My wife bought me an awesome baby carrier backpack for my birthday this year. It's got padded straps, a chest connector and a waist belt to help distribute load over my shoulders, chest and hips.
That said, carrying an infant around on your back, even with a backpack as well-designed as the one Marli gave me, isn't always terribly fun. You have to watch yourself through doorways, walking around things (and other people) and you have to be careful when bending over or stooping.
So, when I think about Luke Skywalker gallivanting through the swamps of Dagobah carting around Yoda, who's hitting him over the head with a stick every so often, I can understand why he's a little testy at times. Well, downright whiny.
Luke, I understand.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Here be Monsters
Two nights ago, Daigoro woke up crying for Daddy.
I came into the room and comforted him. He's been ill, as has been outlined in other posts, and although he usually sleeps through the night, I imagine his sleep is troubled by his cold.
He looked at me pitifully and said,
"There's a monster over there," pointing at a corner of the room.
I said that I was there to love, protect and teach him, and that monsters are only make-believe. I looked carefully at the corner, in case there was some insect or shape or shadow that might suggest a monster. Nothing.
"I want to sleep with Daddy," he sobbed.
I hesitated. Inviting your child to sleep with you could lead to habits of children joining you in bed every time they are scared at night. Then again, isn't it my role as a parent to comfort my children?
I paused to think, then responded, "Daigoro, you have to be brave. When you are brave, even make-believe monsters can't hurt you. Can you be brave?"
"Yeah," he said, tentatively.
"I'm glad you can be brave," I said. He still looked uncertain.
"You're not feeling well, so you can come and sleep with me," I said, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Marli and I are sleeping in separate beds until Kenshin can sleep through the night without feeding. Having Daigoro sleep with me wouldn't trouble her.
"Can you carry me?" he asked, looking up at me with teary eyes.
I carried him to my bed and hugged him as he drifted back to sleep. I felt strong and useful, like a parent should. It was nice to sleep with a now-comforted young soul, knowing that you had made that sleep possible.
When had monsters entered into his imagination? Had he seen one on TV? The only monsters in any of the books I've read him were "Where the Wild Things Are", and I read that to him only once - and they're relatively nice monsters. Do children instinctively learn to fear monsters? Why?
Are they summoned up from the depths of our collective unconsciousness, or would a child exposed to no concept of "monster" never fear such things?
As I listened to his breathing slow and become steady, I briefly thought about the monsters of my own life - the uncertainties, fears and doubts which plague me, sometimes daily, sometimes only reappearing once every few years. Recently I've been a little concerned about my health, and for almost the first time in my life, I worry about the possibility that I wouldn't be there for my children.
Here be monsters; but at least I can protect Daigoro from his.
I came into the room and comforted him. He's been ill, as has been outlined in other posts, and although he usually sleeps through the night, I imagine his sleep is troubled by his cold.
He looked at me pitifully and said,
"There's a monster over there," pointing at a corner of the room.
I said that I was there to love, protect and teach him, and that monsters are only make-believe. I looked carefully at the corner, in case there was some insect or shape or shadow that might suggest a monster. Nothing.
"I want to sleep with Daddy," he sobbed.
I hesitated. Inviting your child to sleep with you could lead to habits of children joining you in bed every time they are scared at night. Then again, isn't it my role as a parent to comfort my children?
I paused to think, then responded, "Daigoro, you have to be brave. When you are brave, even make-believe monsters can't hurt you. Can you be brave?"
"Yeah," he said, tentatively.
"I'm glad you can be brave," I said. He still looked uncertain.
"You're not feeling well, so you can come and sleep with me," I said, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Marli and I are sleeping in separate beds until Kenshin can sleep through the night without feeding. Having Daigoro sleep with me wouldn't trouble her.
"Can you carry me?" he asked, looking up at me with teary eyes.
I carried him to my bed and hugged him as he drifted back to sleep. I felt strong and useful, like a parent should. It was nice to sleep with a now-comforted young soul, knowing that you had made that sleep possible.
When had monsters entered into his imagination? Had he seen one on TV? The only monsters in any of the books I've read him were "Where the Wild Things Are", and I read that to him only once - and they're relatively nice monsters. Do children instinctively learn to fear monsters? Why?
Are they summoned up from the depths of our collective unconsciousness, or would a child exposed to no concept of "monster" never fear such things?
