harry the dirty dog & no roses for harry

One of the things I truly love about the books from my childhood is that they came from even earlier childhoods, so their illustrations and references are from another age. In "Waggles," the women wore hats, for instance, and everyone shopped at locally-owned Department Stores.

The "Harry" series is similar, both in plot and in cultural references. Written in 1956 and 1958 respectively, "Harry the Dirty Dog" and "No Roses for Harry" follow the misadventures of a lovable hound, but Harry is a dog who has a home with a perfect little American family, whereas Waggles was a vagabond.

We are introduced to Harry in "Harry the Dirty Dog." I will let it slide that I believe a comma would be appropriate in the title. Harry's adventure begins with a theft related to his dislike of bathing. He believes that if he steals the scrub brush, he will not have to have a bath. Once he has buried the offending item, he runs away.

Harry does not seem to be possessed of much logic or the ability to think through a plan, two things one would hope to find in a protagonist.

Harry plays at construction sites, rail yards, more construction sites, and coal chutes, turning from a white dog with black spots into a black dog with white spots. It is only when he is tired and hungry that he turns toward home.

Arriving at home, he finds that his hapless humans do not recognize him, thinking he is a stray. One has to wonder if they are merely playing stupid to teach their dog a lesson. One hopes this is the case, or one would have to wonder how Father holds down a job in the city, which he clearly does based on his suit and fedora.

It is only after he digs up the scrub brush and convinces them to bathe him that they see that it is their very own dog, returned to them. He is very happy to be home, but does not seem to have learned his lesson as he has again stolen the scrub brush.

I sense a sequel in the works.

And indeed, there are more Harry books, though I am only in possession of one: "No Roses for Harry," a tale of unlikely knitting.

In this story, Harry is given a birthday present from Grandma: a homemade sweater with roses on it. Clearly, Grandma is an accomplished knitter, and she spent some time on this creation. Harry does not like it because of the flowers. One can only assume that he finds it to be a bit sissy. When he wears it out, the dogs and people point and laugh (and bark). He tries to lose the sweater in the Department Store, but people keep giving it back to him. Why the children took it off him and let him carry it is beyond me. A convenient plot device, I suspect, but not very believable.

When he finds a loose stitch, he pulls at it. A watching bird eventually swoops down and picks up the loose yarn, flying away and unraveling the entire sweater.

I am willing to give the author this. I suppose it is possible that a bird could unravel a whole sweater from one loose thread if the bird was at least medium sized and the sweater was knit in one piece, which it appears this sweater could have been. I am not, however, willing to concede that grandma knitted this sweater from one long piece of self-rose-ing yarn. Nor am I willing to buy it that the bird then made the yarn into a nest that miraculously had the same roses on it as Harry's sweater.

It's a nice idea, and it makes for a clever story if one does not think about it too deeply, but, much like conservative talk radio, but it falls apart under the slightest scrutiny.

I won't give away the surprise ending, but I will hint that it is related to canine fashion.

All in all, however, the "Harry" books are enjoyable. The illustrations are skillful and charming, even though the humans have dead, black shark eyes. In these books, we see things from other eras like the aforementioned hats, Department Stores with everything right down to "flower departments," and steam locomotives. I will be tracking down the other "Harry" books to add to my collection.

"Harry the Dirty Dog" and "No Roses for Harry" by Gene Zion
Pictures by Margaret Bloy Graham

T.V.

Ever since "Friends" went off the air, I have not committed myself to any other weekly serial. Except for "Medium." I tried to get involved with "Grey's Anatomy," but I just could not hang on for the whole season last year.

Friends keep telling me how great different shows are, and I smile and nod. Now, through the magic of the public library system and its torrid relationship with my maternity leave, I am experiencing the joys of "House, M.D.," the American "Office," and catching up on the "Grey's Anatomy" I missed. All without the commercials, and all in one huge loading dose.

Oh, and "Heroes." The first season.

My reviews?

I love "House." He's a bastard. The kind of bastard I wish I could be, sometimes. He says things that go through my head, things I wish I could say but never would because, well, you really shouldn't. It's how I felt about Karen on "Will and Grace." There's something attractive about people who don't care what they say, who don't care what people think of them. Of course, those people would be irritating and hurtful in real life, but on screen, they make me salivate with envy. In short, "House, M.D." is a refreshing take on a medical show. Part mystery, part drama, part black comedy.

