Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Goodnight

Tonight we went to the gym and we found the world's smallest weights for you to lift repeatedly over your head. You were so proud of yourself. At home later, you were very diligent in waving and saying "bye" (and almost goodnight) to everything in your room. We walked around and visited all of the butterflies (you made the sign for butterfly, the sign for tired, and then you waved), the pictures of the babies (you made the sign for baby), each individual light on the strand over your bed, the paintings and finally the drapes and the space heater. You waved to each one and said your good night. Then we put you into bed and you went immediately to sleep.

It was so cute that I annoyed you by kissing you too many times. Then I just about fell over because I was so tired.

Dear Sava, I'm exhausted!

Love Dad

Saturday, November 28, 2009

uh oh!


Dear Sava,

It's 8:30 a.m. and we're in a hotel room in New Jersey near Philadelphia. You're sleeping in a portable crib in the next room, your mother is sleeping on the bed in this room, and Nico is sleeping on the warm spot I just vacated to write this blog entry. It was a difficult night. You were overtired and would not go to sleep. Then, you would not stay sleeping. This morning, we're staying in bed just a little bit longer. We want you to be bright-eyed for your first visit to the zoo.

You've been practicing your animal noises all week. It became evident last Friday that you've begun speaking real words ("This is an umbrella. Sava, can you say 'umbrella'?" "brrruhh"), but you seem to relish in animal sounds and playing your linguistic games with me.

The game
"Sava, what does a cow say?"
"Moooooo"
"Great!"
"Sava, what does a horse say?"
(You wag your head back and forth because this is the movement your mother makes when doing her horse imitation.)
"Great! You're such a smart little horse."
"Sava, what does a chicken say?"
"buh buh buh." (Your version.)
"Excellent!"
"Sava, what does a fish say?"
(You open and close your mouth without making a sound.)
"Yes! You're so amazing," I say.
"Sava, what does a baby say?"

Let's just pause a second while I explain. When you were an even smaller baby your grandfather taught us that the sound of the tongue clicking in the mouth is utterly fascinating to babies. You'd be crying and he'd click his tongue and that would be it. You'd stop crying and simply stare at his mouth waiting for the magic sound to happen again. Then I started noticing that a lot of people make this sound to babies. At some point you learned how to do this yourself, but it fell out of fashion some time ago, until now.

"Sava, what does a baby say?"
You look at me with the funniest expression and give a simple "cluck" of your tongue. Then you brace yourself for me tickling and kissing you.

This is your little game. The cluck isn't tied to the baby sound. Some mornings when you want to be kissed and tickled you'll cluck for every animal. Then, you learned how to say "uh oh". We think it must have come from daycare, because we don't say this. Now, you have a repertoire of sounds. Cats, dogs, farm animals, uh-oh, and you can shake your head yes and no (although, you prefer no).

Something funny happened when you began learning how to speak. A whole host of insanely funny expressions came along with language. The other day you were giving me a really forced and fake smile that seemed to devolve into a demonic looking bat child. Somehow, I understood this was a face you reserved only for me. After about 30 minutes of this, and other expressions, I called in your mother and you replicated the face several times. Everyone was in hysterics with how odd it was to see such a pronounced sense of humor from this pretty little child.

Since then, I've begun to notice that when I put you in front of a mirror, you begin practicing the faces that later show up when you're throwing a tantrum. Like last night, before and after we arrived at the hotel. I've also listened to you practicing your screaming voices. You cycle through them when you don't get what you want. You're beginning to match the right voice with the right face in order to help the will find its course. That's natural. But what I love, is that along with this exploration comes all of the games and the trial sounds and faces.

One of my favorites is your monkey. It's one of the reasons we've driven up to Philadelphia to go to the zoo with you. I can't wait to see your expression when you finally see monkeys--in person! Not just your dad jumping around the room, but real live monkeys. I can see you now, dancing around a room while scratching at your armpits and making your silly faces while clucking your tongue.

Then again, who knows what you'll pick up on today. All we do know is that it's going to be the highlight of our week.

Love,
Dad







Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Our Dinner: November 18th

Our Dinner: November 18th

emerald city salad
(fresh chard, wild rice (simmered in chicken stock and butter), red peppers, fennel bulb, parsley, broccoli, and red cabbage, all chopped fine) with a dressing of lemon juice, garlic and olive oil

sweet potato soup with chipotle cream sauce
(sweet potatoes and onions and carrots simmered in chicken broth, after carmelizing in butter: the cream sauce made of heavy whipping cream whipped into stiff peaks, and then a chopped chipotle from adobo sauce, and 4 tsps of the sauce folded in) as i recall there was some cumin and garlic pepper thrown in, and other stuff

we all got madly delirious after eating this meal- it was that good. recipes are available upon request.

I had four people in the kitchen helping me to make it. it was wild happy abandon; Jamba playing with Sava on the kitchen floor, blowing bubbles though a spatula (a trick he learned from a Curious George episode) making these big wild floating things- sava going out of her mind with happiness.

:Side notes: she has recently learned to make the trumpeting sound of an elephant.
:She has learned to make a hag face, after Jamba wrapped his head in a frame of fabric, stuck his halloween costume"billy bob" teeth in and thrust his lower chin out, and then hunched over in a hobbly sort of way and started lurching around the room with his crabapple fish-hawker's voice saying "i'm an ooolld hag, won't you spare me just a wee nibble?" and so on... So she picked up on the face, at least, and now they make old hag faces at each other. In her case, it is scrunching up her nose really tight.
:When asked "what does a fishy say" she opens her mouth open and shut like a guppy.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Coming Back from Seattle (October 2009)

From Mom:
Sava was just tackling me on the bed, and kissing me repeatedly on the mouth. She is finally getting the swing of closing her mouth before kissing me, but our makeout sessions always leave me drenched in a copious amount of drool.

The Letter H
We just had hot chocolate for the first time, tonight in the lobby.
Her first word is "Hi"
Her second word is "Hot" as in "Sava, those eggs are hot. Let them cool down first" And then she picks them up and blows on them, saying "Ha.. Ha.. Ha" (just now, down in the lobby, she started to try to pronounce the "t" at the end of it.)

She knows how to sign "bird" "dog" "kitty" "milk" "ball" & "shoes", and "water" and "sleepy" and she knows how to make a sound like a monkey. ("hoo hoo hoo hoo"). Today, at the Seattle Aquarium, she called the tropical hawaiian fishes "birds" as they floated in the space around her head, and when she saw the sea otters rolling around and necking in the water, she started to make the sound of a monkey.....

Tricking Mommy:
Up in the San Juans, early morning, sitting by the fire. You had nursed all morning and it was a bleary 7am, and we were softly playing in the living room, trying not to wake anybody else up. I was so sleepy and it was still dark, and i really was just bleary, astonished at how much energy you had, wishing my mom wasn't sick so that she could play with you and I could crawl back into bed. You were a little on edge, and kept making the sign for wanting to nurse but I just couldn't, after having nursed you all night, and you would get up and play, and scooch around, while I sat kinda grumpily and self-pityingly in the chair by the fire. Then after awhile you came over to me and looked at me and made the sign for "sleepy" which is to pull your open hand from your forehead down your face. I couldn't believe my luck: "you want to sleep? hell yes, baby! Let's go!" and so i practically leapt into bed with you, so grateful for the chance to take a nap. But as I put you down in bed beside me, you started grinning in your maniacal way- leering at me really, and coyly made the sign for milk, as you lay in bed waiting for my breasts to descend to their expected position. And I stared at you, totally amazed at how perfectly you had conned me. and then I just laughed and laughed, and I couldn't really be tired after that. Little trickster. Little abstract sneaky thinker.You are going to keep us on our toes.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Dinky Walks!