As I listened to his breathing slow and become steady, I briefly thought about the monsters of my own life - the uncertainties, fears and doubts which plague me, sometimes daily, sometimes only reappearing once every few years. Recently I've been a little concerned about my health, and for almost the first time in my life, I worry about the possibility that I wouldn't be there for my children.
Here be monsters; but at least I can protect Daigoro from his.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Hell and Precious Bodily Fluids
(Please excuse the title - I watched Dr. Strangelove two weeks ago and its humour is still percolating through my consciousness.)
WARNING - Graphic descriptions of children's cold symptoms follow. Reader discretion advised.
The kids, Marli and I have been sick for about a week and a half.
Remember that "Hell" I talked about in my first post? Yeah, this isn't exactly Hell's ninth circle, but certainly it feels like a minor antechamber. Sick kids = sick parents. Sick kids + sick parents = misery.
The aforementioned precious bodily fluids leaking from nose and mouth (occasionally eyes, too, in Kenshin's case) - the coughing, the vomiting, the crying, the wailing, the sleep-deprived nights, the hurting and the ouching already, glaven! To put things in perspective, this is a moderate level common cold - not terminal cancer, of course, but boy can five month-olds look miserable when their nose is running so much mucus is coming out of their eyes and getting crusted in their eyelashes, nose, corner of eyes, edges of mouth, etc...
Marli's getting the worst of it, having to be at home with them and not being able to expose young Daigoro to other children for fear of spreading this pestilence on to other families. This makes for the worst form of cabin fever, I'm sure.
When you (as the parents) are sick as well, there come times when you wish you had a magic want to wave and make the children disappear for a few hours. Or better, be well.
So we get up to Friday of last week, it seems like people are getting better... and now Marli thinks she's getting sick again.
Fun, fun, fun!
WARNING - Graphic descriptions of children's cold symptoms follow. Reader discretion advised.
The kids, Marli and I have been sick for about a week and a half.
Remember that "Hell" I talked about in my first post? Yeah, this isn't exactly Hell's ninth circle, but certainly it feels like a minor antechamber. Sick kids = sick parents. Sick kids + sick parents = misery.
The aforementioned precious bodily fluids leaking from nose and mouth (occasionally eyes, too, in Kenshin's case) - the coughing, the vomiting, the crying, the wailing, the sleep-deprived nights, the hurting and the ouching already, glaven! To put things in perspective, this is a moderate level common cold - not terminal cancer, of course, but boy can five month-olds look miserable when their nose is running so much mucus is coming out of their eyes and getting crusted in their eyelashes, nose, corner of eyes, edges of mouth, etc...
Marli's getting the worst of it, having to be at home with them and not being able to expose young Daigoro to other children for fear of spreading this pestilence on to other families. This makes for the worst form of cabin fever, I'm sure.
When you (as the parents) are sick as well, there come times when you wish you had a magic want to wave and make the children disappear for a few hours. Or better, be well.
So we get up to Friday of last week, it seems like people are getting better... and now Marli thinks she's getting sick again.
Fun, fun, fun!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Wagging Tongues
This past weekend (August 25-26), Kenshin has started to babble. He's previously been making noises; cooing and gurgling and squawking, but hasn't been stringing them together into a sequence of connected sounds. Now he's "bah-bah-bah"-ing and "goo-goo-goo"-ing with the best of them.
It was funny to observe him work up to this level. On Wednesday and Thursday of last week, I noticed that he was working his jaw open and shut in a sort of silent version of babbling - not making any noise. At the time I commented to Marli that it'd be funny to just overdub a video of him with some sort of voice track.
Then, after three days or so of this, he connected the idea of opening and closing his mouth with making sound at the same time and voilà, he had made the leap to babbling.
At the same time, in the past three weeks while we were on vacation and the week since, he's steadily improved his ability to push up and roll over, to the point that we have to be careful of putting him down on couches and chairs without a healthy padding of pillows to prevent him rolling off and onto the floor.
He's developed a cute habit which will probably pass quite quickly; he occasionally sticks his tongue (a tiny, pointed red-pink flag tip) out one side of his mouth or the other. It's almost too cute, but the fact that he's doing it without prompting or self-consciousness keeps it from slipping into the saccharine.
