Did I mention, he's a CRAWLING TERROR? Yeah, well, he is. He has officially figured out how to crawl, and it's so adorable and miraculous the way he slaps each little hand down on the floor with determination as he moves forwards. And totally terrifying. Because he does things like get stuck under chairs now. And the other day, I found him up to his elbows in the cat's water bowl--which took him -3 seconds to get to. But the good thing is, because he's finally crawling for real, his night time routine seems to have settled down again--no more 'milestone wake ups.' And this morning, the incredible happened. He snuggled in with us after playing for a little while when he woke up at 6am, and WENT BACK TO SLEEP. We got to sleep in this morning people. Do you know how amazing this is??? We slept until 9am, and then went to the local market to buy breakfast and sit in the sun. So lovely.
Motherhood
What happens when I paint with Bean in my lap /
Gel medium paste gets in his hair.
Learning Curve /
I am starting realize that the early baby months---when Bean has been a pre-crawling little bundle easily carried from place to place--gave DH and I a slightly warped sense of what it means to be a parent. I mean, thus far we have managed to retain some of the grace and adult-only sensibilities that keep us on par with our non-baby friends. We have a white chair in our living room for example (what the hell were we thinking???) and CDs on the bottom shelves of the entertainment center. Sometimes we even have fresh flowers in a vase on the coffee table. Cats and magazines lie on the floor unsuspecting…
But most of all most of all, we still live with the illusion that we're COOL like we were pre-Bean.
But this week we're realizing with a great deal of trepidation that a shift is about to occur. We know that it's only a matter of days really before we're forced to become parents for real. Parents with safety plugs in the outlets, toys scattered across all horizontal surfaces and (possibly) a regular bedtime routine for Bean that includes more than a hand washing, and some lullabies (the boy ,manages to get himself DIRTY now. Not sure how. And he's fighting sleep these days like nothing else!)
All this because Bean has gone and figured out how to INCHWORM his way across the floor. Not really crawling---more army cadet style belly dragging, but man it gets him where he wants to go. And he he's working on going vertical. And sitting all by himself.
And this is fun of course. Thrilling even, to watch him drag his belly across the floor with determination. But also it fills us with a gaping feeling of worry we're unaccustomed to.
This is what it means, isn't it? To be a parent.
Bean has suddenly entered the frightening terrain of being able to get hurt---on his many adventures with gravity, he bangs his face into the floor, just after doing a gorgeous downward dog. Or slams his cheek hard into the wall after making a great bunny hop.
And when I sit down to think about it, it isn't becoming UN-COOL that has me feeling edgy and unsettled, really---though I know our chair's upholstery is totally doomed, and I'm well aware sippy cups and blocks are going to outnumber wine glasses and pretty pottery around our house from here on out...What really has me is the sudden stunning realization that I cannot control everything that happens to my baby boy.
Until now, my body was nearly his entire geography. Now, the world is. And my heart, it expands each day with love, with worry, and leaves me feeling breathless.
Under a canopy of sunshine /
Yesterday a 24 mile bike ride with Bean and one of my best girlfriends, out along the causeway. Lake water in every direction, ringed with mountains like we were in the middle of a blue bowl with a ragged edge.
The sky above us was sun-streaked and wind blown; tatters of clouds scudding by. Out at the end of the path, on the breakwater made with huge hunks of granite we ate sun-ripened peaches and laughed a lot.
Bean, his hair all sweaty and rumpled like baby duck down, sat in my lap sucking on the sweet peach flesh, making small grunting noises of glee. And we talked about how our mothers came from a generation that believed part of the duty of being a mother was being a martyr. That somehow raising a child meant loosing oneself.
Later, over wine and grilled corn with friends, we made a ruckus until well past midnight; the seams of our lives nearly blurring completely.