Baby Steps
October 3, 2009

You were up and down all night: 12:30, 4, 4:30, 7, 7:30…You simply could not sleep. And consequently, neither could any of us. I headed your final outburst and took you away to let your mom sleep in.

We were both sick with sniffles and sore throats. After a hot shower, I changed you into a new outfit Jeremy sent you for your birthday (and which raised your coolness levels by about a year), and then I changed your socks and played funny songs to you on the ukulele. Meanwhile, you studied the Christmas lights we hung up in your room three nights ago.


You've adopted a new ultra-casual way of lying back on your pillow and checking out the world. And every now and again, you’d glance over at the chord I was playing on the ukulele, and you'd give me your sound—an offhanded “hmmm" (which seems to say, "Oh yeah, that").

Suddenly, you were actively crawling about the bed and checking out the contours of your room. You clomped and shuffled over stuffed animal, pillows and plastic blocks. You gave a sly look to the monkeys on the cover of your Nat’l Geographic book, then turned to give me an embarrassed smirk. Then it was off again. This time, you opened the drawer where we keep your diapers—“hmmm”—, pulled several of them out of the drawer and held them up to the light—“hmmm”. Then it was off to your toy box, where you struggled to reach a white and yellow plastic phone, which you promptly stuck to your ear. “Hmmm.” Then you were off again, clomping and shuffling to a box under your crib.

I was feigning sleep on the bed, but you kept turning to gauge my reaction to your every movement. You struggled to get the box out from under your bed, then you opened the flaps and discovered several dolls your mother had put into storage. You put your hand into the box and dredged up a big blue and white macramé doll with a plastic head. You gave the doll a big hug, clutching it tightly to your chest, then you put it back into the box and slid the box back under the bed.

You had purpose and direction and clear motivation. This wasn’t the same little girl from a week ago. For a moment I felt like I was catching the dog playing poker. You were a contented little explorer, charting the unknown regions of your room.

My eyes were almost completely closed, but you studied me for a long moment before continuing your work. You used the door as leverage to stand yourself up. One last look over your shoulder, and then you extended both your hands up toward doorknob. I thought,
You know how doors work? When that project failed (Drat, still too short!), you began knocking and slapping the door with your hands (Somebody let me out!). Every few seconds you’d look back to ensure that the racket hadn’t woken me up.

“My little sweet Dinky,” I said. (Dinky has become my new favorite name for you.)

You turned and gave me a big smile. You were still standing, but you had turned completely toward me. I was holding one of your many toothbrushes. You LOVE brushing your teeth. You swipe the brushes from out of the bathrooms, and you carry them around with you everywhere.

“Do you want the toothbrush?” I asked.

You started to make a move, and you reached out your little hand, but I retracted the toothbrush a few inches. Then, you gave me the sweetest little knowing glance....and you took a step…and another…and another… After the third step, you collapsed into my arms!

Your first steps!

I was hugging you and kissing you and picking you up in celebratory flights. And you were so excited because you knew exactly what had happened. Then you plopped back onto the bed and put on your little black plastic rain hat with the yellow flower, and you sat there with what I can only describe as a silly expression. You hate wearing hats, but here you were, just as comfortable as ever.

It was too much. I ran you into the next bedroom and we woke up your mother to tell her the excellent news.

If your first steps weren’t enough, it was the most beautiful day of the year. The sun was bright and golden, but the temperature was cool and tolerable. We went to the farmer’s market and we walked back to the house and spent some time in the backyard. That night, your mother played music at a birthday dance party and we stayed home. You were in the best mood, right up to bedtime. I changed you into your pink frog pajamas and you reclined on your bed and stared at the Christmas lights. I put you into your crib, kissed you and told you how proud I am that you walked. And without even so much as a noise, you turned and went straight to sleep. It was the first time I was able to walk around turning off all the lights without you sitting up and crying. Today you are all brand new.


***

It is 11:37 on Saturday, October 08, 2009. I’m lying down in the upstairs bedroom of our house in Harrisonburg, VA. It’s a comfortable house with light colored wood floors. The windows are closed because the nights have become cold. And because I had to move the night blooming jasmine inside, the entire house smells like jasmine. I’m in an iron-framed bed with a white comforter. At the foot of the bed is a dresser and a flatscreen television. A movie is playing, but I’m not watching. I’m halfway between reading Foucault and writing about you. There is a smell of food coming from the downstairs, because earlier I made squash with tomatoes from the garden and onions and sage from the farmer’s market.

Your mother called twenty minutes ago from the airport in Seattle to let me know that you started walking in the Chicago Airport terminal during a layover. You were playing on the carpeting when suddenly…up you went, taking more than twenty steps at a time!

Dinky walks!

Your first order of business as a walker was to start games with the people in the airport by walking your ball to an area of busy foot traffic. With a “hmmm,” you then rolled the ball into the crowd to see who might return it to you. Then you’d chase after ball and begin the process again. When I called, you couldn’t wait to take the phone from your mom and tell me all about it. Only problem is, you can’t form sentences and so your mother told me you made the sign language sign for “milk” into the phone. This is a good sign. Milk if your favorite. At this rate, you’ll be talking by next week.

- Dad

Tuesday, August 25, 2009



September 17th, 2009


Last night Daddy picked you up from daycare because my dentist appointment ran late…. And when I got home he enthusiastically told me that you had picked up a couple of new signs. He was so proud. (I have to preface this by saying that I got home just as he was finishing putting you in the most adorable outfit I have ever seen you in…. your striped long jester’s hat, with Alyssa’s hand sewn dress, white tights with little flowers going up the side, and navy blue mary-janes. You looked… sparkly. We were getting ready for Maria’s bday party.) Anyway, while you guys had been playing, he got you to make the sign for milk, and for bird. I should let him tell this story....

It was so amazing, though. Here, I will tell you my experience: I looked at you, freshly gathered up into my arms and said “really? Sava- how do you say milk?” and I did the sign for it, and you looked at me excitedly and started squeezing your hand together. I yelped in delight and buried my face in your neck and you were so happy and excited. I could see the light of recognition in your eyes, and the joy and pride at making the connection. “Birdie” was cute… you do the little gesture pointing back at your mouth, instead of outward. But Jamba said at first, you were just doing the gesture out away from your body, and he said “no, Sava, like this, close to your mouth” and showed you, and you picked it up! He was really proud at how fast you were learning.

Man, I can’t believe it is almost your birthday. I can’t believe what a cool little person you are.


September 12th, 2009

Okay, so what’s new……

Jamba is back. Thank god. Life is really- it is so much better with him around. You were so sweet at the airport when we were picking him up. You recognized him immediately, and reached for him and he took you in his arms and you lay your head down on his chest, which is your version of a hug and which is saved for only your most special people...

Anyway, he just couldn’t believe you much you had grown and how unbelievably cute you are, and the two of you have been shellacked together ever since. He got you a few toys in Amsterdam- one is the little stuffed blue rat from Ratatoulle, and I think somehow in your head you have identified that rat with him, because you carry it everywhere with you- especially to daycare. It is so cute- whenever I come to pick you up from daycare, you are sitting on the floor clutching the rat to your neck. He stayed home from work that Monday so that we could be together, and on Tuesday, when he left for work in the morning, you sobbed and sobbed, holding your arms out for him as he was walking out the door. Totally tragic, but I swear you made his year.