On the Daigoro front, he's still testing the limits of saying no to various commands, suggestions or requests. It can be wearisome at times, to say the least, and I feel for Marli for having to deal with him all day long. Fortunately these episodes are not so frequent as to make dealing with him a constant chore.
We've been able to "upgrade" his sleeping arrangements into a small cot without much fuss. He rolls about quite a bit at night, so we didn't want to put him into a full size bed yet for fear of the dreaded "thunk" in the middle of the night (as has happened once or twice when he's been left to sleep in full-size beds. Marli made the observation (and I agree) that it's curious that Daigoro hasn't formed strong attachments to single objects or routines. He doesn't really have a favourite toy or stuffed animal; he didn't protest at all when we stopped putting him in the crib and started him sleeping in the cot; he doesn't seem to bat an eye when our routine is shifted slightly or we do something out of the ordinary. In one sense I am grateful, in another I wonder if there is something to the idea of children having strong attachments. I guess he would make a good Buddhist. Well, in this one sense, anyway.
While on vacation, my in-laws made helpful suggestions about higher levels of discipline and obedience. Though I feel we've made a good effort along these lines, I admit that we can do better. In the larger spectrum, I know that Daigoro is actually quite a bit better in terms of obedience and temper tantrums than many children, but it's easy to bristle at correction from elders, even if meant with the best of intentions. So, I think Marli and I will be working a little harder on the concept of obedience with Daigoro over the next few months. My in-laws certainly have valuable experience on the subject.
Our efforts at potty training are so far met with sporadic success. He's managed to let us know on a few occasions now, but his successes are far fewer than his accidents. Nothing to worry about yet, of course; just unfortunate that he hasn't gotten the knack of yet, considering how well he seems to catch onto other activities.
Daigoro's dietary preferences have narrowed to an even thinner range of carbs and sweets, a development which does not please us. There are nights when he eats quite well, on many others he is getting a less than optimal balance. We are spending some time and discipline on this - future health depends a lot on his learned habits now.
The stresses of childcare continue to put strains on the time Marli and I spend together. Fortunately we are learning to adapt both our activities and our expectations and I am thankful for a partner who is willing to discuss issues before they become deep-rooted problems.
We took the children to visit my sister this weekend - she lives in a very nice apartment building with a penthouse level swimming pool. Both Daigoro and Kenshin seemed to enjoy their time in the water, though Daigoro is still reluctant about floating and kicking, preferring instead to be passed from one adult to another.
There are a number of stories from our vacation on Manitoulin Island that I should also relate, many of them very fond memories, but I should sign off for now and save them for another entry.
It was funny to observe him work up to this level. On Wednesday and Thursday of last week, I noticed that he was working his jaw open and shut in a sort of silent version of babbling - not making any noise. At the time I commented to Marli that it'd be funny to just overdub a video of him with some sort of voice track.
Then, after three days or so of this, he connected the idea of opening and closing his mouth with making sound at the same time and voilà, he had made the leap to babbling.
At the same time, in the past three weeks while we were on vacation and the week since, he's steadily improved his ability to push up and roll over, to the point that we have to be careful of putting him down on couches and chairs without a healthy padding of pillows to prevent him rolling off and onto the floor.
He's developed a cute habit which will probably pass quite quickly; he occasionally sticks his tongue (a tiny, pointed red-pink flag tip) out one side of his mouth or the other. It's almost too cute, but the fact that he's doing it without prompting or self-consciousness keeps it from slipping into the saccharine.
On the Daigoro front, he's still testing the limits of saying no to various commands, suggestions or requests. It can be wearisome at times, to say the least, and I feel for Marli for having to deal with him all day long. Fortunately these episodes are not so frequent as to make dealing with him a constant chore.
We've been able to "upgrade" his sleeping arrangements into a small cot without much fuss. He rolls about quite a bit at night, so we didn't want to put him into a full size bed yet for fear of the dreaded "thunk" in the middle of the night (as has happened once or twice when he's been left to sleep in full-size beds. Marli made the observation (and I agree) that it's curious that Daigoro hasn't formed strong attachments to single objects or routines. He doesn't really have a favourite toy or stuffed animal; he didn't protest at all when we stopped putting him in the crib and started him sleeping in the cot; he doesn't seem to bat an eye when our routine is shifted slightly or we do something out of the ordinary. In one sense I am grateful, in another I wonder if there is something to the idea of children having strong attachments. I guess he would make a good Buddhist. Well, in this one sense, anyway.
