With temperatures what they are, the new will have to wait. Exploring this or that place with a sweaty infant does not in the least sound entertaining. For anyone.
So a third afternoon out of four at the pool seems the only logical response.
The New
the boy
Point of View
The Boy likes his bassinet. He giggles to his bears, squeals when they start swinging, and fusses when they calm down. His cow can hold undivided attention for whole, long stretches. The newest addition — the plastic chain — is of little interest now, but perhaps that will change when his still-shaky emerging hand-eye coordination improves. It does beg to be grasped at.
Sometimes, something will catch his eye — something outside the bassinet — and he’ll look, seemingly unblinkingly, for several minutes. Other times, he’ll simply lie quietly, looking up at his bears.
Still, it must be something like a prison. Walls on the sides, a covering, and a restricted coordinated movement hamper his ability to look at what he wishes, to explore, to see anything more than bears and faces.
Perfect Days
Some days are simply perfect.
Some days are filled with just enough of the adventure of the new and the comfort of the known to keep your eyes open but your spirit relaxed.
Such days are filled with napping and affection.
Such days have just enough hint of gray
that we appreciate the smiles that follow.
Some days are filled with friends and family, smiles and conversation, and the comfort of knowing that you belong just where you are.
These days have a hint of belle epoque and impressionism.
And they smell like dogs.
Papa’s Boy
When Papa is around and the topic is politics (or religion or history or sports or any number of things), it can be hard to get a word in. When Papa is around with the Boy, it's easy to get a word in, but it's hard to pry the Boy out of Papa's arms.
From the beginning of any visit, Nana just waits patiently, often pretending to be content to look on as Papa burps, rocks, cuddles, and coos with the Boy. When Nana finally gets to hold him, Papa is eager to "help" by taking him back. Let Nana sit just so and pinch a nerve or find her leg slightly uncomfortable and make any kind of sound that even vaguely hints at discomfort, and Papa is ready.
"You okay? You want me to take him?"
He's like a kid with a new toy. An expensive new toy. That cries. And passes gas. And gets fussy for no apparent reason. And then coos to sooth everyone's nerves.
"If I'd known being a grandfather was so much fun..." he often begins the now-familiar joke.
Fascination
The Boy has become fascinated with a small cow, a singing, vibrating cow that includes a soundtrack of children giggling to the silly song.
It’s tempting to say, “It’s just his tendency to look to the right.” Yet the fact that it calms him almost instantaneously indicates there’s something more to it.
The Helper
When we brought the Boy home, the Girl was eager to begin helping. Granted, she's always interested in helping--in name, anyway--but a baby brother is especially tempting. So we did the logical: we put her on pacifier duty.
The Boy
I've finally gotten to the video shot during the Boy's birthday. Granted, it took almost two months, but in the end, it's the final product that counts.
Early Morning Still
Our morning routine is simple: walk about for at least half an hour while the Boy’s stomach settles and his breakfast stops coming up. In the meantime, we play a game: Which Position Would I Prefer Now, Daddy? Peeps and coos, cries and grunts let me know, “This position” or “That position” as I shift him from shoulder to shoulder, turn him around, cradle him, or as many variants as I think of.
They say it’s a mechanical problem, all this spitting up. Some flap or valve hasn’t fully developed, which means he’ll outgrow this eventually. One of many things he’ll outgrow as he moves into more and more “adult” problems.
And then we’ll look back on this “trouble” longingly.
Double Duty
“Can you read to me?” is a common refrain.
With two now, that means doubling up sometimes.
Grumpy Old Man
They say that life is circular. At least Shakespeare did:
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
It’s no surprise then when a little boy sometimes looks like a grumpy old man.