"Grey's Anatomy" is transfixing because the main character is so messed up and infuriating. At the same time that you are rooting for her, you are wanting to strangle her with her own hair for being so obtuse when it comes to her own inner workings. Their medical stories are often interesting and new, and the show does not have the same sort of "train wreck" aspect that began bog down "E.R." after George Clooney left.

Maybe it's just that George Clooney left.

"Heroes" was good. I liked the comic book aspect of it, even though trite comic-book dialogue does not translate as well when actual mouths are speaking it out loud. The season both wrapped up its story and left you hanging, which I rather resented. It did not leave me hanging in an "oooo, I wonder what happens next" manner, it left me hanging in a "groan, come on" manner. I am not sure if I will bother with the second season.

The American "Office" is, of course, different from the original UK series, and I think they should be evaluated on their own merits. The UK series is embarrassingly cringe-worthy, and makes you laugh because you are uncomfortable. The US series is often flat out funny, though the characters are also embarrassing. They just don't remind me as much of my own tendencies, which is the part that makes me squirmy in the UK version.

I had to have a baby to catch up on TV. It's not something I was planning. In sum, all TV would be better with George Clooney, as would almost anything. Hugh Laurie does a great American accent, with only a few slips here and there, and his character is a brilliant bastard. Meredith Grey is annoying but oddly loveable. Steve Carrell is one of the funniest men on the planet. So is Ricky Gervais. And don't judge a cheerleader by her sweater.

P.S. I also watch "America's Next Top Model," but I don't like to bring a lot of attention to that habit.

First Blood

One thing I was looking forward to in Post-partum Land was not having my period for perhaps a year or more because I am breastfeeding so frequently. What an awesome thought: twelve months without bleeding.

Silly me.

I got my period last week for the first time, just four months after Finn was born.

"Your body loves to ovulate," our pediatrician said.

Great.
My body is just fast. Six month pregnancy, fast metabolizer, Ovulate Now!
Let's get going on all the girly stuff!

Honestly, at 38, and after this experience, I am not sure that I will be getting pregnant again. One of the risks for preterm labor is a previous preterm delivery. Another is pregnancy over age 35. Those are the only two risk factors I have. Before Finn was born, I had one: my age. Other than that, I did every thing I was supposed to do. Even beyond the normal "don't drink, don't smoke, eat well" advice, I was careful. I have long made my own cleaning products, keeping toxic chemicals out of the house. I purged my make up of phthalates and parabens before I even became pregnant. Not only did I eat well, we eat organic and local whenever possible, I avoided fish, deli meats and soft cheeses, I took my prenatal vitamins... were I to become pregnant again, there is nothing I would change.

OK, I would try to make it to yoga more often.

There's nothing, it seems, that I could have done to avoid preterm labor, and there's probably nothing I could do in the future.

For me, I sometimes feel it would be irresponsible to get pregnant again, knowing that I have an increased risk of the same outcome. I would not want to put another baby through that, I would not want to put Finn through that, our family, or even the system through that. Finn is an awesome baby, we are madly in love with him, and we are wildly impressed with his progress, but we don't need another preemie. We were lucky with Finn. Even given his prematurity, he was pretty healthy. He had no systems issues, and his care was relatively straight forward. I could not count on that happening a second time.

We have no plans for another child at this point, of course. Finn is brand sparkling new, and we are enjoying our time with him. It's hard to imagine adding another member of the family. There are many things to think about when it comes to that kind of decision. Ovulating Again adds another level to my relative lack of grown-up desire. A reproductive accident in Finn's first year would be an especially bad idea.

Wakey Baby

If Finn is awake, he is making noise.
This morning:

baby science

I am not talking about a ridiculous series of DVD's designed to turn your baby into a genius, I am talking about what babies do to the grown up humans around them.

Time and Space change. The very physical laws of the universe seem to bend.