Oh yeah- daycare. Daycare started Monday, September 1st . I finally found the right person to watch you- Fernanda, and you are now being dropped off every morning at 9am, for two hours. I pick you up and put you right to bed for your morning nap, and finally- after an entire year of feeling completely out of control in the time-space continuum, have some dependable structured hours to myself. What I have been able to do, after two weeks of morning alone time, is remarkable. I won’t go into it, because it is totally boring (it involves spreadsheets, and operating budgets and account reconciliations- believe me- not interesting) but mama is happy.

You still really hate to go down to sleep. I honestly can’t figure it out. It makes me tired.

You are standing for whole minutes at a time now- especially if you are not thinking about it, but engaged at looking at a toy in your hands. On labor day, you took a couple stumbling steps into Ros’s arms. We all laughed and clapped and drummed our feet on the ground so loud it scared you and you crawled crying into my arms. It was kind of sweet– I rarely ever see you scared of anything.

Ummmmm… oh yeah. There is this adorable new thing that you do, which is that at bedtime when we are reading, you start making the sound of a chimp while we are reading. The reason is this: We have a TimeLife book on Evolution, and one night a few months ago, I was reading it to you, and we invented a game in which every time the book was closed and we were looking at the front cover (multiple photographs of a chimp’s face, caught by time-lapse photography in the middle of a chimp yell) I would start hooting and then end in a chimp screech. You thought it was hilarious, and kept trying to shut the book in the middle of me reading, so that I would make the funny noise again.

Well, the other night, about four nights ago, your dad and I were lying on the bed, and we had just finished looking at the chimp book and now we were reading Where the Wild Things Are, and you started quietly hooting to yourself while we were turning the pages. You stopped whenever we stopped reading. Aw man, we were dying laughing, hopelessly smitten.

You have stopped climbing up stairs for the moment, and devote most of your energy to the Tupperware drawer (also known as Sava’s drawer) where you fling the mason jar lids out onto the kitchen floor so they go skiddering across the linoleum. Then you sit down and apply yourself studiously to figuring out which lids fit on which jars. Over and over again, you take a lid, and place it carefully on top of the jar. Then you slide it around a bit, checking the fit, and then lift it off. Analyze all sides of the lid, the jar, and then do it again.

In the bath, your new favorite thing is to take the big Tupperware container and put the little rubber duckies inside it, like it is a big cruise ship. Mommy likes to turn it over and pretend they are in ducky prison, far below the surface of the water (don’t worry- I leave them a pocket of air to breathe in). You like to liberate them from their undersea captivity. Then you take little cups and you pour water from one cup into another. We got a little basketball hoop that suctions to the side of the hoop- you are somewhat interested in putting balls and stuff into it. You really like the foam alphabet letters, and are really proud when you can stick one of them against the wall. You would play in the bath for hours if we let you. Sometimes you take two baths a day. Sometimes none (and Daddy doesn’t like that, because we are told you need consistent rituals every day, and also, he really loves giving you baths). Sometimes when you are grumpy, I will put you in the empty bath with some toys, and you have fun playing in there. It is a good spot.

You have started to trill your “r”s back in your throat. Ros says it is the Hebrew R. It is actually exactly the sound that Chewbacca makes. You are the only person in the house who can make this sound. Even your dad, who can mimic almost anything, can’t do it as well as you.

You do this "Intake squeal" when you are excited about something. This kind of gasp for air at the back of your throat.


August 25, 2009



Standing & Sitting

You just stood by yourself for (1 alligator, 2 alligator, 3 alligator, 4 alligator…)
5 seconds!!! Pulling yourself up on the side of your toybox, pulling a toy out, and concentrating on it, not even thinking about what you were doing.
Later that day: another five seconds standing! It seems to happen when you are not thinking about standing, but absorbed in a toy that you are holding. But I have a feeling that you are going to be experimenting a lot with this new skill now: and it feels like walking is imminent.

p.s You are learning “sit down” as in: “Sava, stop standing up in your high chair. Sit down”.

Haikus for Sava

Baby is so tan
Like grandpa, roman-skinned: hides
Norway in fat crease

Eyes dark grey, like storm
River stone under water
Blue circling moss

Plucked tomato from
Vine: baby clamors leaning
In, to bite sun warmth

Her favorite food, in
Order: milkbreast, tomato,
Cucumber, rice cake

Pounding Scrabble piece
On cast-iron door-stop foot
Flat hand, letter A


August 22, 2009

The County Fair: Ligers & Bulimia


You are 11 months old, and one day. It is Saturday. We spent three hours in bed while the afternoon rain poured down, and then it cleared and we went to the fair. We are driving back home from the Rockingham County Fair and you have a yellow balloon that you are enjoying watching flutter in the wind. At the fair we saw carousel rides and swinging machines and brightly lighted pandemonium, swirling lights and squeaking machinery. We got to pet a llama, and a goat, and some sheep at the 4H petting zoo. You were very excited. You were squeaking. The little animals looked weary and were trying to stay at the back of their pens, away from the curious hands. It was the last day of the fair. We met a large number of cows in the cow judging barn, and got to pet a few of them while talking to a nice man who was a dairy farmer. They were beautiful and well kept and calm. One little calf had a beautiful white fur coat with black spots, and had been born in March. She was much younger than you but oh, so much bigger.

We saw three Bengal Tigers and one Liger, at a little circus sideshow behind the big grandstand. You clung to the red bars separating the audience sitting in the grass from the stage area, and squealed in delight at the big kitties who leapt off their pedestals and through hoops. I am not sure you understood how much bigger those kitties were from the one that you live with at home- I am not sure you understand distance and scale yet….. but still- pretty cool, right? I hadn’t even seen a liger before, and here you are only 11 months and 1 day, with one more experience under your belt.

A Liger is a cross between a tiger and a lion. It is something that only occurs in captivity. The circus show was wonderful and a little sad all at the same time, as circus shows generally are. They always make me imagine the lives of the performers when they are done prancing around and are trudging backstage; taking off their makeup and thinking, I am really too old for this, and talking about how the show went- how many bags of peanuts were sold to help pay for the tiger’s t-bone steaks, and so on. What a strange life, eh?: to be carting a bunch of tigers around the country in the back of a shiny red semi.

After the county fair we swing back home and pick Nico up, our very own wild animal, and take her to the park, where she tears through the forest undergrowth chasing bunnies and squirrels (totally illegal of course) while we stroll underneath the green canopy, listening to the cicadas thrumming wildly in the branches, enjoying the post-rain coolness, and looking at flowers that look like little orchids. You are wild about trees, and point and grunt at them so that I will walk over and you pat the tree bark, and then stick your face up close for an experimental lick. I have tried to make it a practice of giving trees a big group hug while holding you, and kissing the trunks, and telling them “thank you”, because I have wanted you to start your tree-hero worship as soon as possible. You seem to be on board.

You are in the backseat and we are driving home again, this time Nico panting happily beside me, and you are experimenting with gagging. You are putting your whole hand in your mouth as far as it can go, to see what happens, and what is happening is that you keep gagging and choking, and pulling your hand out and smiling, and then doing it all over again. I looked back and saw what you were doing, and couldn’t help laughing, which only egged you on more I am afraid. The next time I looked back, you were sticking your hand in, and retching, and a large quantity of rice cake and milk and grilled corn came spilling out of your mouth all over your shirt. “Oh Sava- gross!” but I was laughing, and you were grinning and then you started smearing your hand around in your shirt and then taking it and rubbing it all over your face and hair. Luckily we were blocks from home and I was able to dump you right into the bath.

Disgusting, wonderful girl. I really don’t know where you get it from. I was telling Andrea about it tonight and she laughed and laughed, and then said it seemed perfectly appropriate for your sign. You being a Virgo, she meant. She said the Virgos she knows are all just these down-to-earth, practical people, and somehow the exploration of your physiology with such matter-of-fact, scientific probing, and such a lack of emotional drama, (excepting the slightest bit of wry humour) just seemed really familiar and perfect.

