February 20, 2007: Where is Thumbkin? There He Is!

Back in a hospital in California in October, Eliot the New started sucking his thumb within moments of his arrival. His first few months, he had trouble catching his fingers in his mouth as they flew past his face, but was occasionally rewarded when he hooked one. With greater motor coordination comes regular oral pleasure. Eliot is a thumb-sucker. And a finger-sucker. And a parent-shoulder-sucker. He will latch onto any object that happens within range, including shirts, sheets, stuffed monkeys, carpet, and probably the dog when we are not looking.

I have noticed that Eliot’s sucking increases in both intensity and scope when he is anxious. At a YMCA open-house in Woodland Park last week, the baby woke up in the midst of a great ruckus. Rarely do the people of Woodland Park gather, it seems, and the prospect of our very own community fitness facility combined with bottomless trays of fudge stripe cookies and free-flowing fruit punch really revved things up. City Hall was jumping. I held Eliot close as he came into bleary wakefulness in the midst of the debauchery. He did not cry. He looked carefully around, took it all in. Then he jammed four fingers from one hand into his mouth along with the thumb from the other. A shiny slime glistened on his forearms. He lasted nearly 30 minutes without needing me to nurse or even comfort him. His hands were providing all the nurturing he needed.

I can see him struggle with this habit from time to time. As you can imagine, keeping one’s hands in one’s mouth can limit opportunities for other activities. When we swim, Eliot loves to flail, his body writhing in ecstatic mimicry of a river otter. When he splashes too hard and soaks his own face or ears, his startled face freezes and his thumb heads mouth-ward. A little comfort needed. But with his hands halfway there, he slows then stops. The urge to suck slams up against the simultaneous desire to keep flailing. The processors momentarily grind to a halt as they digest the jumble of messages. His fist hovers over the water and Eliot has to make one of the many difficult decisions he will face in his life. Comfort or adventure? Familiarity or fun? Either way, a mouthful of pool water results.

We go through a rotation of 10 bibs a day. When I drop Eliot off at Y Childwatch, I have to warn the staff about his tendencies. He likes to suck his thumb through his bib. This means he is wearing a slime-covered rag for a good part of each day. I show the staff where to find extra bibs are in the diaper bag. However, inevitably, when I return to pick him up, the same bib he was wearing an hour earlier is jammed halfway down his throat as he chews his fist contentedly. The bib is drenched. And I mean the whole thing. The drool creeps along the fabric, around the back into the Velcro attachments, and down the soggy collar of his shirt. If I actually kept Eliot in Childwatch for the full two hours they allow, I have no doubt mushrooms would sprout in the folds of his neck.  

I cannot tell if all the drool makes him extra thirsty, or if his relentless sucking instinct simply makes his obsessed with the boob. Either way, this baby is a darned fine nurser. He has stopped trying to rip off my nipple with his new teeth, thank heavens, and has settled back into a familiar rhythm of slurping voraciously every two hours or so around the clock. I’m sure there are those who would say I should get this baby on a feeding schedule, but I really don’t mind nursing him on demand. What do I need the extra time for? He and I are a team. Wherever I go, he goes. So, if he wants to nurse, he nurses. I’m just amazed at how much and how often he wants to. Maybe his fingers need a break from his mouth, but his mouth still needs to suck.

Check out those choppers!

We have been practicing occasionally with mama’s milk in a bottle. Someday soon, I am going to need to flee and enjoy something of my own – a massage, a haircut, a root canal – and Toby will have to provide the sustenance. Eliot has taken to the bottle surprisingly well. Sometimes he just chews and grins, but when he is hungry, he will actually gulp it all down. During a practice session today, he figured out how to maximize his oral fixation. He nursed happily on the bottle with one side of his mouth while sucking his thumb with the other. I imagine him extrapolating this delightful new experience to breastfeeding, and expect his succulent little extremities to join us for nursing soon.

February 5, 2007: Four Months Old Today

This has been a month for firsts. Your first time reaching for toys, first tooth, first time sitting in the high chair. You swam for the first swim at the YMCA, stayed in child care both at the Y and in my mom’s group, and have rolled over exactly once.  The speed and capacity you have for learning astounds me. I give you a new toy, and at first you simply stare and take it in from a distance. Then you try to put it in your mouth. Then you fuss and push it away. By the next time I show it to you, you have mastered it. I don’t know how or when it happens, but your brain and body put it together. In an instant, a clear pathway materializes in the haze of your brain and the mind lays down yet another stratum in the rapidly forming world of Eliot.