And this morning, at the corner breakfast place, heaps of French toast, coffee, fresh papaya and melon and mango, Bean slept in the Bjorn on my chest. It works, this life we've made for ourselves with him in it. There are differences, surely. But it's not the bittersweet sacrifice my mother made it out to be---in so many ways her life ceased when mine began.
It's a matter of definitions, it seems. Of expectations. What makes life good for me has started to have much less to do with outcomes than with the process itself. Knowing that I'll be woken several times a night by a baby who is uncomfortable and teething, seeking solace, leaves me two options: to feel frustrated, resentful, exhausted; or to knit the moments of half waking snuggled close against his fragrant sleepy head, into a night. And then wake up in the morning with a clean slate, greeted by the warm embrace of my husband, our baby inching his way over our bodies, giggling with joy.
I wanted to tell this to the couple we saw at the restaurant carefully carrying their two week old baby in his convertible car seat, their eyes still wide with wonder and lack of sleep. Instead I said simply, "It gets better and better every day."
One of the many uses for the laundry basket around our house: /
I know I've been a bit picture-heavy in my last few posts, I'm a bit stunned with how quickly Bean is growing & changing (daily, hourly.) He's starting to crawl--he can get his feet up under his but now, and get fully up into a crawling position, and he then he just sort of hangs out there, rocking back and forth and grinning. It's adorable. And also terrifying. At least the cats are terrified. They know their days are numbered. They see the glint Bean gets in his eyes every time they pass.
Bean loves to sit in the laundry basket and play with things--and by play, I mean pound a wooden spoon onto the edge of the basket. Yes, he's discovered that HE can MAKE NOISE that isn't roaring. Which he is still quite superb at.
When he was newborn, I started putting him in the laundry basket out of desperation when I needed to pee (or take a shower) and wanted him with me. It was such a great, easily transportable (and totally cost effective) solution to the whole fancy-pants bassinet idea.
All this to say, we have to lower his crib mattress tomorrow. And then childproof the house. Any tips?
Help me, he's teething /
Any & all tips,suggestions and sympathy would be appreciated right about now, Internet. The kid has become a little monster, gnawing and chomping on everything.
OH, and people, what in the world do you do to explain to a 6 month old who doesn't understand language, that BOOBS ARE NOT FOR BITING????
Super Bean /
My little man spends most of his day doing this. He's OBSESSED with being on his tummy, and has now started pulling his feet up under his belly and scooting forward. Often he accompanies the pose pictured with a lovely roar.
This is all very exciting, but does he have to do it ALL THE TIME? Even when he's exhausted and ready for a nap? I guess this is what they call "milestone wake ups" right? The poor kid pisses himself off though, rolling onto his tummy jussssst when he's nearly drifted off. He gets so mad.
This isn't going to get easier when he starts crawling, is it?
Overload /
The inlaws, they left. Thank god. I love them. I do. I love their unswerving support and enthusiasm for everything we do. But sometimes I get overwhelmed. This visit was one of those times. Did I ever mention we have a 2 bedroom apartment? It has five rooms total, not including the bathroom or pantry. Yeah, that small. And five people in a five room shelter is just too much co2, I think. When they left, Bean fell apart. I mean, started wailing with exhaustion. His nap schedule was WAY OFF. All the way off. Like, he didn't get any naps today (except for maybe a 20 minute stint once or twice), and yesterday his nap times were short and scattered as well. A Bean with no naps is a very sad, very distraught little bean. He breaks my heart when he's like that--sort of pathetic and inconsolable and huge-eyed.
After crying a lot I finally managed to rock him to sleep. And he slept and then nursed and then slept and then nursed and finally woke up, with a little wan smile on his face. DH put him in the Bjorn, as he does every morning when they do guy things--like make espresso and take out the trash--and we went for a walk downtown. By the time we got back Bean seemed more like his usual happy self. And when we put him down on a blanket on the floor with his rattle he was THRILLED to play there all by himself. Without anyone singing songs at him, or banging his toys, or cooing at him, or telling him to look or roll over, or picking him up.