All I know is that I love you, so deeply, and you make me laugh really hard. You are also becoming a bona-fide daughter. Like for instance, today before going to the fair, I felt a little sad that there was nobody to go with us. Your dad is out of town, and most of our friends were out of town, and the ones who stayed weren’t answering their phones, and so we went alone. This is an odd thing for me to do, as I am used to having company on adventures. I am also not used to the experience of feeling socially needy, but there it is: Now completely bereft of any form of true solitude, I find myself craving company. I thought about staying at home and wallowing in feelings of self-pity and abandonment, but was motivated to go: To get out of the house, Because I can’t afford to wallow in depression, and really it just seemed that the Thing to do would be to watch you hang with some farm animals. And it turned out to be so much fun! You were really great company, you were the perfect companion, we had a perfectly complete experience. Alert and wide-eyed and curious, taking it all in. Tonight while tucking you in, I marveled at the length of you under the covers. A girl, a child- not such a baby anymore.

It has been two months since I last wrote in this journal. I honestly don’t know where the time has gone, or why I can never find the time to write, except that I have been exhausted chasing after your growing independent voracious curiosity, and your dad is gone for a month, and I am tired, and trying to work more for Adue during precious dwindling nap-time hours, and, well- just pretty much feeling like I am barely keeping my head above the water, let alone have the mental clarity to process our experiences into intelligible narrative.


The vertical plane



But so much has happened! You started crawling, and then immediately wanted to walk around everywhere holding onto our hands. And then you became bored with the horizontal plane and so it became all about grabbing our hands and lifting one leg up high in the air until it gained leverage on some elevated surface. In this way you scale chairs, boxes, tables, fences, kiddie pool walls, stroller wheels, and any other such mountainous feature. You learned to climb up stairs very soon after learning to crawl, and this was an all-encompassing passion for a month or so, and then at about 10+ months, you learned to descend. Technique: Flatten tummy against the stairs, and then point elegant searching foot down, down into space until it reaches landfall. Then the other leg pivots and lands- the butt bumps down after, and the whole process starts again. You like to carrot-and–stick yourself (it is always good to have motivation) and this is done by taking a favorite toy/ shoe/ article of clothing, and flinging it down the stairs before you. Climbing down to it, picking it back up, throwing it down.


Your first word


You aren’t saying any words yet (at least not intentionally), but you have started to clap your hand to your chest whenever you see a dog, or whenever I say the word “doggy” in conversation. The sign for doggy is clapping the hand against the thigh (so I guess hitting your chest would be considered a slight mispronunciation (hee hee) and it is the first time I have seen you attach a concept to a meme. Voila: your first word! I am so excited, and renewed in my enthusiasm to teach us sign language. And I really can’t wait for speech to start tumbling out. It is so rewarding to see you attach concepts and names to a previously uncategorized external world. You also have started to listen to me say “no”, and will stop whatever you are doing to look at me (if only for a moment) and grin. And then do it again, of course. But that pause is everything. That pause is sublime.


Exhaustion


David Whyte says the antidote to exhaustion is whole-heartedness. And I am trying to remember that, daily. Truly I am. I am trying just to open up to my life exactly as it is, without longing for the things I don’t have (space, money to hire babysitters, time in my studio). I think parenting can really do an amazing job of presenting a pretty unforgiving, piercing mirror into your own inadequacies, your spiritual roadblocks.

I am tired of having to always be strong and cheerful, to be a grown-up, to shoulder the burden happily and with an open heart, to be problem-solving, to be continuously turning a situation around in my hand so that I can see all sides of it, mentally readjusting my perception so that I can see the beauty that is hiding on its backside. It takes so much effort to be a grown-up, and to abandon the selfish life of pleasure and self-satisfaction. Can I admit that I am tired of picking up the same bottles and toys that you fling to the floor, over and over again? I am tired of wiping your ass and the floor and high-chair five times a day. Crawling on all hands and knees, cleaning cheerios out of crevices and corners, constantly amazed at how dirty a floor looks when you have your nose down to it. I want to crawl into bed and have somebody take care of me, and let me cry and be wretched and sad and not try to fix the problem, but let me snuggle up into their armpit, and sleep. For a year.

Okay, I didn't really mean what I said about being tired of wiping your bum. Truly I don't mind that part. It is truly so cute.


Brooklyn: Park Slope Mamas and their Sweet Strollers


Ah yes. So we had a really fun time in Brooklyn after dropping Jamba off at the airport at the end of July. We stayed at Emily and T’s apartment in Park Slope for a whole week, and after a few exhausting and grumpy trips on the subway with Jamba to Central Park and downtown (up and down all those stairs lugging the stroller, and so muggy underground), decided to keep to our adventures to those we could walk to, aboveground. So we went everyday to Prospect Park and explored brownstone neighborhoods, window shopped and gallery hopped, and caught free outdoor concerts, thought everyday about going to the zoo but didn’t. We enjoyed the swampy heat and hanging out with my dear old friend Carla, crazy wonderful Jason at his cool art loft in Williamsburg, and Rachel and Scott on our last morning, and basically pretended to be locals when Emily and T graciously left us their apartment for the weekend when they fled to the coolness of the coast. Everybody loved you. Emily and T both swooned for you, loved playing with you in the mornings before heading to work (practicing for when they get pregnant which is going to be like immediately after their wedding I bet). Carla (who has a lot of experience with babies, being a professional nanny) said you were the most vocal baby she had ever met. With your wild screeches and lion’s breath and squawks and so forth. We went to the Brooklyn farmers market, enjoyed being around an organic, slow food culture, and went to the playground almost every day, where tons of cool multi-cultural Brooklyn kids ran around in their different languages, and a line of babies were being swung back and forth by their mamas/dads/ nannies, and we discovered that you actually love to swing- it was just that our little backyard one doesn’t get enough velocity to make it interesting enough for you. You love being slowly pulled up (chug chug chug, like a roller coaster) to chest-height, and then abruptly dropped into free-fall. Little dare-devil. You also love it when we pretend to be really hungry and gobble leap for your toes when they swing up into range of our monstery mouths. So now we go every day to the playground down the street that is built like a pirate ship, and play on the swings, and I wait for you to assume the role you were born to play: Pippi Longstocking (that is what all the striped pants have been gearing you up for, if you must know).


Camping at Wallace Bottoms & the elusive Sleep Monster

This was your first camping experience, with the delightful Andrea Gram and sweet new friends. It felt so good to be out in the country, camping and living the simple life (well, the simple life of the gourmand). Bath County (just a few hours drive away) is some sweet land indeed, and it really helped me to ground and connect to Virginia to experience some of its pristine nature. Highlights: cooking gourmet communal meals from garden bounty and farmers markets, group yoga in the morning sunlight, and morning coffee with the other earlybirds. Sleeping in a tent again! What fun! Our campsite was incredible, perched up on a cliffside overlooking this sweet little swimming hole, with a hammock to enjoy the panoramic view. Hot days and cold clean water to swim in. Ahhhhh. And it was a good practice run, being a short three days, because it made me realize how utterly unprepared I was to camp with an infant. So, for next time: Bring more gear to make things more comfortable, ie: a dependable foam mattress and a portable crib- someplace (a non-sweltering tent) put you down for midday naps.

