Mama!

Hello, my dearest decidedly non-imaginary baby, who powered through a rough last three days of Leap 5 and burst out the other side reliably sitting up without toppling over, kicking his little baby feet in his sleep, sporting a round Buddha tummy, and also - most heartwarming for me - saying "Mama." For real.

It continues unseasonably cold and rainy. I think since we fled home there have only been two days without a small craft advisory in the weather, which is neither here nor there when landbound, but I still pay attention to it. We have gotten foam baby flooring, and turned the living room into a play spot for you which you seem to enjoy. Bright colored foam blocks are both nice for teething upon and also your mother finds them relaxing to play with while hanging out with you on the floor.

I have little else to report, beyond continuing to try to expose you to other people via video chats, and there is a constant stream of laundry, and some day I really hope the painting will be done so we can begin to put the house in order. You want to stand up SO BAD. You were very angry at me today when I wouldn't let you put a used Kleenex in your mouth. It's the first time I heard a "mama!" that involved objection, if by strong implication rather than context. You have started to try to stand up in your high chair. But after several weeks of progress you have retreated from wanting to eat solids in the morning. You love nursing, but you get hungry. Like me, you often wait too long to eat, and then don't know why your stomach hurts and you are grumpy.

Your obsession with the dog continues unabated, and the dog himself has gradually begun to unbend in his attitude towards you, which I find charming. He has been observed licking you hello.

You are so big that my arms are always tired, and your dad grunts with effort picking you up.

I am supposed to be working on my book today but, as usual, I am preoccupied with you.

And that is where things stand on this, our sixth (eighth?) week of quarantine.

Oh hey!

You rolled over! From your back to your tummy! Or so your dad reports, I wasn't there to see it. But I'm told you were on the floor of the bathroom and you wanted a toy car.

Look at you, hitting milestones. Well done, baby.

Babble Fish

A couple of times now you have made a noise that sounds something like "mmaammooo" while looking up at me, but it was generally in the context of other babblings, and so I haven't taken it all that seriously. And twice now you have said "Up" to me upon waking up in the morning, and though I tried to reinforce it by saying "do you want up? Up?" before picking you up, or responding to your apparent desire to be lifted, it hasn't quite recurred in a way that is unambiguous.

But last night, as you and I were sitting together on the bed, your father emerged from the bathroom. You saw him, grinned, and then - with no other babble - said "Da'!"

"Did you hear that?" your dad exclaimed.

I did hear it.

Then, this morning, you and I were up early. I am in the habit of giving you kitchen implements to play with in your high chair while I make coffee and unload the dishwasher - your favorite is a whisk paired with a plastic Tupperware for mouthing and beating. When these items fall to the floor, as they often do, I say "uh oh!" for your benefit and return them to the tray of your high chair.

Today, you were hanging out in your playpen, playing with a small rattle. You shook it downward, hard, looked at me, and said "uh oh!" Then you shook the rattle again, and said it again.

I tried to get you to repeat it for a video, but you were too shy.

I realize this is all confirmation bias, but even so - the idea that you will one day speak is mind-boggling to me. We've lived with a dog for sixteen years and are accustomed to reading his needs and opinions independent of language. It's what we have been doing with you, too. But, soon......

Lullaby

Every night I sing you to sleep with this. I don't remember when it started. But it's been several months now.

To the tune of "The Way You Look Tonight."

Some day, when I'm awfully low
and the world is cold
I will feel a glow
just thinking of you
and the way you are, right now.

You're my baby
and I love you so
I love to watch you grow
it's wonderful to know
that you're my baby
just the way you are, right now.

You're so tired
because the day was long.
It's time to go to sleep
that's why I sing this song for you,
my baby.
Just the way you are, tonight.

You're my succotash
my special little boy.
You bring me so much joy.
I waited for you so long,
and you're here, now.
Sleeping in my arms, tonight.

Yes, I love you
and your baby ways.
I love your baby smile,
all your baby days, yes
I just love you.
Just the way you are, right now.

Six Months

Two days late, I post a six month half birthday recollection for you, my Succotash. At six months you are smiley and giggly. You are sitting up almost completely on your own without mishap, successfully roll from tummy to back, and are dangerously close to back to tummy. You wear size 12 to 18 month clothes (yipes), and because we are both under quarantine and also cheap your Dad bought many of the same ones from our favorite soft footie pajama source, all on sale because they are Halloween and Christmas themed. You spend most of your days patterned in bats.