And after about a half hour of delighted squirming--during which he had an extended babble conversation with our cat and we cleaned all of the crap that had gotten spread about our apartment (books everywhere, and magazines, and clothes, and newspapers, and dishes. Holy cow people, how on earth did it get to be like this??) he took a major poop. YAY. We love poop. This is poop number 2. In two days. A record of sorts, seeing as he's been on this whole anti-pooping stint of late.
And tonight, after we had him all cleaned up, he looked so sweet and fragile in his new stripped pjs... and after nursing and rocking he ZONKED OUT, his little arms thrown up above his head like a conductor.
Half a year /
My little man,You are SO BIG, suddenly. You are six months old today and you do things like sit up and rock back and forth like a drunk little Buddha. You eat mashed bananas and peaches and watermelon now, and reach out for more saying "mmm, mmmm, mmm." You also tried rice cereal, but it seems to have spent more time on your little moon cheeks than in your mouth. You loved it though. And every time you try a new taste (like garlic mashed potatoes or lemonade—which I put on the tip of my finger for you to try) you make the funniest faces in the whole world.
When you're 16 you'll accuse me of doing this for my own entertainment, and it's ENTIRELY TRUE. You're hysterically funny to watch: the way you pucker up your lips and furrow your eyebrows. But man, do we love you! And really, since your diapers are clearly NOT for my entertainment, something has to be. And by the time you're 16 I'm sure I'l have a whole list of things that you do that are for YOUR entertainment at my expense, so I'm living it up while I can.
I didn't write you monthly letters when you were very little because I was still so stunned that you were here, and I was just getting the hang of the whole co-sleeping, boob-feeding way of life.
When you were teeny tiny, just two and three months old, you impressed us because you could hold your head up just a little bit, and occasionally you'd roll over, tummy to back, though always looked confused when it happened. Then, you were fascinated with your mobile, and we lived for your smiles which made your crying jags and your night time wake-ups worth it.
When you were small and fragile like that it was rainy and springtime, and we had to bundle you up to take you outdoors, and we were anxious about selling our house, and antsy because the dog next door would yip for hours in the middle of the night so we couldn't sleep deeply---even when you let us sleep.
But now it is summer and we are in our new apartment, and every day we go walking along the big lake, where we can see mountains that look like old dinosaurs napping, slung low along the lake's edge. They are soft shades of blue, like an impressionist painting, and gently rolling, and we never get tired of the view. We're happy to be here, where people are kind, and where we can play at the beach and it’s only a walk away from our house. And we're happy that we at this point in our lives: where we can't imagine life without your grins, your delighted giggles, your smell, your softness.
Yesterday, your grandparents drove all the way up from New Jersey to visit. They miss you so much, and you thrill when you're Poppy makes piggy noises, or chicken noises, or cat noises. You giggle until we're all giggling.
You're long now: longer than most babies, I think. And you've outgrown all your 3-6 month pants even though your jusssst 6 months old. You've discovered that you like eating your hat, or throwing it out of your stroller, and we've lost many hats this way. You little bugger. They're for your own good.
You are trying to crawl. You do push ups and scoot your knees underneath you but then crumple up and face plant when you try to move forward. You're still not coordinated enough, though each day you practice, and we're sure you'll be an early crawler because you seem so determined.
You have also discovered our cats. You can't get enough of them. You smile at them from across the room, and roar loudly with glee whenever they approach. Of course, they have also discovered you, and are none-too-pleased, knowing their days of lounging on the floor are numbered. When Momo, our boy cat, comes to purr next to you on the bed, you grab his WHOLE FACE in your hand, fiercely, and don't let go. He meows pitifully but doesn't claw you, as he waits for me to unclamp your little fists.
This month I feel like you're on the verge of so much. You've started looking like a little boy to me--rather than a baby. You look so mature with your little baseball hat on. And you're so dexterous and purposeful with how you handle objects now. You switch them easily from hand to hand, and have just discovered the joys of POUNDING THINGS ON THE FLOOR.