Downsides: you hated being put into the tent at night to sleep- it really scared you to be zipped up on your own in an unfamiliar environment, and you were pressing your whole body against the fabric of the tent trying to push your way through, and screaming. It was really really sad (and frankly a little scary looking- you looked like an image from a horror movie pressing your face against the white mesh) but you needed to sleep!!! I didn’t know what to do!!! I tried to get you to fall asleep with me lying next to you and nursing, but i couldn't figure out how to get off the blow-up mattress without bouncing you around and waking you up. Basically it was really hard to put you down. And the mattress kept deflating through the night. And naps, without the familiar crib, became sleeping on my chest while I sat in a chair and read. Well- that was kind of a sweet experience actually. But it would have been nice to have some time to myself, I guess (a familiar refrain?)

Andrea was so sweet and lullabied you to sleep one night for 45 minutes when I just couldn’t take it anymore. Her sister sat outside the tent and played low soothing guitar. (Honestly you are the most loved and cherished baby, you really are).

So: Even though it was wonderful to be out in nature, and Nico just went out of her mind with joy, and you seemed to love all the company and the excitement of trees and river, and oh man- floating in the river with you in your little yellow blow-up island: I swear to god that was like heaven on earth— it was hard, too, and I think it inaugerated a major regression in the sleep department. You got used to sleeping next to me all night again, and nursing through the night, and so here we are over a week later, still struggling to get you back on track. See, we had just had the magical experience (the weekend before the trip) of you sleeping on your own, spontaneously through the night, and I had my first solid seven hours of sleep in a row, in over a year, and I swear the heavens seemed to open up and pour golden shouts of happiness on my head. It was like I was instantly cured, of all this crazy sadness and insanity. I thought “this is it: this is how it is going to be from now on” all smug and delighted with you- and so, to be back, now— to a situation in which you wake up at 12:30 and scream in your crib for an hour (with me checking on you every 20 minutes or so, and patting you on the head, or putting you down on your stomach, and then firmly leaving) and then again at 3am, and then again at 5… well, sweet child, it is enough to make a poor mama wanna shoot herself in the head. Give me a break, okay?

Sorry for so much of this journal being about sleep- but it is kind of a big deal right now, and I am a little obsessed with hunting down that elusive sleep monster. I don’t know why you seem to hate going to bed so much. I really don’t. You just scream and cry and cry- you seem to hate it and I don’t know why. It is the only time you seem to get really unhappy. Is it the crib? Is it being left alone? I am sure it is just about being alone in your room, without me. You are really so very attached still. But you are going to have to learn to be on your own at some point- and at 11 months, I feel that you are ready. I believe in you. My relationship with sleep has always been sane, sound, and profoundly deep, and I am determined to pass it on to you.
I think that is entirely enough for now...... Jamba is back in on Sunday... I can't wait!

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

9 months

June 22, 2009

SHE CRAWLS!!

Father’s Day weekend was the weekend Sava started crawling. She had been schooching around pretty good for the last week: Getting up on all fours; pivoting her bottom around, and getting across a room in a gradual zig zagging arc pattern. Also she has been sliding backwards for a month (sitting on her bum or on her belly and pushing her arms against the floor). But on Friday afternoon amidst a pile of books, she learned how to keep her front arms straight and locked upright while alternating front and back limb action: the advent of true crawling.

A major, phenomenal shift has occurred. Now she can couple motivation with ability. Now we get to see more of her personality emerge- if personality is to be understood as ambition and the pursuit of one’s attractions and desires. The house must be scoured, battened down, secured.

She took her first tentative crawl on Friday (lucky mother’s intuition: I caught it on tape) and by Saturday she was zooming all over the house. Something has happened to her: it is like the joy of the new frontier has unleashed this manic reservoir of energy previously locked away in her bone marrow or something. Now there is this feverish desire to explore, and to do away completely with naps. Silly mortal- who could sleep when there is this dusty corner to lick? By Sunday we were completely exhausted; I had already been through two minor breakdowns and one teensy panic attack- and had forgotten entirely about Father’s Day until the afternoon when Jamba said (innocently, gently) "I’m just going to pop into Old Navy and check out their Father’s Day sale". Ouch. I tried to make it up to him by giving him a footrub that night, and he gratefully passed out at the previously unimaginable hour of 9:30 pm while mumbling something about how it was the nicest present/ father’s day anyone could ever want. Truly, we are parents now.

So Sunday evening Jamba and I are on our bed, completely defeated- defeated but with this small happy tired center of joy and pride (a chewy nugget of warmth), watching Journey to the Center of the Earth, with Sava in the middle, and she is still just out of her mind with energy. Climbing over my body like I am Mt. Everest, tumbling in between us. Righting herself and swimming furiously towards the TV to grab at the bars at the foot of the bed to stand up, rock herself violently back and forth. She is going to eat the TV if I don’t do something. I grab her heel and pull her back to me (what a fun game!!), thinking to restart the whole process, like the bed is her treadmill. She will have to get tired at some point, right?

Right?


June 16, 2009

Okay now your favorite thing is when your dad puts his hand up to your mouth and fans it while you ‘awwwwww” into his hand and make an Indian war cry. By the end of that day, you were already starting to bring your hand up to your mouth by yourself, and looking at us with wide expectant eyes as if waiting for that wonderful sound to emerge again.

You are fascinated by sound. Anytime you are around a canister or cup of any size you experiment by bringing it up to your mouth and crooning into it, to see what happens to the sound when it gets amplified. Crawling into your toybox and singing into the cave of it. You love the drum, the piano, the ukelele, the recorder, and the harmonica we just found in the hall closet.

The sounds you are making are: “Aaaaaaahhhhhhahhhh” (done loud like a trumpet, careening up and down the scales, and whipping around the room like a lasso that is performing a sonic probe of the volumetric space (like a bat, like a whale); Also a screech that sounds like a pterodactyl swooping down onto its prey; and of course the perennial favorites “dadadadadadada” and “mmmmmmaaa ma”. Your daddy just told me that in the morning when you two wake up, he sometimes sees you looking at him, softly saying "dah dah dah dah dah" to yourself. And when you are crying for the boob or because you are tired, you purse your lips into a tiny squinch and make that “mmmmmmm” and it sounds exactly like a small little speaker in your throat has blown out. That same soft crackling noise. I have to get it on tape. I really do because there are sounds that are going in and out of publication. For instance- one of the first sounds you ever made sounded exactly like you were saying “erin” (well, more like ‘ey- wren’) and now you never make it anymore.

Today you said “hi”. The thing is, you have a pretty large range of vocal sounds, so you say a lot of words on accident but there doesn’t seem to be meaning or communication behind it. Like you will not repeat them back to us when we get excited and start saying “Hi sava! Hi! Hi! Hi! Can you say Hi?” You just look at us like we are really odd, and promptly move on to the next, all-absorbing experience.

There is so much to write about. It kind of wrecks me that an entire month has gone by without meaningful journaling. That is to be expected with a move (we moved up to our new house in Harrisonburg at the beginning of the month and have been hectically trying to settle in (read: paint an entire two-story house, organize: reorganize: reorganize again finding the perfect state of settle, construct new garden beds and slap some herbs into the ground and all of the things your parents are compelled to do to finally feel at home in a space) and all of these things take up a lot of the time-space continuum and do not leave a lot left over for things like journaling about the profundities of one’s precious baby daughter. Which is a damn shame really. For what could be more important than watching you grow? Does it really matter where the cans of foods go in the cupboards and where the teacups? And yet.. I still find myself praying for long nap times and have to temper my disappointment when you wake up precipitously (but wait- I almost had that basement shelf put up!!). Because I am a goddamn protestant-raised daughter, cursed by a pressure to perform, to complete, to hack away at the to-do list. Aurgh.

