Mr. Baby

Sam Walks

2009-05-18T19:34:00.000-07:00

Sam took his first truly unassisted steps today.

We were in the front yard and he started playing a little game with me. It involved letting go of my hands and standing on his own for a few seconds before falling backward into my embrace. Standing and falling tickled him to no end, but it was clear that he especially loved the standing part. Because Karl and I will do anything to make and keep him happy, we pushed the game to include taking a few steps between us. After a few assisted steps, Sam finally did what he had never done before: from a standing position, he lifted one foot, moved his little body forward, put that foot down, lifted the other foot, moved his little body further, then put that foot down. He walked. For the first time. He carried his sweet, precious body from me to Karl using the balance, strength, and footwork he's been practicing for the past several months. It was enough to make me cry.

Life Size

2009-03-13T20:38:00.000-07:00

The cats are edgy from being trapped inside for two days. Can't let them out in the rain with all this white furniture. Just can't. I know how they feel, though I'm too happy about the rain to let a little cabin fever get me down. Plus, I'm starting to relax into my new schedule; been a full-time nanny for three weeks now and it's starting to grow on me. My life has grown quite small. Just me and the babies and their relentless "schedule." We stay close to headquarters - the living room - most of the time, venturing out on walks through the neighborhood when we start getting titchy. We take "field trips" to the grocery store, Costco, or Target when the planets align just right. This tiny life of mine may sound boring, but as the boundaries of my outward life contract, my inner life expands. Being Sam's mother is the most soul satisfying job I've ever had. An innate wisdom, once so deep as to have been invisible, has made itself known and changed me for good. Despite appearances, my daily existence reminds me of a line from Whitman's Song of Myself, "Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes." That's me. Large and strangely multitudinous.

A Perfect Sunday

2009-03-01T15:29:00.000-08:00

The shadows are growing long, signaling the end of a perfect Sunday. It went something like this: gorgeous winter weather, breakfast out, a quick trip to the annual kite festival at Zilker, a meeting with my new "clients" at the park near Big Stacy Pool, and a nice chat with Eden before Sam's bath. Sam fell asleep easily about half an hour ago and I have decided to sit with my thoughts before moving on to more mundane tasks, the sorts of things that need doing before the start of a new week.

Sitting and writing as the sun sets draws out the perfection of this day. I've been trying to cram in a thoughtful, well-written blog at night, right before bed, which has so far proven to be not only difficult, but downright idiotic. I seem to grow less intelligent in direct proportion to Sam's increasing age. This latest attempt to express myself clearly and engagingly at the end of every long day of mothering one, now two, soon to be three, babies is, I now realize, pretty stupid. I read the crap I churn out in the exhausted dark as proof I have no talent, which opens up a whole big box of fear and anxiety about my future professional self that is hard to ignore. It's a mean cycle I'm anxious to break. So. I'm luxuriating in this fading sunlight hoping a new, less frustrating, more productive habit will emerge.

New Toof

2009-02-26T18:19:00.000-08:00

You'd think after ten and a half months I'd be quicker to diagnose Sam's ills. I'm not. For the past two nights, it's taken us almost three hours to put him to sleep. Tonight, two hours into the struggle, I finally snapped to the sad (though exciting) fact that the first of Sam's top teeth was coming through. Poor Sam. He lay in bed, writhing and kicking, fighting sleep and all my best attempts to soothe him. He's finally asleep after a dose of Tylenol and a couple of teething drops. Me? I'm feeling dull-witted and spent. I remain hopeful, though, that one of these days I'll get the hang of this mama thing.

Train Sounds

2009-02-24T18:16:00.000-08:00

Sam hates train sounds. As soon as he hears the whistle blow, he turns his big eyes on me and asks wordlessly, "Again?" He whimpers a little and his mouth and chin do a sad little dance. I feel terrible and say so. I explain that it's just a train, that the sound he's hearing is the whistle, that it's a warning to people to stay off the tracks. Then I explain what tracks are, but he keeps those big, mildly alarmed-looking eyes on me and I finally say, "Train. It's a train, Sam. It's okay. It's not going to hurt you. I won't let anything hurt you." As much as I hate seeing him frightened, I do love comforting him. It breaks my heart in so many achingly warm ways.

