Nine out of 10 Dentists Agree

Gabe watches Max for me so I can shower. Woo hoo!

If there is one piece of advice I would impart to first-time mothers, it would be this:

Just try to brush your teeth at least once a day.

Among the things to which women address that depressing question -- "Why didn't anyone tell me about this part?" -- is how personal hygiene goes out the window once you bring home a newborn and you are alone with him for most of the day.

Days all run together anyway as you are up every two hours around the clock for feedings, so you you may not even notice you haven't showered for three of them. Other people in the house may, but they had better be too polite to mention it.

You might be lucky and have a baby who is a sound sleeper for stretches long enough to even shave your legs, but otherwise you can bathe only if you have another person who can tend to the baby's needs for 20 minutes. Especially if you have to bring into the shower with you the magic milk jugs that are his sole source of sustenance.

It's not that you are Pig Pen from a "Charlie Brown" cartoon. It's just that when 20-or-more-minute stretches come around, you tend to put other priorities ahead of your own. You first do the things that will affect other living beings in your home, like prepare a family meal or sweep a floor or pay the electric bill. Before you know it, all of the baby's calm, content, self-soothed stretches for the day have gone by and you're still in your nightgown. Might as well just stay in it and go to bed for the precious few hours of sleep you'll get.

Go a fourth day without showering, and you will be affecting others at that point, so drag a bouncy chair into the bathroom, let the baby cry in it, and wash your hair and your dirtiest bits as quickly as you can.

A quick fix is to bogart your baby's wet wipes during a diaper change. If he hates having his diaper changed, you're out of luck, but if he will pleasantly lie on the changing table for an extra moment, you can make goo-goo sounds at him while you surreptitiously swipe under your arms and other places. Don't do this past the development of long-term memory, or you'll be paying for his therapy couch.

What will make a tremendous difference in your day is a crisp minty brushing of your teeth. A clean mouth makes you feel clean all over. If you can manage to drag a comb through your hair and get a few passes of a deodorant stick, you'll be ahead of the game.

Brushing your teeth is good thing because it is a task you can do fully dressed and with one hand -- a most important skill for a new mother because the baby will be in the other hand most of your day.

I've learned to do several things with one hand, including:

• Write a blog post.
• Send a text on my phone.
• Fill the dogs' food and water bowls. (My elephant-shaped watering can works wonders.)
• Transfer laundry from the washer to the dryer. (This sometimes requires a foot to pick up dropped items from the floor.)
• Assemble, use and wash breast pump parts.
• Make my breakfast and lunch.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go brush my teeth. I taste raisin bran and guacamole. Ick.

Should Baby Boys Have Only Baby Girlfriends?

When I saw my friends' announcement on Facebook that their son had finally made his debut in the world, the thoughts that zipped through my head went something like this:

"Oh neat, he was born two weeks after Max. Dan and I were born two weeks apart too. Maybe he and Max will find each other someday like we did."

I was startled by these thoughts. I think somewhere behind them were imaginations that had this couple stayed in the area and not moved away, our sons likely would have grown up together as church friends.

But my brain quite innocently went to comparing their happenstance of being born two weeks apart to the same time frame between me and the person I love most.

I have decided that it is normal to have an innocent thought about your son finding companionship or love or romance or whatever with the progeny of good and decent friends, regardless of the biological sex. We do it readily enough between baby boys and baby girls.

The other day at my OBGYN office, a nurse was admiring how handsome Max is and told me that there had been a mini burst of girls born and that she would be happy to serve as matchmaker and secure him a little girlfriend.

I smiled politely, but all I could think about was how willing we all are to sexualize our children at an early age as long as it is in a heterosexual way.

I wonder if that same nurse ever would dare to say something to me like, "Oh, there was another handsome baby boy who was in here yesterday. I should arrange a meeting between you and his mom so that you can get them betrothed -- in the few states that allow that sort of thing."

I believe that whatever bent his sexuality will take, Max has it right now. There's no way to tell, but there are ways to let it develop naturally. We did this with his big brother, and he is all about ogling the ladies right now. In fact, it would be better for someone to come up and offer to match-make for my teenager.

