October 21, 2006

Eliot takes his first walk in his fancy jog stroller

The little family chills under the pines

Daddy cuddles the bug

October 19, 2006: Two Weeks Today

Two days ago, on what was originally your estimated due date, the remaining bit of your umbilical cord fell off. With this last connection to before and within severed, you are now completely of this world. Welcome.

This morning, you woke up with coos and squeals in the co-sleeper beside me in bed. I scooped you up, anticipating the morning bout of wailing for food. I tried to get you to nurse, but three times, you spit out the breast. Perplexed, I looked down at you and asked you what you needed. You looked back. For the first time, your roaming eyes seemed to catch on mine and stay. For five minutes, your midnight blue eyes traveled and paused, traveled and paused. Your gaze returned to mine over and over. You stretched your face into strange and wonderful expressions, forehead creasing, then eyebrows arching in wonder. You squeezed your mouth into a tight little “O” as if you were trying to blow bubbles, then widened it into something resembling a yawn. The single dimple on your cheek danced in and out of view, and the beginnings of the smile soon to lighten your face flickered across your cheeks and mouth.

You are an outside baby now. Being awake means more than just nursing. You are beginning to have longer stretches of alertness, gazing wide-eyed at lights and color, practicing navigating the complex muscular map of your body. You have even begun to have your own smell. I noticed yesterday the sour scent of too many days since your last sponge bath. Your sweat and tears, the film of milk that spills down your face and into the creases of your neck when you fall asleep nursing, emanate from your skin. You smell gently mammal. You smell alive. You smell you.

Right now as I write, Grandpa has you out on the deck in the sunshine. He has you looking at the changing autumn leaves and all the birds visiting the feeders he and your daddy have vigilantly made, repaired, and kept filled. Your daddy is here, too, working from home for the afternoon. He takes you whenever you are finished nursing but not quite ready for sleep. Whenever you are just looking for a cuddle in familiar arms.

October 17, 2006: So Many Songs

When I was pregnant and hiking every day, I made a point of singing. My repertoire consisted of about ten songs I sang repeatedly as I tromped through the woods. A few camp tunes, Janis’ throaty rendition of “Me & Bobby McGee,” Joanie Mitchell’s “Cary,” and one or two choruses to some classic rock tunes pounded into my head through sheer repetition.

We don’t know what we don’t know until we see again what we were missing. When Eliot pushed out into the world, it seems he wrenched open some door into a dusty, long-locked music storage closet in my memory. I have begun to sing. Every day, every night, every nursing and every walk. The sheer quantity of songs I know astounds me. Old ballads, sugary 50’s pop, whole albums by James Taylor, the Grateful Dead, Cyndi Lauper, and Madonna. I am belting out every song from Free to Be You and Me, cooing Eliot to sleep with Celtic and bluegrass, and running through entire musical scores from Grease, The Wizard of Oz, and Annie Get Your Gun. I am awed and thrilled with all this music coming from me and filling my son’s ears and mind.

Right now, we expend almost all our energy meeting Eliot's basic physical needs. Feeding, cleaning, resting, and cuddling mark the ups and downs of our days. With Grandpa Bill visiting right now, Eliot is getting his share of physical stimulation. Grandpa says, “let’s do your exercises!” then pumps Eliot’s arms and legs with vigor while the little guy lolls and gazes vacantly around the room. We have some time before we have much to do to stimulate our baby’s brain and body beyond providing him  with constant, reassuring touch. 

Which is why it is such a pleasure to sing to my son. While I hold and nurse and make music, I notice myself stroking his face and head to the rhythm, letting his fist curl around my fingers so we can keep time together.

I imagine him as a young man. Someday, someone special beyond the circle of close friends and family will be amazed by Eliot, find him as precious as I do. I pray that person will touch him with such care and gentle awe. When it happens, I hope somewhere deep in his memory, a distant echo of song whispers in his ear, the comfort of mama’s arms holds him again, and he knows love.

New parents attempt a discreet feeding at the mall

Mom & Dad get ready their very first date sans baby. We felt so sneaky out at Olive Garden. Not a soul there knew we were parents.

Our son flashes his first gang sign.

Grandma Genie teaches Shannon how it's done.

October 12,2006: One Week Today

We made it through our first full night in bed. The near disabling fear of crushing or dropping you has finally begun to dissipate. The first few nights after you came home, my mind raced around like a skittish cat, imagining every terrible way I could lose you. I had to be a sentry, and ached to wrap you in a bubble of pure protection. I was so tense with watchfulness, your grandma had to buy me a sports mouth guard to keep me from grinding my teeth to powder during the night.

Now, I am starting to trust you are here for the long haul. When you wake to nurse in the night, you rest up against my side, opening your eyes wide into the faint glow of the flashlight I keep in the bed and looking all around. I know you cannot see me yet, but I love to watch your deep violet eyes, try to catch their gaze as they trace the shapes of the bedroom. Our bedroom. Yours.

When you are finally satisfied and begin to drift off back into that mysterious place that holds you most of the day and night, I roll you back onto my tummy to sleep. Your face is towards me so I can watch you sleep. Your cheek can pick up the familiar rhythm of me. We both can sleep. All I need to be reassured, even deep in my own restfulness, is the occasional mew and wiggle against my belly. I know you are safe here. You belong here.

Sometime near dawn this morning, you gulped too much air and developed such a hearty case of the hiccups, the bed shook. I remembered you as an inside-baby, when your hics could send little earthquakes through my entire frame. I am still in awe of the you here with me, knowing you are the same you who floated and fluttered inside me all those months. When I run my finger down the string of beads making up your spine, I cannot believe I grew you. Flesh and bone, brain and body. You sprouted from that tiny germinated seed, and grew into you. Eliot. Our son.

October 8,2006: He Made It!

Byron Eliot Hettler decided to make his grand entrance. He was born on Thursday, October 5 at 5:11pm at St. Mary's hospital in Apple Valley, California. Unsurprisingly, he was a little bruiser at 8lbs, 1oz., and 19.5 inches, and he popped out of the birth canal with his little fist raised right up side of his head. Power to the people!

We are home and recovering at a peaceful pace. Nursing is proving more of a challenge than we expected and Fenway is still wound up and hyper-curious, but we are plugging away. Toby is helping out like a champ and is a very cuddly daddy. He takes the little bug to rest on his chest whenever mom needs a time out. Gramma Genie arrives Monday to meet the latest addition to the family and lend a welcome hand.

Daddy reads with Eliot by the window in the hospital.

Eliot finds his ring finger. And he is only one day old. Brilliant!