One thing though, that makes me completely crazy, is that you're DRIVEN TO ROLL OVER onto your tummy. You do this all the time now, with perfect ease. And although you've rolled from tummy to back dozens of times before, you seem to have FORGOTTEN HOW, and it's driving me nuts because you get stuck on your tummy. A lot. And when you're napping, you wake yourself up by rolling onto your tummy and you muffle into your sheepskin and huff and wail until I turn you over again. And then you roll over AGAIN. And again. And again. Stop please. Or at least, remember how to roll back over onto your back.
Oh, and you're still not pooping regularly--which is something that I'm sure you'll be delighted to know about when you're 17 and I'm sharing this information with your prom date. (Which I will! I promise! Along with the photos we took of you with infant acne.) But really, bud, what's with that? It would be nice if things were a little more consistent, because that's how the rest of the world operates, and we just can't quite get used to your poop sabbaticals.
But mostly, we love you so much! My heart has never felt so big, so gleeful, so proud, as when I am looking at you're face. I love watching you learn. Love being home with you to watch these small miraculous discoveries occur. And I'm so happy you're here.
Love, Mama
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Bean's version of my 'read every day' category /
No book review today. Though this IS my copy of Pam Houston's A LITTLE MORE ABOUT ME, which I've been intending to finish reading for over a month now. It doesn't hold me like her other book, which was fast paced, silly and apt. But then agian, haven't had much time to really sink my teeth into it, although Bean clearly has. That is, if he had teeth.
Connections /
When I started blogging, I wanted the discipline of trying to write daily. I wanted to make myself sift through my experiences: putting words to them, to sustain the deep undertow of creativity that has always been a cross current in my life. Being a very visually oriented person I wanted to create some kind of record that allowed me to capture shreds of my life, and come back to them again, re-realizing their significance. Like no other medium, blogging is strangely non-dimensional. Yet because of this it can also be multi-dimensional, and this excited me.
But perhaps the more urgent reason behind my drive to figure out css files and web rings, was that I found myself suddenly submerged the remarkably alien world of first-time parenting.
Nothing prepared me for this.
Nothing, until I was in the middle of it. Until I'd hoisted my big pregnant belly around for ten months (yes it's really ten, not nine. Where do people even come up with the nine bit?), and then went into labor after two nights of the worst stomach flu I have ever had.
All of a sudden my little Bean was here, on this planet, in my arms. A small squirming bundle that came out and cried once, and then stared right at our faces, looking terribly confused with big huge eyes and the longest eyelashes I've ever seen.
It's probably a safe bet to assume that both of us were experiencing a decent amount of disbelief when we first locked eyes with one another. Though I fell quick and hard for the smell of his downy head, and his teeny tiny wrinkled hands, I remember thinking that despite my love for children, despite the fact that my career was teaching children, I knew next to nothing about raising one.
And then, during the first weeks after Bean arrived I remember changing diapers in the middle of the night, unbelievably hot and pestered and delirious from lack of sleep and hormones, and thinking to myself, how in the hell are there so many damn babies in the world?? How did we all possibly get here? It seemed ridiculous and incredulous that every person I've ever encountered was once a baby, AND THEIR PARENTS TOOK CARE OF THEM, at least to some degree, and they survived.
So, because I was too decrepit and distracted and disheveled to do anything else, I found myself up late at night, between crying jags and diapers, addictively reading posts from other moms (and a few dads) who'd actually gone through this ahead of me.
Before I had Bean I didn't get what people meant when they said, "Everything changes when you have a baby," and frankly, it annoyed the shit out of me. But EVERYTHING DOES FREAKIN CHANGE. And I'm so grateful for the survival guide that exists out there, in Internetland, in the form of really great blogs.