I am trying to be a really good mother. Honest. I am trying. But it is as hard as it is the easiest, most joyful job in the universe. To wake up. Don’t go to sleep. Wake up. Wake up and witness, wake up and dance with her. Don’t go back to sleep. Don’t be buried by your duties, your sense of purpose. Witness.

You, who are always present, completely and nakedly honest to your desires and your appetite for life, you constantly pull me back to an appreciation of the real. I actually looked at old baby photos the other day (I can’t believe I am already at this point- how can you be 9 months already?) and was shocked at how small you used to be. How quickly this time is passing, and you shedding old skin every day like a chrysalis.

Your dad and I have been talking about how these last few weeks in particular have been an enhanced period of transformation. He keeps shaking his head at the wonder of it: just last week, you seemed to shift from being a baby to being a child. A little girl. A kid. What is it??? That you are almost crawling, and every day more motile? We turn our heads and somehow, magically, you scooch to the other corner of the room. How did you do that? (A complex series of body wiggles and rolls). We place you in the crib and seconds later you have pulled yourself up on the bars and are leaning over the rails, looking down at the floor- studying the physics of altitude, velocity, plotting your course. You are on your hands and knees and you rock back and forth like you are humping the floor (we giggle, like schoolchildren at a naughty joke).

No- it is not that- not all that movement. It is this sudden shift in your face- a lengthening and leaning. An awareness in your eyes. An increasing prettiness and poise in the way you hold your head on your neck. Or maybe it is your growing sense of humour- your desire to cause laughter. Clapping so that we will then applaud. Cause and effect? What is it? Sometimes I look at you and imagine being enveloped by you. Dwarfed. I feel your shoulder and can imagine leaning my head against your strong adult shoulder someday. You are just so sturdy and strong and vibrant and vital. You seem like a teenager already, with these giant (95th percentile!) hands and feet. Maybe it is just that I need to start hanging around normal sized people more often- I am losing perspective. You are larger than you were last week. That is all I know.

It is so interesting to be around a child in such an active state of transformation. We older people, who can trick the eye into presenting an illusion of stasis, we can settle around each other into comfortable routines, and forget to LOOK at each other. To daily memorize the faces and record the particular nuances of our speech, body habits, smells. But you who are so precious, because you illustrate our change, our collective passage through time in such a painfully magnified way. How often I grab you to me and squeeze, inhaling fiercely your smell. Close my eyes to better feel the impossible softness of your skin, to memorize you as you are now, and never will be again.

I am in love with you. That state of being in love, where you lie on the bed and look into each other’s eyes perfectly content for hours on end- I am there. We are there together. The metaphors of to drink, to eat the beloved in the poems, in the sainted verse, I can finally claim without embarrassment. Because you return my passion, without question or thought of doubt. You do not mind my clutchings and all the deep inhaling, although you will soon enough. For now I too am your drink, the deep well. You cry to leave my arms, my sight and smell.

You are inches from crawling. You love being flown through the air like an airplane. You love jumping on the trampoline in my arms. I hold you tightly with my hand on your head so that it doesn’t jiggle too much, and we jump up and down in slow careful elevations. After we are done jumping together, we sit down on the trampoline and I make you pop like a jumping bean while you squeal and try to hold your balance. You love being upside down. You love thumping your chest like a gorilla, and have discovered that a naked belly makes a wonderful drum. You love balls. You love pulling books off the bookshelf and flinging them over your shoulder and tearing the pages. (Tearing paper and crinkling plastic is a major passion). You love the game where I pretend to drop you and catch you right before you hit the ground. You love it when three of us surround you and spontaneously start clapping and laughing and cheering for you. It sends you to the moon. You have started to clap all the time now. You clap when you see Nico- also you squeal with delight sometimes to see her come into the room after a brief absence. You clap when you see Kitty. You love cheerios and can be entertained by one bowl of cheerios (of course, the organic whole-grain version called “oaty bites”) for the entire time it takes mom to clean a sinkload of dishes (time has come to be measured not by minutes or hours but by such units. Nap units. Cheerio Bowl units). Mostly the cheerios get scattered across the floor- but some make it to your mouth (pincer grasp, and then flattening your hand against the mouth. Success rate: 20% in the mouth: 80% on the floor). Whole-grain spaghetti noodles are equally fun to play with. They get dangled in the air and swung around in circles and carefully hand-fed to Nico. Bananas are a new passion- I actually have to stow them in the fridge to keep them out of sight- because if you see one you start making the “mmmm eemmm mmaa” broken stereo bleating sound previously reserved only for my boob. Bananas are much messier than cheerios or spaghetti so usually you will get stripped down to your knickers, so that you can paint the world with your banana fist. There is this very large wooden salad bowl we have, and a really cute thing to do is put the naked baby in it, pour some cheerios straight from the box into the bowl, and hand you a piece of banana. Baby Cereal! I guess in this scenario you are playing the role of The Milk.

We are starting to teach you sign language. Water. Milk. Ball. Mother. Father. Doggy. Cat. Bird. Shoes. The first time I have actually seen you entranced by the television screen was when we were watching Signing Times. We lay on our bed together with our heads at the foot of the bed like two kids at a slumber party, and you strained your hand towards the screen, wanting to pet the little kids putting on their shoes. You are fascinated by other little children, and when we meet other babies you practically lunge at them in your desire to touch their face. I have to restrain your enthusiasm, saying “gentle”, as most are intimidated and start to cry or hide against their mamas, overwhelmed by your enthusiasm and/or your apparent desire to consume them. Lets just put it this way : You, my sweet, are no shrinking flower. You are friendly and open, curious and flirtatious. Even to strangers. The shyness and separation anxiety predicted for 8-9 months old has not taken place yet- and may never happen at this rate. If you have been freshly snacked and slept, you can play content in somebody else’s presence for a long time (especially if I am out of sight/mind/smell).
Okay, that should probably be it for now. You are planting rasberries on the living room floor amidst a pile of off-loaded books and it is time to take you and Nico for a walk in the warm rain.


June 4, 2009

The newest joke (starting the last few weeks) is that you have learned to click (or clop?) your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You wake up and it is one of the first things you do, have a bout of tongue clicking with Mom and Dad. You seem surprised and delighted to find out that pretty much everybody you meet seems to know this game too. Ros loves playing it with you and gets even more excited than you to play it.

Favorite games include having mom or dad put things into their mouths and pretend to growl like a dog, shaking their heads back and forth. For instance: Dad and White Plastic Hanger in the Backseat. A lot of mouth humour in general. You love to be bitten. Consumed. Eaten up. Slurped. Munched from head to toe. Feets are the funnest snack. You have your hand constantly plunged into the mouth of whoever is holding you. Probing dentition, exploring the cavity. Our little dentist, we say.

You have started waving a lot more now. We can almost get you to wave upon command (Say bye-bye!) Although it is still mostly spontaneous and often disassociated from context of arrivals and departures.

Favorite things:
Shoes. (the shoe box- emptying it out. Mouthing high heels, flip flops. Your new blue crocs from Grandma- favorite squeaking chew toy ever.)
Feet. Sucking on wiggling toes. (Moses supposes his toeses are roses. But Moses supposes erroneously. For nobodies toeses are poesies of roses, as Moses supposes his toesies to be). Aunt Joy calls you Grumpy toes. Sleepy toes. I do the same.
Kitties.
Nico.


May 4, 2009

Sava’s jokes: May

1)When mommy or daddy cough, you look at us and smile really big, thinking we are making a joke. I think it is because Jamba is always going “Hey Sava, who am I??? cough cough cough,” pretending to be you….

