January 28. 2007: Cutting Teeth

Just when my boobs had grown accustomed to Eliot’s ferocious sucking, he decided to cut a tooth. Three months earlier than the average baby. It’s poking through the gum, threatening to lacerate any finger or nipple that ventures within biting range. Just exactly why a 3 ½ month old baby need teeth? Does Mother Nature think I am going to toss him out into the wild to strip the bark from trees? He is still months away from solid food, and even then, we’re talking mashed peas and rice cereal the consistency of gravy. I suppose his body knows what it is doing, though, and I’ll trust the fever, diaper rash, crankiness and insatiable need for comfort is all part of an elegant design.

The teething began during a 5-day excursion to visit Eliot's great grandmother in the Big D. Jaimin and Aiden also flew in so Mardy could have a shot of great grandbabies in stereo. Aiden is almost nine months old now, and he is as squirmy, squealy, goofy, and rolly-poly as any child on crack. He was a source of endless fascination for his more subdued younger cousin. From the moment we woke up in the morning, the Aiden Show was blaring, and Eliot was tuned right in. Already, their little personalities are taking shape. Just like his daddy, Eliot observes and absorbs before interacting or reacting. And Aiden, like his mommy, dives in before finding out how deep the water.

When it comes to coddling and cuddling, Grandma Mardy is a natural. It is an awesome thing to imagine her, a scared new mom at 25, puzzling her way through the first of her five babies. And now, 60-odd years later, she holds her own progeny with a mastery of love and delighted playfulness accumulated from a lifetime of maternal experience.

Traveling alone with Eliot was not nearly as harrowing as I expected. Despite driving myself to the airport and schlepping from the long-term lot into the airport lugging car seat, base, suitcase, stroller, diaper bag, bjorn, winter coats, and baby, I found myself enjoying the journey. The kindness of strangers showered us like mountain snow all the way to Dallas and back. Anytime I started to feel my temperature rising, I remembered those covered wagons with the families of 10 rolling through the wilds of the American west to unknown fates. Struggling to collapse a stroller on the jetway to a 747? This is the gripe of a first world mommy. My complaints are decadence.

Back home in Colorado, in the house Toby plastered with art and instruments in our absence, Eliot spent an entire day screaming-nursing-napping as he unwound from his adventures. Then we subjected him to more of the big world beyond our cozy walls. Yesterday, we once again enjoyed the generosity of our fellow humans when Tish, the former camp Program Director who now lives in the Springs, invited me to hang out at her house in town while she and Toby attended a training. It was such a relief to have someplace other than the food court at the mall to rest and nurse during a day in the city.

I used the time to make my maiden voyage to the downtown YMCA for a workout. I deposited Eliot in the child care center, then, with jitters and exhilaration, made my way to the fitness room for a full hour of cardio exercise without baby. No bjorn, no jog stroller, no blankets and hats and pooch and leash. . . just Shannon and the elliptical, reunited. And it feels so good. Eliot, apparently, was not as impressed with the excursion. The harried Childwatch mom informed me he screamed for 45 minutes out of the hour, and by the way, “Don’t you have a pacifier for him or something?” I gritted my teeth and thanked her for her help as she handed shrieking Eliot back to me. Since I have a house littered with rejected pacifiers, I’ll be sure to bring a handful next time. And yes, there will be a next time. Because one hour blissfully light in my body, sweating and moving at my own pace, means 23 hours of much more pleasant and attentive mommy.

January 14, 2007: Grandparents to the Rescue 

Our Colorado neighbors keep telling us that this is the most intense winter in recent memory. The most frequent precipitation, the coldest temperatures, the earliest snow, the heaviest accumulation. They shake their heads in wonder. An anomaly to them is a simple reality to us. We have not seen the ground at camp since we arrived here 4 weeks ago. And we have not had a single excursion outside of camp without being thrown for a loop by mischievous Mother Nature.

Toby was gallivanting around the mountains of New York last week at the national YMCA camping conference. While he schmoozed and saturated his brain at the Frost Valley YMCA, Grandma Lolly kept Eliot and me company in our little cabin. She took over Eliot’s daily walk/nap while I caught up on sleep. She whisked the bug away as soon as my eyes began to droop, and I would awaken to the smell of baking bread, the coos of a happy baby, and piles of clean, folded laundry. Lolly managed to dig out toys and baby equipment I had forgotten we even had, and introduced Eliot to all kinds of delightful new activities.