And I got to thinking today---about how I'm connected through this blog to all sorts of other people all over the world who share something in common with me. Sometimes it's art, or a love for words or books. And many times it's other moms with deep and meaningful things to say about the relentless, heart-wrenching, incredible process of parenting.
Even as people the world over are becoming individuated and insular; even as local community centers and neighborhoods are fragmenting as the result of outsourcing, suburbia, and malls, a new form of community is linking together across the globe, creating a new context for raising the next generation of children. And this is good. This is very, very good.
Taken 5 short minutes after the poop gods took revenge /
They must have heard me COMPLAINING about Bean's lack of poopy diapers, and acted swiftly with the most sticky, abundant pile possible. Hence the impromptu bath.
I give in /
I used to laugh, reading other mama blogger’s posts because at a certain point they all seemed to dwell on the topic of either boobs or poop, both of which were things I was sure I would NEVER HAVE THE NEED OR DESIRE TO WRITE ABOUT. Oooh, how wrong I was. And I can tell this is only the beginning, isn't it? The beginning of all things baby that I am going to say, "I am sure I'll NEVER do that," about, and then do just the opposite when confronted with the actual situation. But seriously people, the stuff of new-mamaness is apparently all about boobs and poop. Ooh ye non-mamas out there beware, lest ye be fooled into believing that parenthood involves things like woodland hikes, profound thoughts, family naps and the joys of tasting watermelon for the first time--because really, in the end of it all, EVERYTHING WILL COME BACK TO BOOBS OR POOP.
Now that I've succumbed to this rather depressing fact, I am thrilled to report my boob is back to it's previous non-painful state. Something has regrettably been re-wired in me however, and now I am compelled to tell you about the fact that Bean has been doing this whole "I'm going to save my poop up--and not poop for two weeks, and then christen you with my miraculous pooping volcano" routine lately, and it's getting really old.
Round about the time he turned 4.5 months he basically quit pooping on a regular basis, without any prior notice and no apparent discomfort. Of course, everything we read everywhere said that IT'S PERFECTLY OKAY NOT TO POOP FOR FOURTEEN DAYS--if you're a breastfeeding baby that is. But seriously, how can that really be okay? But our DR. (who is the greatest lady to ever wear a white coat, and whose thinking falls in line with ours when it comes to the whole wait to immunize bit, and the try natural remedies before going for the drugs routine) seemed less than concerned. And it's not all bad. Going without poopy diapers is never really bad, is it?
But a new side affect of the whole poop boycott seems to be THE STINKIEST GAS IN THE WORLD. Bean's bottom SMELLS LIKE POOP, even when there is no poop, so I'm not sure how much of an improvement the whole no-poop thing is really is. And oooh, when he actually gets around to pooping, it's no longer just a pretty diaper full (did I really just say pretty and diaper in the same sentence??) It is an eruption. It is POOP GATE. It is the scandalous, never ending, "oh my god he just pooped for five minutes straight" kind of poop that seems to occur uncannily when I'm the only one around and DH is off running errands, naive and clean and unmarred by our baby's incredible pooping hiney.
If there is a patron saint for new mamas somewhere out there, please tell her to address the whole poop thing for me, would you? Let her know that I'm groveling in shame for ever assuming I'd be able to avoid writing obsessively about poop--but that I'd really like to get on with things now.
I guess I had it coming: the inevitable boob post /
I woke up yesterday morning with a searing headache and the worst pain I've ever felt in my left breast. Like hot coals. Turns out I have mastitis--a milk duct infection, caused I'm sure by my improper bra wearing techniques. I'm one of those moms who took a violent dislike to nursing bras right from the start. Consequently, I wear regular ones, (sizes larger than any of my pre-pregnant pretty bras which now sit forlornly in my bottom drawer) and hoist the bra cup up over my boob when Bean nurses, rather than serenely unsnapping the cup like any good LLL mother wearing an appropriately boat like nursing bra would do. Clearly, this has been my downfall. That and fervent outdoor activity. But, following the blithe advice from the book of all books on this subject I took a hot shower and tried to relax. But seriously, do these ladies live in the same world I do??? "If at all possible," the book states, "you should climb into bed with the baby tucked beside you for the rest of the day. At the very least you should eliminate all extra activities and spend an hour or two relaxing with your baby at your breast and feet off the floor."