This reaction of Sam's has persisted for a week or so. It must be torture for him because trains go by all day and night. We only live a few blocks from the tracks and we tend to keep the windows open when the weather is nice so I get that look often. Today I did something I hadn't done before. Instead of my usual long-winded explanation, I simply said, "train" over and over again. I said it slowly and purposefully the way I do words I'm trying to teach him. He seems hungry for these sounds and watches my mouth intently, so I draw them out for his pleasure. I find they sound new and foreign to me this way. Today I realized you can't say train purposefully without ending up with a smile on your face. It's not a real smile, but it's the shape of a smile. Try it. Train. See? Anyway. Sam got it. The more I said "train" the more I smiled. Before I knew it, Sam was smiling, too. He'd forgotten his fear after losing himself in the word. I took it as a tremendous victory.

Sam's First Party

2009-02-21T20:33:00.000-08:00

We went to Delilah's first birthday party today. It was Sam's first real party. The babies - Sam, Judd, Greta, Delilah, Olympia, and Violet - hung out on blankets in the backyard while the parents mixed and mingled, mostly on the blankets in the backyard. I've never been good at parties. I'm nervous around people I don't know and uncomfortable with small talk. As I watched Sam sitting and playing in the company of the other babies, I wondered if he was having a good time. Was he wishing the others would show more of an interest in him and what he was doing or was he perfectly content? My heart ached for him - as it does about a thousand times a day - when I imagined the big and small hurts he'll have to endure along the way. As soon as I found myself hoping he doesn't grow up as socially awkward as his father and I, I realized that some of the more interesting people I know are terrified by other humans. Bottom line, I just want him to be happy and fulfilled and fear I won't do enough of the right things to help him get that way.

Gettin' It Done

2009-02-18T20:33:00.000-08:00

I love that Sam goes to bed at 5pm every night. It means that we wake up ridiculously early, but I get so much done in the evenings. It's almost 11:30, way too late to be going to bed, but here's what I've accomplished in the past several hours:

Harvested cilantro and mustard greens from the garden
Replanted lettuce and carrots
Planted Sweet Peas
Tucked pine stray under the strawberries
Made granola
Dried, marinated, and baked tofu
Made applesauce
Washed, trimmed, and sliced strawberries to freeze
Packed applesauce for freezing
Took all food scraps to the compost pile (in the dark)
Washed all the dishes
Blogged about it!

If it sounds like I'm bragging, I am. This is hardly usual, but Sam's bedtime makes days like this possible. Oh. I think we also had our first playdate this afternoon. I'm new to this stuff, but I think our visit with Kim and her sweet Olympia constitutes a playdate. After we left Kim's we went to Goodwill for clothes, then home for a walk then a bath then bed for Sam. Whew. I love my life.

To Crawl or Not to Crawl

2009-02-17T19:27:00.000-08:00

Until I saw Leo crawling circles around Sam on Sunday, I was only mildly concerned about my son's immobility. Monday found me obsessed. I blamed myself. I rationalized. I became anxious. It was still on my mind early this morning, so I googled "ten months not crawling" and was immediately relieved. I happened upon a parent's board filled with reassurances and stories of children either not crawling at all or crawling and walking at far more advanced ages than Sam's. It was enough to cast all doubt from my mind and I started the day reflecting on all the things that make Sam so special.

Sam and Delilah and Leo - Oh My!

2009-02-16T20:12:00.000-08:00

Because I was able to find a full-time baby, Delilah (the baby I've been watching part-time since November) won't have to go to daycare. Yay! The timing couldn't have been more perfect - for me and Delilah's parents. Securing two families in a nanny-share means I'll soon have full-time employment. It's a bittersweet accomplishment considering the paltry compensation, but I'm very relieved. I get to stay home with Sam while earning enough money to cover most of my expenses AND I can quit my months-long job search. This is huge. It'll be interesting to see how this all works out, but for now I'm enjoying the soul-satisfying calm that has replaced the fear and anxiety I've been feeling for weeks.

Karl sent me this link:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=100746963

It makes me want to:

A) Move to Paris
B) Start my own Parisian-inspired daycare
C) Come back as a Parisian toddler
D) All of the above

(The correct answer is D.)

Look at Me. I'm a Nanny

2009-02-15T17:34:00.000-08:00

Looks like the little nanny service I've been trying to get off the ground is going to happen. Danielle, Bill, and their sweet 10-month-old son, Leo Luca, came by this afternoon to check us out, see if we might be a good match. We all hit it off from the start and quickly decided to give a go. I'm gonna be a nanny!