2) Today, you lay against my belly in bed and gave me a raspberry. I laughed really hard cuz it tickled and also the businesslike way you went about it. You looked up at me and grinned really hard. Then you leant down to do it again. I laughed really hard again- big belly laughs this time cuz it was so funny, and tickled. So you did it again- and really quickly looked up to catch me laugh…. This went on for awhile…. Until you were just leaning down “as if” to give me a raspberry, but you would look up really quick to catch me laugh.

3) You have developed the habit, in the last few weeks, of popping your binky out of your mouth with your teeth clenched so that it makes a popping noise. You love that game. It started with the light blue “orthodontic” binky that is shaped weird- like a drop of water- and for which previously we had no use.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

April




APRIL 29th

Though she has been entertained by the game of peekabo for the last few weeks, she just now has actually started to initiate the game herself, which is a bit of a leap in my opinion. She was lying in bed and pulled the blanket over her head, and then quickly flung it down to look up at us mischieviously.
"Peekabooo!" we screamed at her in delight.
This went on for some time.

APRIL 24th

Driving to Virginia Beach on a Friday night, about to meet up with friends from Rosetta Stone at a beach house, Sava and I are in the back seat of the car while Ros and Jamba talk up front. She is babbling, really going for it, up way past her bedtime and thrilled with the lights flashing by and the nasal syringe we use to clean the snot out of her nose (she has another cold), and after chewing on the rubber of the syringe and waving it all around
video
(as we were to find out this was an exercise- a build-up to the big event) SHE WAVES at me for the first time, right in the middle of a babbling spiel. She stops babbling to look at her hand wondorously, and then back at my excited face (I had responded with perhaps an inordinate amount of enthusiasm) and then did it again. A bit more cautiously this time.
Again, the mom in joyous conniptions.
Hmmmmmmmm... (i could see the cogs turning)

p.s She waved for Jamba on my birthday, apparently, but I was not there to see it

APRIL 17th

This is hard, hard hard. I know everybody warned us that our lives would never be the same, but man oh man. I miss whole glorious chunks of time to myself (and not just at night, after she has gone down to sleep at night- because by that point I am totally dumped. you know? bone tired. able only to crawl onto the couch and drink a beer and watch a movie. HELP!! I need a nanny! At least somebody send me a goddamn robot that can pay my bills for me.

APRIL 16th.

What I do in a day. Wake up bleary and empty. Stumble around the house for an hour, go for a walk around the block in the warm spring morning, pointing out the birds and thinking about all the senses i take for granted. Do you hear that bird? Do you register what it belongs to? Try to be entertaining and coherent until Sava is ready to go down for her nap. Nurse her to sleep. Extricate myself from the bed. Pound caffeine and try to get something done... hurridly, quickly. Pick stuff up off the floor. Throw a load of laundry in. Make a call/pay a bill. and then damn! she is up again. Already???. Rinse, cycle, repeat. Many days I don't realize until the afternoon that I have completely forgotten to brush my teeth. Not just thought... oh, I will do it later, after coffee. It is like I totally let it slip from my mind that brushing teeth is an integral ceremonial part of the morning in civilized countries.

What I do do with my day: watch her squirming eyeballs dance underneath eyelids, waiting for the signs of deep sleep so that I can slip out of that dreamlike space and into the jolt of action. A bewildering spinning dance of deep state changes, and rarely immersed completely in any. That is the maddening part- the splintering, the always staying on the surface of things.

APRIL 10th

I absolutely exist right now solely and only thanks to the invigorating reviving powers of Mate.

APRIL 5

YOUR FIRST TWO TEETHS!
We were in Virginia Beach, about to leave for Richmond and Heidi’s plane flight home after a glorious bday weekend, having Sunday brunch in an old cape-cod style restaurant, and I was letting Sava chew on my fingers while she sat in her high seat after a messy meal of pureed carrots, and Ouch! It hurt when she chomped down, and we looked at her mouth and there were two sharp little nubs coming up on the bottom. The cutest thing ever. I spontaneously broke into tears, which made Heidi laugh in joy.


pix

March

February 28, 2009 (letter to the Birthing Group)
Also, I laughed to read your ironic relationship with "drowsy but awake!" I know! that one always kills me. Of course, the moment Sava is shifted position (especially being lowered into the crib), she startles awake into full fighting mode. That is the whole reason I slipped into the habit in the first place, of nursing her on my side, in our bed (mattress just on floor) until she falls asleep suckling, and then ever so very carefully, like a ninja cat, slip my boob out of her mouth and ease ever so slowly out of bed, making sure to leave consistent pressure on the bed until I am off of it and able to ease the mattress up slowly and controlled, inch by inch, with my arms. It is pretty ridiculous actually. "The zen of slipping out of bed undetected, while your baby continues making phantom sucking motions into thin air, and you chortle with (silent) glee at having foiled them once again!!"
I am finally like "This can't be the rest of my life."... Also, since she has started to roll, I can't really in good conscience leave her on an unsecured surface. So I will try to start establishing a "go to sleep ritual" that doesn't just involve nursing... and we are going to try for the crib! I will let you know how it goes.

March 3rd, 2009 SOLIDS!
The other day, I was looking down at your face, and it was crying, and a little salt tear had formed at the end of your lash and I put my finger to it and tasted it (yep- salty) and I was struck with the thought- that your tear, and your eyelash for that matter, had all been constructed out of my tissues, and out of my breastmilk. That that tear was really just re-constituted breastmilk, because up to that point, the only think you have ever taken in (other than the occasional gulp of bathwater), was ME.
Well, that has all changed, now, because tonight, you ate your first non-mom food group. GERBER’S ORGANIC BROWN RICE BABY CEREAL. We got it on tape. You seemed to enjoy it. (not surprising, considering the extreme interest you have had lately, in watching me eat stuff, and grabbing for my spoons, etc.) We decided to start feeding you solids for three reasons. 1) 5 months is a good age to start new experiences (you are more malleable a person than you will be in a few months) 2) I am hoping it will help you sleep through the night better 3) You seem to be very curious, and ready for new experiences.

March 12, 2009

We are going through kind of a rough patch right now, where five months of broken sleep are catching up to me, and I feel a little evil on the inside. So it is finally time to get you out of the family bed, as much as I love sleeping next to you, your warm little clingy body next to mine, I think I will be a better mother during the day if I get some solid sleep at night. See, the thing is, by this age you are supposed to be sleeping through the night, with maybe one nursing- but since you sleep right next to me, you have gotten into the habit of just snacking all through the night. You can wake up around five or six times a night to nurse. It sucks, literally. My poor breast feel like wounded soldiers, marching disconsolate and bereft behind the others, emptied of all purpose and reason. They are sad, limp, hollow things. You never give them a chance to fill up again. You are a little piggy.
So, my cherished one, I am booting you out of the bed, and into the crib which we have put right beside it. You need to learn how to go to sleep on your own, and stay asleep through the night. That is a skill everybody must learn at some point, and now is your time.
But it is hard. My heart breaks a little. It is like the first crack in the undifferentiated blob that is YouMe. Pretty soon you will be 13 years old and you will just absolutely hate everything about me and you will sneak out of the house and be caught applying mascara in the school bathrooms before class.
On a lighter note… I fed you your second different food today….. organic Sweet Potatoes out of a little baby jar. It was quite cute. You seemed to like it okay. I am feeding you while you are standing in your exersaucer, and you seem to be enjoying taking little bites, and then going back to playing with all the toys, and then looking back at me and eating a bit more, etc…

February


A poem about Sava

Sava is the single most amazing person in the universe. Really- i look at her and it takes my breath away. A whole person dropped from my body, alive and functioning, with all the capacity to grow and think and love within her already. She is almost impossibly soft- there are no sharp corners or jagged edges to be found. Ankles and wrists are opportunities for the most egregious voluptousness. Her forehead as round and polished as a seastone.