While on vacation, my in-laws made helpful suggestions about higher levels of discipline and obedience. Though I feel we've made a good effort along these lines, I admit that we can do better. In the larger spectrum, I know that Daigoro is actually quite a bit better in terms of obedience and temper tantrums than many children, but it's easy to bristle at correction from elders, even if meant with the best of intentions. So, I think Marli and I will be working a little harder on the concept of obedience with Daigoro over the next few months. My in-laws certainly have valuable experience on the subject.
Our efforts at potty training are so far met with sporadic success. He's managed to let us know on a few occasions now, but his successes are far fewer than his accidents. Nothing to worry about yet, of course; just unfortunate that he hasn't gotten the knack of yet, considering how well he seems to catch onto other activities.
Daigoro's dietary preferences have narrowed to an even thinner range of carbs and sweets, a development which does not please us. There are nights when he eats quite well, on many others he is getting a less than optimal balance. We are spending some time and discipline on this - future health depends a lot on his learned habits now.
The stresses of childcare continue to put strains on the time Marli and I spend together. Fortunately we are learning to adapt both our activities and our expectations and I am thankful for a partner who is willing to discuss issues before they become deep-rooted problems.
We took the children to visit my sister this weekend - she lives in a very nice apartment building with a penthouse level swimming pool. Both Daigoro and Kenshin seemed to enjoy their time in the water, though Daigoro is still reluctant about floating and kicking, preferring instead to be passed from one adult to another.
There are a number of stories from our vacation on Manitoulin Island that I should also relate, many of them very fond memories, but I should sign off for now and save them for another entry.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Birds and Bees
Scene: Marli playing with Daigoro and Kenshin on a quiet afternoon.
Daigoro looks at Kenshin, then at Marli.
Daigoro: A man bring him?
Marli: Kenshin? No. He was in mommy's tummy. A man did not bring him. Mommy brought him.
Daigoro (puzzled): Mommy's tummy?
Marli: Yes.
Daigoro looks at baby, shakes his head.
Daigoro: Nooooo. Man bring him.
Marli: Mommy brought him. Kenshin was in mommy's tummy.
Daigoro looks skeptical
Daigoro: Noooo. (smiles) A man bring him.
[Ahhhh... sex education for toddlers]
Daigoro looks at Kenshin, then at Marli.
Daigoro: A man bring him?
Marli: Kenshin? No. He was in mommy's tummy. A man did not bring him. Mommy brought him.
Daigoro (puzzled): Mommy's tummy?
Marli: Yes.
Daigoro looks at baby, shakes his head.
Daigoro: Nooooo. Man bring him.
Marli: Mommy brought him. Kenshin was in mommy's tummy.
Daigoro looks skeptical
Daigoro: Noooo. (smiles) A man bring him.
[Ahhhh... sex education for toddlers]
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Small Firsts
Yesterday, while playing with Marli in the evening, Kenshin laughed for the first time (I at least while I have heard him). He has giggled in his sleep, but I haven't heard him laugh while fully conscious before. I think Marli has heard him laugh before, but I'm not sure.
A good milestone to mark - another step in the beginnings of humour.
Daigoro's language continues to blossom. He's speaking in very good sentences (for a toddler) most of the time.
Marli commented the other day that Daigoro also evidenced a fairly advanced concept (in terms of two years and four months development levels). He was watching TV and saw a commercial for Ontario Place. He pointed and said "I want to go there."
Marli, with much more formal child psychology training than I (well, with me having none, that wouldn't be hard, but she actually has some) says that being able to identify a conceptual place (such as an image from a book or a commercial) and then intuiting that a real place exists based on that image is "advanced".
Makes sense to me.
Not much time to wax eloquent these days, so just trying to mark milestones as they come.
A good milestone to mark - another step in the beginnings of humour.
Daigoro's language continues to blossom. He's speaking in very good sentences (for a toddler) most of the time.
Marli commented the other day that Daigoro also evidenced a fairly advanced concept (in terms of two years and four months development levels). He was watching TV and saw a commercial for Ontario Place. He pointed and said "I want to go there."
Marli, with much more formal child psychology training than I (well, with me having none, that wouldn't be hard, but she actually has some) says that being able to identify a conceptual place (such as an image from a book or a commercial) and then intuiting that a real place exists based on that image is "advanced".
