For her 60th birthday, Gramma Lolly asked all the kids and grandkids to join her in Mexico for a week of luxurious celebrating in the sun. The astoundingly generous Baba Michael made it happen. We have just returned from a delicious week of lounging with the clan at the beach in Cozumel.

March 22, 2007: Bugs Eat Oats

The experts say to watch your baby, not the calendar when deciding if the time is right to start your baby on solids. With Eliot’s 6^th tooth poking through and the boy nursing voraciously every two hours or so, he might be trying to tell me he’s hungry.

We gave baby oats a go last week, and the little guy wolfed them down with great gusto. He has gone after banana and baby rice too, all with enthusiasm and surprising skill. Grandma Genie was in town over the weekend, and it was so fun to watch someone else feed and make goofy faces at the baby while I ate a leisurely dinner. This week, we tried the baby’s first sippy cup full of cold water. Eliot grabbed the handles out of my hands, put the spout in his mouth, tilted back his head, and gulped. His expertise is startling. Did someone sneak him down to the pub crawl on St. Paddy’s day to get some practice?

Solid food is another milestone that takes Eliot one more step away from me. Up until that first spoonful of cereal, I had nourished this baby since his conception in January a year ago. I still stand in awe of my own body’s capacity for sustaining not only another life, but a life so robust and vital. Our connection through the milk Eliot encourages and I make is still solid and irreplaceable. But as he rushes forward, scooting and moving and outgrowing his clothes, I know our bond is thinning, stretching, and transforming into something altogether new. But I can’t be bothered with melancholy for more than a quick moment. Eliot is my jumping, razzing, giggly bug. He gets better every day.

We are disappointed Genie had to leave after only 3 days. Her visit left us all refreshed and renewed. An extra set of caring, experienced hands is an incomparable blessing. We are trying to figure out how to get some of the grandparents to buy the riverside cabin about a mile down the road. The wall of sandbags protecting two sides of the cottage may not bode well, but I’ll volunteer Toby to dig out some culverts if it would mean family coming to stay.

March 11, 2007: Maiden Voyage

We have survived our first group at our new camp. The last of the Girl Scouts just trundled down our muddy road, satisfied with their weekend of rock-wall climbing, air-rifle shooting, and warm fires in the lodge. Toby learned a lot more about how this particular camp runs, and I think he feels even more at home in his role as Program Director.

Eliot makes all the other babies sick with envy as he flaunts the sunhat his Grandma Lolly made for his upcoming Mexican holiday.

As anxious as I have been about being bored and lonely as a stay-at-home-camp-wife-and-mom, life has been incredibly full and rich since moving here. The MOPS (mothers of preschoolers) group I attend twice a month has provided me with a circle of care and attention. The moms are varied in age, background, and personality, and each has found a way to point me in the right direction when I have had questions or concerns about life in Colorado.

Before she abandoned her little sister in this state, Jaimin put me in touch with several of her buddies from Jack Quinn’s, a pub in the downtown area of the Springs. Turns out several of them are family folks who live in Woodland Park. They are just as fun and welcoming as I would expect any of my sister’s friends to be. Good wine and easy camaraderie have smoothed down all the rough edges of our newness here.

We acquired an automatic camp family in Mitch, the facilities director, and his wife, Heather. They have welcomed us with open arms and an open home, inviting us to get to know their friends, orienting us to this place, and throwing themselves fully into marathon games of Carcassonne. This weekend, Heather joined Eliot and me for a day and a night of long walks and delicious conversation while our respective husbands ran themselves ragged around camp. It is a blessing to know she and I will have each other when the ravenous maw of Camp Shady Brook devours our husbands whole this coming summer.

In hopes of securing the largest city in medieval France, Heather rubs Eliot's toes for good luck.

Our little family’s sense of being settled here is as much about the kind people all around us as it is the deep blue air, the enthusiastic support of our YMCA association, and (of course) our adorable baby.

March 5, 2007: Five Months Old

Writing clearly about the newest you is a challenge. I see this month through the bleary lens of a recent teething marathon. Three teeth decided to start poking through the top of your mouth in the last week. Two have made it through – the little fangs on either side of the gap where your front teeth will be – and another bump in the middle suggests a straggler is not far behind.

Nosfera-tini  (so dubbed by Jaimin)

Your mouth continues to be a source of great delight and misery for all of us right now. This morning, I heard clicking coming from somewhere inside that great cavern of wet pain and fascination. You were pulling your jaw over to the side to scrape your bottom teeth against the new arrivals. You had to perform some clever oral gymnastics to reach, but you managed. Your little brow creased in concentrated interest at this latest feat. But moments later, you were arching and screaming again, no doubt furious at the pain emanating from the toothless nubs in between, and my inability to do anything to soothe you.

When the gooey baby pain relievers finally kick in, your mouth is all joy. Your grins stretch, shiny and sparkling, over your whole face. Your laughter is a forever new and changing orchestra, the giggles bubbling up from belly, throat, nose, cheeks. You razzed for the first time this month, blowing wet lips together then responding to your own discovery with quivers of pleasure. Sometimes you grin so completely, you throw yourself off balance and I have to keep you from tipping out of my arms.

You have been trying to talk to everyone around you. The musical star at the top of your play mat, the baby in the mirror, the jingling, stuffed dog. . . anyone and anything making sounds in your direction. You move your mouth all around, forming it into new shapes with your tongue and lips. Your mouth works on all the syllables, yet not a sound emerges. When you speak silently like this, you get a bead on your companion and never drop your gaze. Your concentration rivals that of the greatest orators driving home their arguments. Bur our little Thurgood Marshall forgot to switch on the volume. We can’t wait to know what it is you are so determined to say.

Your body grows every more responsive to your own commands and desires. Lately, you have needed much more time out of our arms. On the floor, you are the master of your own motion. You roll, twist, scoot, grab at toys, and stare in fascination at your hands. Sometimes, you simply want to lounge on your belly and take in the world on your own terms. Kicking your legs and gazing around, you are content for ever longer stretches of time. Even in the midst of a dinner party, mom’s group or game night, you do not need your dad or mom to provide endless reassurance and comfort. As long as your little corner is right on the edge of the action, you busy yourself with the work of simply being and observing. Squeals, thumps, and giggles emerge from your play without us needing to elicit them. You are your own puzzle to piece together. You are becoming as great a source of wonder to yourself as you are to us.