The road out of camp thawed and froze so often, trekking along it was a hike over powdered glass. Ski poles accompanied baby and grandma on their daily constitutional. We would have stayed right here in the mountains all week if we could have managed it. Alas, life wants to teach us about reaching and adaptation, not resting and decadence. Our till-now trusty Subaru Outback has turned out to be more lemon than noble steed. A busted radiator forced us to deposit Toby at the Denver airport in the backup Saturn last week. After a harrowing journey to Woodland Park and the Springs to repair the evil green beast while Toby was away, we thought we were in the clear. However, our journey back up to Denver to pick Toby us resulted in a crack in the fuel line, gas fumes accompanying us all along the I-70, and an emergency overnight at my aunt and uncle’s house in Aurora. And there the Subaru lingers, dripping gas and awaiting a part unavailable anywhere in that sprawling metropolis.

Fortunately, Toby’s dad was on his way to Colorado to visit with a big blue van full of goodies for our new house. He had driven through the night and was much closer than we expected, so he just parachuted into Denver like a search-and-rescue hero, re-arranged the puzzle of crib ends, bike wheels, and table legs in the van, and crammed in Toby, Lolly, Shannon, luggage, groceries, car seat, stroller, and one completely baffled baby. We actually made it back home before dark.

Lolly, supposed to fly home today, woke up to –  yes, you guessed it – more fun weather! On her snowy way to the airport now, she has no doubt entered the next chapter in the Trip that just Keeps Better.

January 5, 2007: Three Months Old Today

About 10 days ago, you got a jump-start on your three month growth spurt. You are eating ravenously and are more active and fun than ever before. A few nights ago, you nursed me dry but were still frantic for more. You grabbed my finger and gummed with such vigor, I swear you managed to get milk from it. You actually sucked so hard on my knuckle that you choked several times. I think you were as relieved as I was when you finally crashed.

It is a delight to spend my days with you. You grin and goof, flirt and wiggle. You are such a ham. You have made it your personal mission to find new ways of making me laugh and smile. What a lucky mommy I am.

Your eyes are wide with hunger for everything around you. You wake up from every nap ready to play and interact, and you only go to sleep at night after an extended bout of silliness. You have just started playing a new game of making noises that I mimic, then you mimic back. We can play at this for 20 minutes at a time. You delight in the new growls and squeals, the range of your volume and the silly sounds you can make. We are talking to each other already.

Your face is elastic, stretching into new and strange forms constantly. You are mastering the smile, of course, but also the grimace, the big O of curiosity, a sideways coyness, a wrinkled perplexity. You stare and stare. We spend so much of the day staring at each other that I have started to see what you see. You share your wonder with me. The morning light, the snow, the grain of wood in the closet door, the big black doggie with the lop ear – it is all new and amazing. Every simple, little thing.

I think it is because you are in the grip of fascination that you fight sleep so intensely at night. You scrap like sleep is some heavyweight in gold boxers and this is the WWF of bedtime. You take it on with your whole self. You arch and squirm, punch and kick. Sometimes you fold yourself down into a grunting contraction that seems like a reaction to an actual force pressing down on your body. A force you are determined to resist. Your twist your head back on forth on the mattress ferociously, like you have sleep in your teeth and you are whipping it till it gives up. But, no matter how fierce a contender you are, sleep always wins. Eventually, you sigh, weaken, and melt into its quiet victory. Thankfully, you sleep well. Your nights are now truly nights – not the interrupted naps of daytime sleep. I am glad you store up you energy so well to take on your days with a full tank.   

You are growing so rapidly, my head spins trying to keep up. When you were a newborn, you absolutely despised being undressed. You screamed wildly when anyone changed your diaper or gave you a bath. We came up with intricate plans for warming, feeding, and comforting you before any bout with nudity. But now, you delight in your naked body. Bath time is prolonged and thrilling as you test the curve and flexibility of your body in its freedom and lightness. And you grin in joy on the way to the changing table. While naked, your body undergoes a series of spasms of pleasure as you grin and bang your feet at the end of the table. I have even discovered that bedtime is more fun if I only put you in a diaper and a shirt, allowing your legs to kick in the open night air.