CLIMB INTO BED WITH THE BABY TUCKED BESIDE YOU? Do they know what this looks like with an eager and inquisitive almost six month old? Do they know the endless squirming that ensues? The wriggling, the kicking, the hair pulling and boob grabbing? Are they aware that no six month old is willing to cuddle in bed for an entire day when there is so much to learn about and explore and grab hold of. Perhaps I am the only mother in the world who doesn't love the exquisitely painful feeling of little sharp fingernails digging into my cheek while I have a migraine. That and being kicked in my infected breast, repeatedly, feels delightful, let me assure you.
After an hour or two of attempted "wlimination of all extra activities" I called my doctor whimpering, and she phoned in a prescription of antibiotics to the local pharmacy. I'm not a big antibiotic fan. I've read too much about growing immunity from over use of antibiotics for common ailments, including viral infections such as ear aches, where antibiotics are incapable of doing anything at all. But sometimes, on occasion, I am incredibly grateful to live in a country with advanced medicine and easy access to such things as amoxicillin. Within hours, the headache that felt like a little gnome was smashing pottery in my head had dissipated, and by evening, I started to feel like a normal human being again.
I'm all for cuddling with my little guy. But I prefer to do it when I can take his abundant energy and verve for life. This morning it was wonderful to wake up feeling like myself again, and spend time reading him books in bed, using my husband as our head rest. I am all about the "extra activities." The late evening bike rides along the lake, the morning walks to the farmers market, the hikes, the adventures around town. These things make me feel much more whole than lying in bed ever does. It's been enough of a transition to realize I'm virtually NEVER ALONE anymore. I've got Bean with me nearly all day. Getting outdoors is my sanity. Where is the book that's written for mamas like me? Mamas who breastfeed and stay at home, but who still are still active and adventurous and not willing at all to put our feet up all day.
Like postcards of memory on my mind: /
Last night, nursing Bean I watched the wooden fish mobile from Mexico above his crib turn in slow circles, as though they were swimming in crescents through the air. The five bright sunflowers, each with rough stalks and thick green leaves, from the farmer's market for a dollar a piece, standing in a tall glass vase of water on the table.
The man I see often, his hair in long dreadlocks, with his huge Bull Mastiff who was being attacked by a Boxer off leash, screaming"Who's fucking dog is this, who's FUCKING DOG is this?" And then wiping the blood from his big dog, who was shaking, tail between his legs.
Bean grinning up at me after his morning nap: so happy to be awake in the world again, his pacifier imprinted on his cheeks.
The view from the shore at the beach near our house: college kids and families on picnic blankets, in the water, playing badminton on the grass. The smell of grills, sail boats their anchor's down, dotting the swimming area, the sky bright blue.
Bean and DH cheeks close on the beach, laughing together in the evening sunlight, trees folding shadows down around us, sand between our toes.
Cutting fresh sweet corn off the cob in the kitchen with DH after a day outdoors, making pasta with round ripe tomatoes cut into cubes and basil and sage. Then crashing gratefully into each other on the futon couch, eating dinner with the cats curled up against our knees.
Terrified /
I was a complete wreck last night. We put Bean in his new bike trailer for the first time and took him on the bike path down by the waterfront. He fit snugly into it, and even fell asleep, but every bump, every stop, had me gulping. My heart, up in mouth. I kept imagining throwing myself off my bike in front of oncoming cars to protect the trailer. We all survived however, and will be trying it again. Soon, if not tonight.