Back on Track

2009-02-14T09:59:00.000-08:00

Ouch. Five posts in six months. I am ashamed. Rather than dwell on my failures and linger in the past, though, I vow, here and now, to post something (anything) everyday until Sam's first birthday.

My usual excuse for not writing creatively is that writing for money leaves me spent at the end of the day. After churning out hundreds or thousands of precisely chosen words for someone else, I have no words left for myself. Since I haven't had a regular freelance gig since November, that excuse no longer holds water. So here we go.

Sam has grown into a beautiful, sensitive, FUNNY ten-month-old. He is highly verbal, issuing forth a range of sounds that include murmuring, laughing, babbling, and happy screaming. He's started mimicking the phrases "uh oh", "bow wow wow", and "da da". The first time his version of "bow wow wow" left his lips, my breath caught as if I were in a falling elevator. It was like witnessing a miracle. I had the same feeling the first time he really laughed without being tickled, the first time he rolled over, and all his other firsts. Sam has yet to crawl - he hates being belly down - but has started showing an interest in walking. The not crawling thing is occasionally troubling, but I've read that some babies just skip it and go on to walking. That's cool, I think, and imagine that this quirk will someday end up in a best selling biography written about him after he's found a cure for cancer or brought an end to world hunger. In the meantime, we're spotting him when he stands and guiding him as he takes little steps toward whatever it is he wants. In other words, we're all in training, preparing for when the steps get bigger and the falls harder to take.

Miserable

2009-01-17T10:35:00.000-08:00

Sam got sick for the first time last week. It was horrible. His face was flushed and slick with tears, snot, and drool most of the day and his glazed eyes revealed the depths of his otherwise uncommunicable misery. He refused to play, longed to be cuddled, held, and carried, and cried like he'd lost his best friend. Karl and I followed Dr. Sears' recommendations to the letter, treating Sam's symptoms with an arsenal of acetaminophen, saline drops, and warm baths, but the cold was stubborn. It was a full week before Sam's easy laugh returned.

I felt pangs of guilt following the worst moments. I thought about past instances when friends' children got sick and how poorly I had responded. Had I known how traumatizing the experience can be, I would have sent flowers, baked cakes, offered massages... Well, maybe not all that, but I would have been far more sympathetic. Now that I know the depths of exhaustion and frustration that are visited upon the house of an unwell infant I feel somehow better, wiser.

Sad, In a Crazy Way

2008-08-20T17:48:00.000-07:00

Early this evening, as Sam's bedtime edged closer, I started feeling sad. It took me a minute to realize the feeling wasn't new, that I've felt a stab of sadness everyday this week when I've become aware that another day with Sam was coming to an end. I know it sounds crazy, but I've wanted to cry when I realized the time and what it meant. Eden, my best friend, called when it hit me a little while ago. I did start crying when I told her how I felt, that I was sad that another day with Sam was over, then I started laughing because I heard how crazy I sounded. Eden said, "That's morbid. Like one day closer to Sam's death?" I laughed and cried harder. I told her I wasn't totally crazy. She obviously didn't believe me because then she asked, "Do you get like this when he naps, too?"

When he was first born, I remember being grateful that Sam came several weeks early - and healthy. It gave me more time with him, I reasoned. I got to see his eyelashes and eyebrows grow in, watch his perfectly round, floppy little ears turn into the more ear-like things he has now. Best of all, he was still covered in lanugo, that fine, downy hair present only on the tiniest of babies. It was a treat, getting to see him as he was when he should have still been inside. At the time it felt greedy; I got Sam, but I also got more of him than I should have.

Thinking about it now, it's like my early evening sadness is a reminder that I've used those weeks up, that now everything is all Even Steven somehow. Somewhere between two or three weeks early and four and a half months old, everything got all smoothed over. Now we're dealing with "real" time. No extra bonus rounds. This will probably pass, but for now I'm going to hold onto my sadness, as crazy as it is, because I know I can't hold onto Sam. He has to grow and change and become the person he's going to be, which is, of course, what I want. And like Karl said, we've got lots of pictures.

Doris Evans

2008-07-22T19:08:00.000-07:00

I've exchanged niceties with an older neighbor lady while taking my morning walk for going on three years now. Our passing conversation is almost always the same. From my side of the street I say, "Mornin'. How're you doing?" She replies from her side of the street, "Have a wonderful day." I stopped seeing her toward the end of my pregnancy and worried. I was relieved to see her again on one of my first walks with Sam when he was just a few weeks old. I stopped her and let her know that I'd missed seeing her. She explained that, due to the weather, she was skipping her walks and doing water aerobics instead. She was a little shy about asking about Sam, but was obviously touched when I pulled back the sling so she could see his sleeping form. She said I'd made her day.