Watching you grow outside my reach is a thing of wonder. You are more than just my son. You are also your father’s child, and the grandson, cousin, and nephew of many. Who you are and how you will grow will be in relation to a wide circle of people who are not me. This is a source of some anxiety but mostly great comfort. You have developed an amazing and precious relationship with your grandpa Bill. Watching your ever-growing closeness with him makes me realize how blessed you are to have been born into this family. When Bill came to help us get ready for the move to Colorado, it was as if you had been waiting for him to start really growing. Within a day of his arrival, you mastered your Kick ‘n Play bouncy chair, cooing in delight and amazement when the lights and silly sounds started in response to your kicks. Bill gave you loud, enthusiastic feedback for every smile, and you rewarded him with even bigger ones. When you cried, Grandpa was an instant pacifier. In his arms, you would relax completely and conk out within seconds. He let you play in the tub by yourself – an activity mommy is still to nervous to take on – and you wiggled and splashed with glee. Several times during the week, Grandpa Bill packed you into the Bjorn for long stretches of the afternoon. I fretted, of course, about your hunger and need for me, but when you came back, you were rested, mellow, and in delightful spirits. It eases me to know your extended family will help you grow into an even fuller, happier person. I hope they can help reverse some of the countless mistakes I will inevitably make.

January 3, 2007: I Have to Admit, I Dig This Place

The sun is shining again and the snow has moved on past for the time being. Yesterday, our little family drove into Colorado Springs for Toby’s meetings at the downtown YMCA branch. Eliot and I zipped all over the Springs trying to get our bearings and stock up on some of the essentials available only for a small fortune in Woodland Park. We found a Wal Mart Supercenter and wound our way through the gargantuan parking lot to get inside.

The real reason they had Toby start work while the Facilities Director was on vacation

I have lived in Texas where they do things bigger.  I have lived in California where they do things newer. But compared to Colorado, those states are small potatoes when it comes to the shopping. This Wal Mart was the most stupendous and sickening shopping structure I have ever visited. I must have walked 2 miles just doubling back to find things on the list my head could not retain. It didn’t seem to matter that I actually had the list in my hand while pushing the basket. It was total shopping overkill. Unlike any of those piddly Wal Marts in other states, this one had sprawling aisles, well-organized shelves, an abundance of “associates” on the floor, and short check-out lines. The one thing it did not have was a working clock anywhere, and I believe this is part of the plan. The place is a vortex, a time-free Neverland. If Eliot had not started fussing to be fed, I would have had no idea I had spent nearly an hour wandering, stunned and glazed, comparing price and quality of shower curtains.

Eliot was in hog heaven. I cringe at the thought of the damage I am doing by exposing him to my big-box bargain-hunting. He has recently made the switch to facing front in the Baby Bjorn so he can look around. All through the store, he was quiet as a lamb, drooling and staring in mesmerized wonder at the endless array of goods laid out for our consumption. I want him to know that there are other ways of doing things. That there are Main Streets, small businesses, people who know you at the market or the pharmacy. Not all of life is a faceless, endless display of constantly changing products and people. But I also do not want to spend $10 on a toilet brush. So, for now, the little guy learns frugalness at the expense of humanness. We’ll hope we can rectify the situation and impart more meaningful values down the road.

Trunk stocked, we made our way back to the Y for a mellow lunch in the Camp Shady Brook office with Karsten, the camp Admin Assistant. Toby filled out our membership paperwork for us. Even for Eliot. Squishy and fast asleep, his image is captured for all eternity on a YMCA of the Pikes Peak Region membership card.

Here is why I love this YMCA: I can work out, swim laps, do group aerobics or take yoga at any branch in the region for free. I can leave Eliot for two hours in Y Childwatch while I get my sweat on, including in the sauna if I so desire. Toby can play basketball during the noon games with other fellows on their lunch hours. For a reduced rate, Eliot and I will be able to take his first swim lessons when he is six months old and “babycize” two months later. All of this, and we get to live at camp.

On Christmas Eve morning, the CEO of the entire Pikes Peak Y, Merv, showed up at our front door wearing a big smile and a snowsuit. He owns a cabin just down the road from camp, and he was on his way to go sledding with his family. He wished us a Happy Holidays and gave us a hearty welcome to camp. And tomorrow, the camp director is taking our small camp staff out for a holiday dinner, originally postponed due to snow. We get to eat fajitas at Carlos Miguel’s in Woodland Park with our new crew. I can’t quite believe we have only been here two weeks. This place is already feeling more like home than California ever did.