrously gracious about the whole affair.)

What else? We squeezed in multiple visits to the saints — San Eustachio for coffee, San Crispino for gelato. Never went shopping, really, except for a brief look inside La Cicogna near the Spanish Steps, where we saw a Burberry dress for infants being hawked for a mere 275 Euro. (Not Emelyn’s size, I’m afraid.) Managed to visit Lo Zozzone for sandwiches made on top of pizza bianca right out of the oven, and ate deep-fried zucchini flowers at an Hostaria in the Jewish ghetto. Can’t complain.

That’s all I have to tell. Though I should add one note, for the record: Getting there and back was not half the fun. Emelyn had sniffles and a cough for most of the trip, and the plane ride there was hard. Going back was worse - first, poverina vomited in the taxi, then Azure and I aged a few years as we almost missed the plane. Once aboard, Emelyn pretty much screamed at any point when she wasn’t read the ‘Are You My Mother?’ book. She definitely won the Worst Baby On The Plane Award going home; not much else I can say except that she’s one for superlatives. (Plus, she’s got a very good excuse - since Rome, she seems to have picked up a secondary infection that has left her totally miserable, now.) Overall, the travelling bit was a far cry from our last trip stateside, where Emelyn behaved so very nicely that our kind neighbors on the plane actually sent Emmie a pair of booties from New Zealand a few weeks afterwards. But that’s a story unto itself…

Must. Stay. Focused.

That’s my mantra, this week — I’m multitasking more than ever. (7 product launches in 8 countries in 4 weeks, gah!). Making things worse (or better, just depends when you ask) is the fact that Azure, Emelyn, and I plan to punch out on Wednesday evening and head to Rome for a long Easter weekend. I can’t believe how much we’re all looking forward to this - 5 full days as a family sounds pretty unreal, right now.

Plus, it’s Rome, of all places. I’m clutching plenty of joy in my life, these days, but Rome remains an unrequited love, and leaving the place still pangs me more than I ought admit. As to how that crumbling, congested wreck of a city ever managed to shift the orbit of my life so many degrees, I have no idea. Nor do I know just how long we’ll keep circling it, from afar.

Course, it’s all different this time ‘round. Azure and I know the Centro Storico like the backs of our hands; either of us could plot you a course across the city that minimizes distance travelled while maximizing gelaterias en-route; knowledge like that dies hard.

Thing is, we’ve never done it with a stroller. (And nevermind a baby.) It’s not going to be easy. Hell, the thought of merely crossing the street in Rome just struck fear deep into my heart.

The trick, you see, to asserting pedestrian rights in Italy is to conspicuously not look towards oncoming traffic. Should you foolishly glance at a car barreling towards you, and they see you see them, man, there’s no way they’re slowing down. (They know you’re not that dumb.) No, in Italy, what you’ve got to do is to boldly and confidently step out into the middle of the road, and in a manner that indicates you are either (A) suicidal or (B) lack any peripheral vision whatsoever. In this case, drivers will slam on their brakes, afraid they might dent their cinquecento, and you’re golden. (An easy way to visualize all this is to harken back to the Indiana Jones movie where he blindly steps onto the invisible bridge - it’s exactly the same sort of ‘leap of faith’ pose you need for stepping off the curb.)

So I’m supposed to do that with a Bugaboo? Talk about raising the ante.

Then, of course, there’s the whole eating-and-drinking thing. Let’s be frank, shall we — Azure and I are not planning on visiting many museums and churches over Easter - this trip is all about precision-targeted raids at Pizzeria Da Baffeto’s, Pizzeria ai Marmi, Café San Eustachio, Gelateria di San Crispino, Da Tonino’s et cetera. They say the Italians love i bambini, but I don’t recall seeing a lot of high chairs and sippy cups in any of these spots. I can happily say that Emelyn remains pretty well-behaved in public, but still, we’re going to have to make a lot of judgement calls on whether or not our presence at a restaurant is, erm, appropriate.