Time
1 a: the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues : duration b: a nonspatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from past through present to future

I did not post to my blog for nine days. I have emails from over a month ago that are sitting unanswered. I can't tell you if it's Monday or Saturday. October 1 or September 13. There is not real division between night and day, aside from the darkness. When the clock starts to roll around to 10 pm, all I can think is that I have to go to bed, whether I want to or not, and another "day" has passed during which I had almost no non-baby time. Saturdays and Sundays are different because Pete is home, and he does not have to get up at a set time in the morning. But that's about it. It's been almost two months since Finn came home. That's almost unbelievable. Time has flown.

Gravity
3 a (1): the gravitational attraction of the mass of the earth, the moon, or a planet for bodies at or near its surface

Usually, one thinks of gravity as a big object attracting smaller objects, which then revolve around the larger object. Babies are the reverse. You have this very small creature in the center with anywhere from one to four adults, sometimes more, drifting (or flurrying) around it in different trajectories. Infants are White Hot Need wrapped in Uncontrollable Cuteness, and they pull us in. They have to in order to survive.

It's hard to imagine these shifts before you have a baby. You can't imagine being attached to something in such a visceral way. It seems impossible that layers of your life could just fall away into oblivion when you hold your son. Even when I am on the couch for hours, and I think I can't stand one more minute, that little face is the most mesmerizing thing in the world.

He needs me. I need him. I love him. He will love me. We're a fresh little family with so much to do. Lots of baby physics, baby chemistry, and baby biology ahead of us.

Intimacy

Pete wanted us to all get into bed together last night. We've been sleeping in shifts in separate rooms for the most part, and it's become a routine that seems to work. Usually around ten o'clock or so, after Finn has consumed his vitamin bottle, he falls asleep and will sleep until around 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. Pete takes him, and they sleep in the guestroom until the boy wakes up; Pete brings him into our room, and I take over. Finn will eat and then sleep until six or so, and we get out of bed when Pete gets up to go to work.

But Pete misses me. I understand and all, but I have just accepted that this is the way things are for now. Not forever. For now. And in the grand sceme of things, it's a short amount of time that Finn will be a small baby who does not sleep through the night.

That said, I can't imagine going though an experience like this if you were partnered with someone you do not like. Or, going through this when you really did not want to have a baby in the first place. By "this," I mean the whole preemie-NICU-Special Care-home process. It's been an exhausting four months. If Pete and I did not already have a good relationship based on mutual respect, admiration, and friendship, this would have sucked.

Sucked ass.

Two or three trips to the hospital a day, full time work, and a house to take care of adds up to a possibly volatile relationship with your significant other. Oh, and don't forget the hormones. Mine have been... interesting... since he was born. I think it's different for women who give birth prematurely--I don't think that they follow a normal course. I had a second hormone change right around time due date, making it once when he was actually born and once when he was supposed to be born. It does not make for a romantic mood.

There's very little intimacy after a baby is born. At least, there's very little intimacy of the sort that Pete wants. He's been more than a little frisky. Me? Not so much. Really, not at all. When the boy was in the hospital, I was tired and distracted. Now that he's home, I am tired and distracted.

Quite frankly, the last thing I want at the end of the day, or ever, is another person On Me. I spend the better part of my twenty four hours with a small being hanging on my every move and literally attached to me. When I have moments during which he is not On Me, I don't want someone else On Me. I want some time for me. I want to have a bath; I want to write; I want to block a sweater. Heck, I want to do the dishes. I just want to do something that uses two hands and gets me off the couch.

We will cuddle again some day.
I will sleep for more than five hours some day.

For now, Pete and I are a team that is here to keep this baby alive and give him a warm and supportive environment. That's the focus and our main mission.

4 months

Our newborn is four months old. He's unique, much like other babies who were born very early: he's neither an infant nor a newborn. He's Finn. He's getting very good at holding his head up; he likes to look around, and he will fix his gaze on things for longer than a few seconds. He'll push up with his legs when I am holding him under his arms, and he will stay there for a little bit. I have received at least three smiles from him that were in response to me, not simply internal. He's 9 pounds, 4.5 inches and 20.75 inches. We never had to supplement him with formula; he's gaining on the mama food, and the dairy is always open.

Which leaves me pinned to the couch with a baby hanging from my boob.

Hence the long silence in this space.

All is well. We have grandparenty visitors now, so I hope to have a moment to catch up on the notes that are in the queue.

Plenty to say. No time to say it.