She has recently discovered her hands: that they can be agents of change, and she is constantly stretching out to the world through them. Either they are clasped in her lap and she is staring down at them in studious concentration (what marvels, these hands!) or they are flying about her in haphazard frenzied orbit. She pummels her thighs in excitement. She sticks them deep inside her mouth, chews each digit thoughtfully. She nurses and her hands are in constant balletic motion.... curving through space in wide s-curves, curling and uncurling fingers, or stroking my chest with the most heartbreakingly loving touch. I am being petted. I am being told, "there's a good mommy". A few days ago, while we were at the local pizza joint enjoying a hard-won beer after a fiercely competitive racketball match, we had our first Sava/hand/engendered accident, when she stared at his beer, calculated trajectory and swiped, knocking it effectively all over his lap. We were awed and amazed. And wet.

February 2, 2009
Your first real cold, and you smiled bravely at us through swollen eyes and a burbled throat. In the bath, a new obsession with leaning over and trying to suck on your toes. I understand completely- they look very inviting to me. In fact… I am gonna gobble them up right now! Other new interests: looking at Nico and smiling and laughing at her. Spatulas- waving them around in the air. Hitting things with them.
February 4th
Your first doctor’s visit in our new town… we met Dr. George Sproul and found out that you are 16 lbs and 25 inches long. 90% percentile for length and head size, but only 50% for weight per length. In other words, you are an immensely healthy, long and lean (okay, maybe not so lean) wonder. You got your first vaccine shots, one in each chubby thigh, and you hated it… cried and cried and I nursed you and you finally calmed down. But it felt horrible to let them poke you and cause you pain.

February 9th
In the past two weeks you have discovered your feet and now when we are in the bath, you sitting like a corpulent little buddha, one of your favorite things to do is to lean over and stick your open mouth around the big toes and chew reflectively. Your face is becoming leaner and more defined… I see the beginnings of an elegance in your nose and eyes- a refinement in the bridge of your nose, so that you are even more heartbreakingly beautiful. I love seeing glimpses of the face that is to come. We place you facing outwards in the sling now, and you really love facing the world and checking everything out. Your fat little legs just pump in excitement, like you are trying to kick the machine into gear. I just found an exersaucer online for you to use as you are just now old enough to stand in one, and you love playing with all the little twirling gadgets and spinning around. You aren’t so sure about the jumperoo thing in the middle of the doorway. Hands are almost constantly stuck fist deep into the mouth.


Feb 14th- 24th
You are 5 months old and already you have flown in a plane to the San Juans for Thanskgiving, and now- from Washington D.C to SF, and from SF to Honolulu, and from Honolulu to the Big Island, and then back again. That is a lot of plane rides for such a small munchkin. You are an amazing traveler (I had people come up to me after almost every flight, to thank me for having such a well-behaved baby). I just strap you into our baby carrier, and we stride through the airports like Amazonian villagers lugging three bags and eliciting happy awestruck expressions from the other people in the terminal. Our strategy for happy flights is 1. Nurse upon takeoff and landing (helps with the ear popping during altitude changes 2. Bring lots of toys (our favorite traveling companion is Mr. Burroughs the burrowing owl, who is a hand puppet who can fly and he followed us across the entire continent, and then over the pacific ocean, and every time you were starting to get grumpy, Mr. Burroughs would finally catch up to us and land, panting, to whoo-whoo at you in a very deep and winded voice and ask “what, my dear, seems to be the problem?” He is a bit of an armchair psychologist. You would squeal in joy and grab him with both chubby arms and do a face plant onto his nose, and start chewing away.) 3. Walk up and down the aisles looking at all the nice people faces in all the rows, and meeting all the other babies (there were at least three or four of them on the flights to and from Hawaii).

You, miss Savalu, are an absolute magnet. People see you and just swoon. I have had many people tell me that you are one of the most loveliest babies they have ever seen. And then they go “I mean, all babies are beautiful. But yours, yours is realllly beautiful. Look at those eyes…”

This is the standard dialogue.

“Oh what a beautiful baby! How old is (she? /he?)”
- She. She is (x) months...
“Really? Wow! She’s big for her age!”
-Yep. She’s a big girl.
“Oh my goodness, LOOK AT THOSE EYELASHES!!”

So we just got back from our trip to Hawaii…It was nice and warm, a welcome change from the frigid winter weather of Virginia. It wasn’t too sunny, which was good because I fretted about exposing your tender peach-olive skin to the blistering rays. It was like an overcast, warm grey bath that we got to swim in for a week and a half.

We basically just hung out with the grandparents and enjoyed being warm, in a condo right off the ocean and a pretty busy street. Graham and Joy came to visit us from the other side of the island and they took us to the cool, secret beaches. We had neighbors next door in the condo who were loud and liked to party, and I hated them because they disrupted your nap and sleep schedule. (I couldn’t believe that I was getting mad at 50 year old grownups who were partying like college students. What a strange reversal for your mother, who at one point was used to having the shoe on the other foot).

I don’t think you really understood much about the trip- you are still pretty much taking the entire world in as if it was a foreign planet, and so why would it be much different for you- to be looking at tropical foliage vs. bare winter shrubbery. To be hearing the chorus of coqui frogs vs. that of winter birds.
Although…… Sand.
Sand was a pretty amazing revelation. We had some nice times sitting on the beach, with you stuffing your face with it. You were baptized in the ocean for the first time, the great Pacific ocean that laps at the great state that your mama was born in, but I don’t think you understood the portent of the moment, but only that it was COLDER than a nice warm bathtub, or for that matter, Harbin Hot Springs.

pix

January

January 18, 2009
You are almost four months old. You love being tickled by your mama. I can tickle you in three places- when I have my hands on your back and tickle between your shoulder blades (your favorite place), then, under your armpits, and then, where your thighs meet your belly. Your daddy likes to tickle you with his scratchy beard. He nuzzles your neck and you chortle with glee. You are laughing all the time now. Especially in the morning, when you are at your happiest and most relaxed.

January 20, 2009
Standing is your all time favorite thing, other than the boob. If you are getting grumpy and starting to kvetch, I will stand you up so that you are sitting on my belly, and you usually immediately stop frowning and give me a leery flirty smile, and a little waggle back and forth, a fistpump or two, and then strain upward in one straight line and gaze about your domains with the satisfaction of elevation.

January 21, 2009
A new voice was unveiled for Obama’s inaugeration day. This really lovely scratchy squeal like a alleycat in heat. It can mean a variety of things… it is not unhappy though it can signify the beginning of a meltdown. Mostly it seems to be when you have something really important to say, and you want to trumpet it. Also, it seems that you are really enjoying just trying out different sounds with your mouth and throat, so it feels experimental.

January 29th, 2009
You rolled over by yourself for the first time today. 4 months and 1 week old! I lay you on your back on your play mat in the living room, and you started doing this thing you have been doing the past four days, which is to bring up both your legs to your chest and roll to your left. You just kept touching your knees to the floor, and then rolling back onto your back. You were pretty happy and calm- engaged but not overly excited. I left to go into the kitchen and when I came back, you were on your belly!!!

January 30th, 2009
The firm floors help with this- you can’t roll over on the bed yet. You did it again on the bathroom floor this morning. This time, you weren’t as happy- you seemed to get frustrated by the effort and got lodged in an uncomfortable position against the cabinet until I could rescue you. But you are going to be crawling soon. You were trying to do the crawl on the bathroom floor after you rolled over, legs kinda pushing back against the rug and your whole body arched up and straining, and I could see the wheels turning in your head.

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