Giggling weasel /
Picture a wet weasel. Small, furry, hot, wet. Now picture it wrapped around your neck on a day with 90 %humidity. Then picture the weasel clawing you. That's what it felt like to carry Bean about yesterday, post a dip in the lake. But his giggles were worth it. It was our first adventure into the lake---and he thought I was so funny when I'd swim up to him blowing bubbles. He has laughed before, in response to being tickled, but nothing like this spontaneous laughter. From his secure perch in DH's arms he'd look out into the water, scanning back and forth until he'd see my face and then bust out into full-fledged giggles as I swam closer making helicopter noises with my lips.
20 Weeks Old /
Dear Bean,You are a 20 week old bean today. That means you're five months old. Where did the time go? Holding you tonight, in the big white armchair in the livingroom, with your face against mine, I could hardly imagine you as the little grunty thing you were, newborn.
Today you went for your first nap in the running stroller. I ran all the way to the park by the water, three miles from home--and back. You slept the whole time, and then woke up when we were in our driveway, and gave me this sweet, sweaty grin.
You know how to do so many things now--like roll over from your tummy to your back. You look funny when you do this--you crane your head high and sort of rock back and forth like a drunk before flopping over. I imagine you must feel triumphant when you find yourself on your back all of your own volition. A little like a sea lion must feel upon galumphing his way back into the surf. Rolling over from your back to your tummy proves to be a bit trickier--though you're working on it. You can roll side to side, but it's still hard for you to get up enough momentum to roll ALL THE WAY OVER. But when you do, you grin and grin, even when your arms are stuck under your belly and you're doing face plants into the carpet.
You also know how to grab ahold of your feet now--and put them in your mouth. This has become an obsessive pastime of yours. You LOVE your toes.
And you've discovered how to WHIMPER. I'm not sure if I'm a fan of this discovery--but you certainly are. You love the feeling of power you get when I put you down and you make these little huffy fussy noises and I COME BACK AND SMILE DOWN AT YOU and put your pacifier in your mouth...or...pick you up! I am sure there are millions of people out there who will say I am spoiling you, but I don't believe it. I think our way of being together feels right and intuitive. And I think spoiling a baby is a bunch of crock. You are begining to communicate with your world, and I think that is exciting. Even when, like today at nap time, you just wanted to be with us so much that every time I put you down you'd fuss and look around frantically until I came and held you. But once I finally sat down with you and we rocked together in the quiet, cool bedroom, you fell asleep. And you took a lovely two hour nap and woke up smiling.
You can reach out with both hands and grab anything and everything that's in front of you--and put it in your mouth. You've tried watermelon (you LOOOVE IT) and banana and plums. Your eye's get huge when you taste something new, just like they get when you experience anything else for the first time. Like taking a shower with Daddy today, or seeing the grunting pigs at the farm last weekend.
You have also started to giggle, especially when I kiss your tummy or when Daddy puts you up his head and calls you "super bean." You're such a goof ball, such a ham--with your big, wet, gummy grin. It's amazing to watch you grow, despite the moments where I feel worn out and totally sick of lugging your little hair-pulling self around.
Love, Mommy
Wide awake /
Last night Bean woke up around 2 a.m. I scooped him from his co-sleeper and snuggled him up against me, proffering a boob and assuming we'd all be back to sleep in no time. But five minutes later discovered he was WIDE AWAKE and blowing raspberries on my breast. I thought perhaps putting him in his crib--which is located on the other side of our tiny bedroom (i.e. a whole 1.5 feet away from our bed)---might make him settle down and realize that it was 2 a.m., but nooo, his chortling just got louder. It's amazing how during the day these noises evoke nothing but delight in me, but in the middle of the night, all I wanted to do was bury my head and sleep. Finally we decided to put the co-sleeper out in the living room; only to awaken twenty minutes later to a very sorrowful wail. Once again, I scooped him up and curled around him in bed, and this time he was ready for sleep. His sobs quickly subsiding; turning deep sighs of slumber,
Is he teething? I'm not sure, but the day after a night where sleep has been tattered like this one, seems fragile and tenuous. The sun was bright this morning, pouring in through the windows, and gathering in puddles on the floor. But as I write, I daydream of napping, knowing the minute I drift to sleep he will awaken from his nap to want mama, and to tug on fistfuls of my long brown hair.