Roma, ci vediamo subito. In the meantime, I should get back to work…

One of the crazier curveballs that parenting has thrown at me, so far, is that it keeps getting progressively more fun. I’m mixing baseball metaphors, I know, but it’s a whole different ballgame now that Emelyn will crawl half-ways across the house to sit at my feet. Newborns are lovely (I’m already a tad nostalgic), but in the last few weeks Emelyn has become an absolute hoot to be with. She’s good company.

This was a good weekend. It was just the regular rigamarole for the most part (helllooo Grafton Centre), though the three of us had some bonus fun spec’cing out backpacks. The weather is finally turning, here, so we’ve been debating whether to buy one of those child-carrier packs for our jaunts around Cambridgeshire and our upcoming Easter in Rome.

Emelyn’s reaction at being hoisted up for the first time was actually a pretty good one - her little head bobbled in almost every direction, just trying to take it all in. That said, she started whimpering a few minutes later. Suppose it was a lot to deal with, all at once. Anyhow, we tried a few more packs later on and she seemed to enjoy ‘em thoroughly. Guy at the store said most kids flat-out wail the first time they’re strapped into a pack - bet that’ll kill a sale.

Other than that, well, there’s not much to say. The Daily Grind is, once again, on a ‘coarse’ setting, but hey, Friday is already one day closer than it was yesterday…

Okeydoke, here’s some more footage from the videocamera, since the Nikon is busted:

A fast edit for a fast baby — here’s another crawling video:

Another 9:15 haul out of King’s Cross, I’m afraid, though I played hooky for a bit this morning - took the 8:45 in, and spent my early morning with Em. Very well worth it, as she decided to crawl about the living room, in a patently-undeniable-this-time-round manner. Crawling, for real. Still a hint of the elbow-shuffling ‘commando’ style to her movement, I’ll admit - but it was nevertheless honest-to-God hands-and-knees crawling, from point A to point B. I don’t know what other adjective I can use to make the point, here, other than ‘veritable’, maybe. So, yes, it was veritable crawling in Cambridge today, and we’ve got video, below.

Emelyn was 8 months, yesterday. That seems absolutely ridiculous to me, now. We all hear certain phrases ad naseum our whole childhoods, with “They grow up so fast, don’t they?” being one trope I’ve always loathed, and yet here I am, suddenly horrified at the blatant truthfulness therein. Because, honestly, it seems only yesterday that I was plunking British Pound coins into the Kenco™ coffee machine at the Rosie Maternity; now Em is suddenly 8 months old, crawling dangerously towards the fireplace, and I find my own self clutching a free-sample-size can of “Pepsi Max coffee Cino - low-calorie coffee-flavoured soft drink” and riding a commuter train out of London. Mon Dieu! Where does all the time go, anyways? (And why do I keep accepting these awful drink samples?)

Anyhow, as much as I could praise the beauty and joy of The Kid for hours, I figure it’s more fun to leave with a description of something shudderingly annoying. In this case, it’s teeth grinding. Sure, Emmie’s only got about 4.2 teeth, but she’s become literally obsessed with grinding the bottom two against her still-erupting front teeth. To me, the noise is worse than scratching one’s fingernails on a chalkboard - it’s improbably loud, and horrifyingly grating. And then she’ll up and do it again, not three seconds later.

Without exaggerating, I’d guess Emelyn does this about 10-15 times an hour - I can only presume it feels good, since she’s teething - but hoo boy, it gives you the willies. Can’t wait for this little trend to stop. EEEEE?

This week has been an awful one, work-wise, coming right on the heels of us choosing not to move to London. Ironic only in the Alannis Morissette sense.

It’s launch week on a new site that was supposed to go live, like, two weeks ago. Azure’s therefore put up with late nights and lousy conversation for five straight days and then, come Friday, I pop off and have a round with co-workers on St. Paddy’s.

Not a mortal sin, or anything, but then I miss train, to boot.

So it wasn’t until 9:30 that I pulled out of King’s Cross. That also meant dining at the station’s disreputable Burger King on a night that Az cooked a great dinner. Clichéd salary-man tale if I’ve ever heard one, no?