This month, your eyes have come alive with joy and intrigue in everything you encounter. The baby in the mirror is your favorite friend, and you shriek and jump in greeting whenever he visits. You roll around on your play mat, grabbing at the rattling animals, giggling when they bounce or jingle in response to you.  Jumping on mommy or daddy’s lap brings happy hums bubbling up from your belly as your legs spring up and stretch out, practicing jumping on your own. You still bliss out during your daily walks in the snow. Either in the jog stroller or the bjorn, you gaze out at the crisp winter landscape in complete silence until you fall fast asleep. You seem to be happiest moving. All the time, moving.

The pool was a big hit. We were not sure how you would take to the water considering how much you used to hate being cold and wet. But you were grinning the minute your toes touched the surface. You bounced and swished, kicked your feet and whirled your arms like an Olympian. Even with drops splashing up on your face from all your wiggling, you were in aquatic heaven. I can’t wait for spring when you are old enough for water baby classes, and then summer when we can take a dip in the camp lake. I wonder if you remember being an inside baby, all those afternoons swimming laps with mama in the Camp Elk pool. You have every reason to love the water and I am glad you are learning to make it your own.

Back at home, we have the crib your Grandpa Bill brought for you set up and dripping with colorful, musical toys. You enjoy playing in there and even feel at home enough for the occasional afternoon nap. We even started to prepare you to sleep on your own. But when we actually thought it through, the reality of having you leave our bed and pass the night all alone in your room didn’t appeal to us at all. Sure, you are a wriggly, cuddly sleeper, and sometimes we miss having our mommy and daddy bed to ourselves. But I am not ready to abandon you to the room next door. We have finally begun to figure out how to sleep altogether as a family in our big king-sized bed. You still wake up a time or two in the night to nurse, but you do not cry or fuss as you did a month ago. Now, you simply wiggle around and nudge me to a semi-wakeful fog. You nurse with ferocious slurps then fall back asleep, sometimes in my arms, sometimes on your own spot on the bed until you have inchwormed your way back over to me. You sleep best when you have turned your face right into the blast of my breathing. I can’t understand how that can be pleasant, but if it works for you, who am I to judge?

At a party last night, we met a family with a 14-month old girl. When they asked us about sleep, I told them you share a bed with us and we usually get to sleep around 9:30 or 10:00 after an extended period of Eliot-in-charge playtime. They raised their eyebrows and gave me a “huh.” I asked what time their Ella goes to bed. “Oh, around 6:30pm.” Apparently, she sleeps until 6:00 in the morning and rarely disturbs them throughout the night. I have decided that comparing notes with other parents is dangerous business. I suppose knowing another way to do things can’t hurt, but I don’t want to second-guess our choice. We like having you with us throughout the evening. You nap on and off during the day, sleep with us at night, and this is how our family works. We’ll get around to changing it when it no longer does. Be glad your daddy is a sound sleeper and that your mommy has finally learned to stop worrying about smothering you at night. It is a blessing that we all can be together and all of us are enjoying deep, refreshing sleep (at least now that tooth #2 has decided to show its face!)

As we begin to reach out beyond our camp to make friends, you join us. It is not always easy for you to make the transition from the quiet comfort of home to the chaotic world of new faces and places. You seem delighted to enter unfamiliar environments and respond with grins to the people you meet. But I am also learning your limits. You arch and turn away when you are overwhelmed, and as long as you can turn and burrow into my shoulder or chest, you recover well after a time. It is as if your power reserves wane and I am the outlet where you can plug in and juice up. In so many ways, I marvel at the connection between us. My body still makes the sustenance for yours, my mind records your every nuance and change. The intensity with which you stare at me tells me you, too, are embedding me deeply into your perception of the world.

If I have learned anything this month, it is that the Eliot I am coming to know will be another person in just the blink of an eye. As you form, you change and take on new preferences, abilities, and mannerisms. Last night, as you nursed, you sang and cooed as you did when you were a newborn. We had not heard your sweet singing for some time, and did not even notice it had ceased until you gave us that little reminder. Even as I learn you, I am letting you go. You grow and I am thrilled. You grow, and it breaks my heart. You grow beyond anything we could have imagined. You grow, and become exactly who you are supposed to be.