You are obsessed with the dog, who is patient with you. One day on the couch you had your hands sunk in his fur and were holding on so tight that he pulled you over onto your face. It was delightful. On your first avocado - my 43rd birthday, as it happens - you offered your gooey hands to Milo, who gave them a tentative lick.

You have so far eaten banana, avocado, sweet potato, spinach, and oatmeal. All went well save spinach. Today you watched me make tofu for you to eat later this afternoon. You are in a velcro baby phase, where you must be on me or next to me to sleep. I can't tell if it's developmental, or situational given all the disruption of this whole "global pandemic" thing. I feel like it's a problem, until I point out to myself that having you sleep with us actually means we are all getting plenty of sleep. So maybe it's only a problem if I have this narrative in my head about how babies are supposed to sleep? The literature says you must sleep on your back, alone, in a bare crib, in your own room, in complete darkness, and that I just force you to do this even if you cry all night. None of that sounds right to me, does it sound right to you? *I* don't sleep that way, and I am not wholly dependent on another human being for my food and comfort, as you are, and moreover, as you are increasingly aware you are. So. You sleep with us. You are warm and snuggly. The first thing I see when I open my eyes is you smiling up at me.

Yesterday you attended your first Passover seder, which we held via Zoom camped out on the floor of the guest room in Mustard House (shortly to become the upstairs den). It featured Ruth from across the street (nearest) and the Coles and Adam and Heather and Cameron in California (farthest) and Michelle in Canada (international) and friends from New York and Massachusetts and Manamana and Manamapa in Florida and Granpa George and Nana Kath in Houston, hopelessly unable to get their audio to work. You were too little to do the four questions, but the Vermilliotts and Coles and Chocolatedessert kids did them all together, and I love how the Chocolatedessert kids call you "Baby Charles," with baby as a kind of honorific. Sometimes they read to you over Zoom these days.

Right now I'm supposed to be submitting a book chapter, but I am listening to the whirr of buzzsaws upstairs as carpenters work hard on our room and your nursery behind thick sheets of quarantine plastic, and you and your father banging on the piano in the living room.

And that is where things stand on this, the halfway point of your life as a baby.

Fear

I would say my anxiety is getting worse rather than better, but then, so is the pandemic, so maybe it's justifiable. I cannot stand the idea of being sick and having to be separated from you. Just thinking about it in the shower just now, with me healthy and you healthy and your dad healthy and even the elderly dog in better shape than he's been in years, and you downstairs merrily playing with a whisk while your father baked bread, was enough to have me fighting tears under my head full of shampoo.

I love you so much that sometimes I feel like I cannot handle how it makes me feel.

I hope that your only impression of this time is that your babyhood was spent with both of your parents always close by, and that makes you feel safe and secure and loved and able to be fearless in the world because you know you have your home base rock solid.

I hope.

I hope.

Comedown

For the past couple of days I have been moody. I think it's because the initial rush of flight has worn off and I have started to resent that the second half of my son's babyhood will pass during a global pandemic. I realize that very statement is indicative of a lack of perspective, and that we are hugely lucky to be healthy, financially secure, and able to flee New York City until the significant danger has passed.

I'm sure there was some mother whose initial response to Kristallnacht was "Dammit, I JUST got the baby on his sleep schedule, and NOW THIS HAPPENS." But that's kind of where I'm at right now.

The good news is, Succotash is great. He is healthy, he is sleeping (okay, with me, all night, which wasn't the plan, but I've decided it is better for us all to be rested and for him to feel totally safe and secure, and best laid plans be damned, and he will learn how to sleep in his own room and bed when he, some day, actually has his own room and bed). He has both is parents to play with all day long, and his elderly, beleaguered but patient dog, on whom we spent some of this morning raining kisses and then we came away with a fistful of apricot-colored fur and the dog didn't even complain.

But it's not what I want for him. I want the baby to be out making friends, going to museums, having experiences. Not moving between three rooms with an occasional walk around the block, weather permitting. I don't want to have to scheme about when and if we will be able to get fresh veggies and fruit as he starts to eat solids. I am angry on his behalf that this is happening.