Emmie’s been about as helpful as myself, lately. Of course, three of her four front teeth just broke through her gums, so she has a good excuse for her terrible mood. As a result of which she’s also been making this non-stop EEEEEEEEEEEE noise all day long. I only deal with 30 minutes or so of it before I’m out the door in the mornings; Azure on the other hand, is getting 40-hours-a-week worth. Yikes.

Anyhow. There’s a million-and-one ways anything and everything could be worse, so I’ll leave with a silver lining: I stayed at home late this morning, so I could see a bit of Em. I was trying to do whatever I could to stop her aforementioned whine, so I started a little waltz, holding her hand in mine; Blue Danube and then some. She loved it. Az came and watched, and Emmie just kept smiling, and for a brief, spinning moment, it was Friday morning in Paradise.

As a kid, I loved reading books that talked about sweets. Desserts and treats always make a memorable appearance in good children’s literature, or at least, they do in every book I regard as good.

Nobody, of course, is better at this than the Brits. English stories always featured some dessert I’d never heard of, which sounded so good and exotic that I never quite knew if it was real, or utterly fantastical.

Narnia, for example, had Turkish Delight. Dickens rambled on about flaming Christmas Pudding in A Christmas Carol, which I adored. I know a few books that mentioned treacle, which always sounded good, though I had no idea what it was. Tolkien wrote a whole story about a baker’s quest to make the world’s finest ‘fairy-cake’. And nevermind Roald Dahl - Fox and Badger’s stores of fizzy cider, plus the scrum-dilly-umptious universe of Mr. Wonka & co.

It’s still going on. I bet half of J.K. Rowling’s global success is due to the inclusion of Bertie Botts All-flavour Beans and frothing mugs of butterbeer in every Harry Potter book. Who wouldn’t want a taste?

Now that I actually live in the UK, I obviously go bonkers when I come across one of these fine-sounding treats. I have to have it. Like on Sunday - Azure, Emmie, and I went out for tea to Auntie’s. Azure ordered Lady Grey and apple pie, but I had “Hot Ginger Bread drizzled with warm maple syrup, topped with whipped cream”. Never heard of such a thing, but boy, it seemed straight out of the storybooks.

It was awesome.

Emelyn also dined out at Auntie’s, having some carrot-zucchini-butternut-squash puree. I’m tickled to report that she was perfectly behaved. One old Englishman went so far as to wander over to our table, pause, and say, “Well she certainly doesn’t shout much”, with a nod of approval.

I caught Emelyn’s cold over the weekend. So yesterday I spent the day at home. I’m actually pleased about the whole thing, now, because Emelyn managed her first crawl yesterday, and I was around for it.

As you’d imagine, Azure and I began hoopin’ and hollerin’ in the heat of the moment. She crawled! She crawled! Having since watched the instant-replay footage on our videocamera, I’ll now grudgingly admit it wasn’t the most spectacular display of infant mobility ever seen. Let’s just say that Emelyn’s short program was decidedly cautious, forgoing the triple-axel jump and the lutz for the time being. Still, she did propel herself a good 16-18 inches from her starting position, clearly using both her arms and her legs. You couldn’t exactly categorize her motions as a roll, pivot, or push. So I’d call it a crawl. (Tiny detail: she can only do this going backwards. But that counts, right? Kind of?)

Yesterday it snowed on me as I cycled to the train station, and the fields I pass in the train were all covered in white. Didn’t last, of course. Looking out the windows today, it’s almost hard to tell it’s winter, save for the smoke rising from passing chimneys.

Here is what our mornings are like.

Emelyn starts her day with a DVD (not really - she always spends a half-hour in our bed, first, getting fed and changed and pawing at our faces). But most days, while I’m running in circles trying to get ready, Azure spins a few minutes of Baby Bach while she quickly prepares breakfast for Emmie and herself.

It’s too sweet a scene to leave: Emelyn’s in her pajamas, still, wearing her tiny fleece vest and sitting upright on the living room floor. The boppy pillow is behind her. There’s a toy in her hand, of course - lately it’s been the birdie from her ‘Are You My Mother?’ book. And, yeah, she’s watching TV with absolutely huge eyes. Today when I left, the screen was showing a closeup of a lava lamp, with some sonata playing in the background. She loves it.