Karl went walking with us this morning and when we came upon her she remarked on our sling. She said, "I sure wish we had those when I had my babies." After we passed, Karl wondered aloud about what our mothers and grandmothers used to carry us. When we circled back home we found her watering her front yard. I stopped and asked how she carried her babies and she said, "Like this," and mimed carrying a baby on each hip. "Two of mine were born 16 months apart." This prompted a conversation about her family: four kids and six grandkids. "We all really like each other and enjoy getting together." Then she asked about Sam. When I told her he was a good, easy baby, she said, "All mine were good babies. A happy baby reflects happy parents."

It was around this time that Sam woke up. She was bolder this time about asking to see him and Karl turned so she could see his big blue eyes. He looked right at her, blinking in the sunlight. "Oh," she told him, "you just made my day." I felt weird not knowing her name, so I asked. When she said "Doris Evans" in the most comforting Texas accent I couldn't have been less surprised. Of course her name is Doris Evans. I introduced myself, Karl, and Sam, and we all expressed our happiness at knowing one another. Then she said two things that killed me. First, she said she was happy she'd get to see Sam grow up. Then, as we made to continue walking, she said her usual, "Have a wonderful day," but then added, "and a wonderful life."

I've run into other grandmothers on my morning walks with Sam and they've taught me so much. Every exchange is filled with pride. Every time I show my baby off to one of these older women we get caught up in a shared joy. I've gleaned from even the briefest of conversations with these women that the happiness and fulfillment of motherhood doesn't diminish, but grows over time. This amazes me. I already feel my life has expanded and become so much better. And it's only been three and a half months.

Random

2008-07-16T15:42:00.001-07:00

I keep thinking about this bit from an interview with Patti Smith in this Sunday's New York Times Magazine. She was asked if she ever feels lonely. She answered,

"Sometimes the pain still - the loss of my brother, the loss of Robert, the loss of my husband, even the loss of my children being children - we can access a lot of things that cause pain. This might seem really funny, but when I feel like that, I make myself smile. I just sit and physically make myself smile. Because sometimes it makes you laugh, and then you just go, 'All right.'"

Her comment about the loss of her children being children really hit me. As recorded in my previous post, I find it hard to reconcile how fast Sam is growing and changing. Even now, Karl and I jokingly refer to the time "when Sam was a tiny baby." One day I'll feel the pain of the loss of his childhood. I anticipate it even now and feel a twinge. The bittersweet tension between the love I feel for him and the heartbreak that love brings is deeply profound and makes me realize just how fine the line is between joy and pain. So, I suppose, I might as well smile the next time Sam brings me to tears.

Came across this website while researching something for work:

http://www.patriciapiccinini.net/wearefamily/index.php

Karl and I saw this woman's work the last time we were in New York. It's funny that I came across her stuff now as I still have a tendency to see Sam as a little creature. A far cuter creature than any of Piccinini's, but a creature nonetheless. (And, yes, sometimes I do feel a little like her beastly mamas - but only glancingly and only on the very bad days.)

Hard

2008-07-10T19:45:00.000-07:00

Just put Sam to bed. It's been one of those hard days, but hard in a way I never imagined. He spent the bulk of the day nursing and sleeping on me (he woke up angry and upset every time I tried to put him to sleep in his Moses basket) so I got very little work done. But that wasn't the hard part. I'm miles from any deadlines so work wasn't critical. It was his vulnerability and need for me that just kept breaking my heart over and over again all day that killed me. I cried when he looked up at me this afternoon and smiled his gummy, drunken smile, and I cried tonight when I saw traces of the face he'll one day grow into taking shape while he slept in my arms. Love this big is hard.

I was warned that being a mother would be hard, but I never imagined that hard meant this. I've always tried to savor the best moments in life and I do what I can to hold onto the fleeting, but this? This takes the cake. How can I slow all this down? Burn all the rapidly passing moments into my memory? One day, very soon, he won't need me so much. I'm sure there are advantages to this - I might be able to get some work done - but I dread that day. I just want to hold him forever and not have to say goodbye to the Sam that he was today - although I can't wait to see who he'll be tomorrow. See? It's crazy. And frustrating. And hard.