How things were /
I wrote this about a month after Bean was born. I can hardly recall that feeling of newness and fragility. Now we are so absorbed in the immediacy and robustness of this little person who smiles, and rolls, and just today for the first time started babbling. Of course, his first babbling sounds were "da da." No coincidence, I'm sure! After thirty minutes on the ellipse machine in DH's office, bright red blood flowed from my womb, a reminder of the remarkable thing I did four weeks ago. It surprised me. I felt vibrant and alive while moving rhythmically back and forth following the machine's elliptical pattern with my feet and arms, but now later my body feels fragile again, like I want to curl, cocoon like, in upon myself, or be held.
Each day looks more and more like spring. The light falls differently, and the sun, like a disc of lemon, hangs above the horizon longer in the evening, making the quaking aspen bark outside my window paler on the westward side, and bright.
Last night DH and I had one of those difficult couple conversations about roles. Thankfully we are able to have such conversations, thankfully we don't just give up, run off, implement plan b, self destruct. We sat in the nursery eating mochi, maple syrup and butter with our fingers while Bean slept on the slope of my folded knees. We're both caught off guard by this role switching. Both of us need time, need space, need to feel like individuals.
I find myself carrying a strange dual standard. I feel, for the first time in my life to be deeply maternal, and yet, I also do not want to be limited by that. I do not want DH to suddenly see me as "mommy" rather than as the woman, the girlfriend, the lover, the partner he has always seen me has. I've watched too many relationships diminish because of that--- the gradual taking for granted of simple things, the shift in roles, towards only family, away from partnership and independence.
It felt good to talk, to try to organize our feelings so that we could be productive. DH is trying today. I love that about him: how he has always, since we first met, been able to start showing with actions that he has internalized what we talk about. His biggest frustration about me comes from a lack of understanding for how I can get so little done in a day. Mine about him is that he has not yet reached the point where he is voluntarily interested in Bean's in his little noises, development, snuggly moments, half smiles.
This is the fundamental gap all couples I think experience as they move from being a couple into being parents and caregivers. Suddenly everything shifts, and there are little eruptions everywhere, after quakes until the earth settles in around them again, defining the new territory of family. I am not sure if it is knowable for a man to understand all that takes place in a day of caring for a baby. It's not practical, logical or conceivable to a man that so much time could be spent simply staring at the tiny person you are holding. How can it be described, the mesmerizing effect of scent and little gestures, like some fairy tale spell. And thus whole hours pass, as the sunlight shifts from the east facing windows to the west.
Yet this is not a wasted time. All the moments of gazing and holding and doing little more, amount to the writing of a primordial code: this is bonding at its best. It is these moments of inhaling the sweet scent at the back of Bean's neck, nuzzling his silky hair, listening to his seal pup grunts, these are moments of imprinting--the beginning of a lifetime of love as vast and fragile as the body's capillary network: pulsing, alive, bringing vital energy to the relationship.
DH doesn't know this yet, because he hasn't shared these moments with Bean. Like many men, his approach is much more practical: how can the crying be stopped, the diaper changed, the needs be met, he wonders. Becoming a father has less to do with the intimate and the intuitive. It is more of an abstract process that grows over time, once the reciprocation of affection is more obvious, once there is a reason, in the logical sense, to stare, he will. Until then the two of us have to try our best to tightrope walk out over the gap of differing experience that's widening between us. And we try. We both listen. We have learned how to start a dialogue, how to attempt, though it's often awkward, to describe what we feel.
That's what we did last night, in the flickering light of the large paraffin candle in the nursery, our sun breathing with quick rhythmic breaths on my knees, and our dog licking his paws at our feet.