I never get out the door without saying ‘bye’. Emmie shoots me this “Where do you think you’re going?” look. So I wave, and she grins back. Azure walks out from the kitchen stirring baby’s breakfast.

And then I’m on my bike, going to the train station.

Emelyn’s got a proper nursery now, and I’ve got a wrenched back. Both resulted from moving Emelyn’s fully-assembled wooden crib outside our master bedroom, half-ways down the stairs, up over the banister, a tad into the bathroom, a flip over and under, and then into the guest room. Mind you, ours is a little English terrace house, so the distance travelled was only twelve feet, but my, what a twisty, turny twelve-foot journey thatwas.

Course, if you really get down to it, the real reason I’m suddenly strutting around with this inflexible, zombie-like gait isn’t because we moved her crib, it’s because we didn’t take the crib apart, first. Now that’s a quintessential Azure-and-Jason execution, if I ever saw such a thing: after all, why waste 10 minutes dis-assembling a crib when you can spend 90 minutes lifting it over your head? (And then dis-assembling it to get it through the very last door.)

Anyhow. Emelyn, for her part, is doing just dandy in her new digs. She’s sleeping much better, especially when we first put her down in the evening. In retrospect, there was probably way too much street noise in our front bedroom, where her crib used to be; things can get briefly riotous when the pub down the street lets out.

Not a ton of other news to report. Mobility is the other big change with Emmie, I suppose. She’s not crawling, yet, but she definitely understands the roll-to-where-you-want-to-be tactic. This necessitated the recent purchase of a Graco pack-n-play for our living room; I’m now fully confident that there will not be a single piece of adult furniture left in our house a year from today. In fact, I might as well trade in this Thinkpad for a Leapfrog Learning Laptop, right now…

Emelyn got a super-cute dinnerware set with Moomin characters from some friends in Tokyo, a gift which arrived here just in time for her first taste of ‘solid’ food (apart from rice cereal, if that counts). She found the taste somewhat surprising, I think.

See for yourself:

I know I promised a video about Em eating sweet potato, but here’s a clip about a rattle, instead…

Hi!

Weekends go by fast. I’m still not sure how this one is over, already; last I checked it had barely started.

At least we made it out briefly on both days, an accomplishment which, considering the cold, was no small feat. The highlight Saturday was a quick visit to see 5-day-old Sofia, another MBA-year baby, and a particularly cute one, at that. Emmie’s not heavy, obviously, but newborn Sofia just seemed so very light.

On Sunday, we pushed out a little farther, to the other side of town (through Midsummer Commons, past Jesus Green, and over the Cam) for a birthday get-together at Jan and Elsje’s. Emelyn’s wee friend Tabitha was also present — and Emmie actually squealed with delight upon seeing her. (Az and Em saw Tabitha again today, but I’m told that Emelyn hardly seemed interested, and was instead completely preoccupied with Tabitha’s Marmite sandwiches. Go figure.)

All my other equally-gripping tales from Babydom revolve around sweet potatoes - baking them, pureeing them and serving them to Emmie. Rather than narrate at length, I suppose I should just point to this video.

And there you have it. Happy Monday evening, and to all a good night!

Hi there. I feel like it’s been a long, long time since I wrote one of these entries on the train ride home. At the same time, Christmas in California seems almost equally far away.

We’re all slowly getting back into the swing of things here. Emmie’s had a tough time of it - it’s hard to say if it’s just jet lag or something more (like upper teeth coming in), but she’s simply refusing to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time.

The big bummer for me is that Emelyn’s been eating solid foods the whole week, and I have yet to witness it. (Well, I fed her her first spoons of rice cereal in LA, but that doesn’t count.) Emelyn’s moved on to super-mashed-up bananas now, and even if I haven’t personally witnessed her eating them, I can at least attest that her diapers have suddenly taken on a zesty tropical ambience which I can only describe as ‘unwelcome’.