If Max and my friends' little boy ever do find each other, I hope they do indeed note how close they are in age and find some joy in that. Whatever other connections they discover will be up to them.

Guest Post: Sometimes It Stays with You

Guest post by friend and coworker Roberta Redfern, a city desk editor at The Blade newspaper:

As both a mother of a little one and a journalist at a daily newspaper, sometimes I have to separate.

Sometimes it doesn't work. There was a drowning of a 2-year-old boy this week -- a tragic, tragic accident -- and I can't seem to scratch the images out of my brain.

Of that poor family. Of the lowest point in that grandfather's life and how he wants to take it all back; have a do-over for what is most likely the worst day of his God-given life. Of that sweet little boy’s face pictured in the obituary that came way too soon.

How my dad would feel if this happened to him. “Papa” watches my son almost every day.  He would be forgiven, for his pain, I imagine, would be torture enough.

Sometimes, when I drive home from work I feel the stressors of the day leaving me, but for this one, I haven't driven far enough yet.

Mirror, Mirror in the Car

When you live in a rural area, you spend a lot of time in a vehicle to get anywhere. Your kids have to spend that time in the back seat, which is only a few inches away from you but remarkably out of reach.

You can eyeball them a little bit with your rear-view mirror, or do a death-defying head turn or a contortionist hand reach as you are driving to tend to them. Infants in their backwards seat are even harder to deal with, especially mid-scream.

One of my favorite parenting contraptions are the little mirrors that clip onto the visors or suction onto the windows. You can angle those anywhere irrespective of traffic and train them directly on your children.

This way, I can watch helplessly as Max screams while I drive down the road. When he gets a bit older, as with his brother, Gabe, the mirror will get more useful. I can entertain him with silly expressions or direct him to stop picking his nose.

And apparently give lectures.

I recently pulled out my trusty mirror the other day, and teenage Gabe cried, "Oh, no!" When I asked him what was wrong, in that panicky way that assumed I had left the diaper bag on top of the car roof, he explained that he was having a flashback to the several admonishments that I had delivered through that mirror.

Excellent. ;)

Putting the God in Parents

Esther holds Max during a baby shower
for Teresa, our congregation's pianist.

This past Sunday, I managed to get Maxwell and myself to my church's first service at 9:30 a.m.

Well, we weren't exactly there at 9:30. But most folks understand that a 1-month-old on-demand nurser doesn't always cooperate with a planned schedule. Or his mother's need to bathe before she goes out in public.

At either worship service, I tend to sit in the front row. I see and hear and pay attention best there. I might sit with a friend sometimes, usually for just a song or a prayer, but I know that if I station myself too far away from the altar, my mind starts wandering or I start people-watching among the congregants.

We strolled in rather late Sunday, so we hung out in the glider in the back of our indoor garden just off our worship space before finding an appropriate moment to slide into the front row. For our efforts we were blessed to sit in front of Lois, Esther and Gene.

Lois, the widow of Peace Church's previous pastor, sent Max his very first letter full of sentiments that will teach him what it means to be part of a water family. Esther and her husband Gene are gentle pillars of the congregation, and they also will be Max's baptismal sponsors.

Godparents, so to speak.

When Gabe made me and his dad parents, we were still fairly young. We picked as godparents for our child people who had known us since our own childhood, people who would support us as we figured out what the hell we were doing.

This time around, I feel called to find folks who specifically support Max's faith life. Esther offers me excellent friendship, knitting tips and the tightest bear hugs this side of the Mississippi, but it's her lifelong Lutheranhood that I'm after.

Max's parents are of different religious traditions, but he will be raised in his mother's. He will be free to choose -- or, rather, be chosen by -- any faith once he comes of an age of discernment, but while he's being brought up a little Lutheran, it will be nice to have some qualified help. (It sure doesn't hurt that his grandmother is a pastor.)

On Sunday, sitting in the front row was a particularly lovely experience. Lois, Esther and Gene formed their own choir, harmonizing through the hymns. When they joined voices for the Lord's Prayer, it felt like power support coils in a spiritual mattress, a place where Max and I could rest assured in the faith of people who loved us and loved God.

The place will be full of those kinds of people when Esther and Gene stand with us to bathe Max in the waters of grace.