Makes sense to me.
Not much time to wax eloquent these days, so just trying to mark milestones as they come.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Happy Cad-nada d-Day!
No, not a typo, just my best effort at replicating my son's jubilant expressions on Canada Day this past weekend.
In preparation for the holiday, I had been pointing at Canadian flags and saying "Canada" or "Canada Flag". Daigoro picked up on it soon enough, and by the time we visited a nearby park for the festivities on Sunday, July 1st, he was able to point at flags and announce proudly "Cad-nada!"
When a volunteer gave me a small Canada flag "lapel pin" (though who exactly uses them on lapels anymore, I don't know) he examined it closely and beamed "Cad-nada!".
He had the opporunity to sit in a firefighting pumper truck and use a firefigher's special flashlight (all smiles) as well become the proud owner of a pint-sized plastic firefighter's helmet. Later he chowed down on an adult-sized hot dog (eating about a fifth of it) and ran about gleefully in the park with a balloon-sword from a friendly clown.
Kenshin has started biting (well, "gumming", but I'm sure it's pretty painful in any case) while feeding with Marli. Hopefully he won't be bad as Daigoro was, but Marli is pretty sure he will be as bad or worse.
In preparation for the holiday, I had been pointing at Canadian flags and saying "Canada" or "Canada Flag". Daigoro picked up on it soon enough, and by the time we visited a nearby park for the festivities on Sunday, July 1st, he was able to point at flags and announce proudly "Cad-nada!"
When a volunteer gave me a small Canada flag "lapel pin" (though who exactly uses them on lapels anymore, I don't know) he examined it closely and beamed "Cad-nada!".
He had the opporunity to sit in a firefighting pumper truck and use a firefigher's special flashlight (all smiles) as well become the proud owner of a pint-sized plastic firefighter's helmet. Later he chowed down on an adult-sized hot dog (eating about a fifth of it) and ran about gleefully in the park with a balloon-sword from a friendly clown.
Kenshin has started biting (well, "gumming", but I'm sure it's pretty painful in any case) while feeding with Marli. Hopefully he won't be bad as Daigoro was, but Marli is pretty sure he will be as bad or worse.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Things to Make Your Heart Go "Pitta-pat"
Yesterday my elder son, in the midst of running in and out of the space formed by a sidewalk sandwich board-style advertisement, stopped, looked at me and said quite clearly:
"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"
He had been coached by Marli as well as his aunt and uncle on Saturday and Sunday, but he said it to me quite independently of coaching or prompting. I'm sure he still doesn't know what it means, but it was nice to hear him say it, even if his only motivation was to make me happy.
Back around the 7th of this month (+/- five days), Daigoro figured out how to climb out of his crib. He's a nimble little guy. It's quite a strange feeling, once you're used to lifting your child out of a crib, to hear him come plodding down the hallway when you know that no one has lifted him out. Sort of creepy at first.
He's becoming a little more contrary - he's quite frequently saying "no" or ignoring our various requests ("come here", "please eat", "no shouting", etc.). We're still holding to the firm but fair model of punishment and discipline - currently we're using about 30 seconds of enforced sitting still as a mild punishment. He obeys maybe 40% of the time when he's otherwise occupied or interested in what he's doing. That number goes up sometimes when he's tired (generally more compliant) and goes down when he's exhausted (generally more cranky). It's a balancing act for sure.
In the afternoon of Father's Day, I took Daigoro to a local outdoor swimming pool. He hasn't quite gotten used to full body immersion yet. Unlike his father, he appears to be a little uncomfortable in water. We'll have to get him used to it slowly.
Kenshin seems to enjoy standing up with assistance. He's quite capable of pushing up with his legs while Marli helps him to stand.
"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"
He had been coached by Marli as well as his aunt and uncle on Saturday and Sunday, but he said it to me quite independently of coaching or prompting. I'm sure he still doesn't know what it means, but it was nice to hear him say it, even if his only motivation was to make me happy.
Back around the 7th of this month (+/- five days), Daigoro figured out how to climb out of his crib. He's a nimble little guy. It's quite a strange feeling, once you're used to lifting your child out of a crib, to hear him come plodding down the hallway when you know that no one has lifted him out. Sort of creepy at first.
He's becoming a little more contrary - he's quite frequently saying "no" or ignoring our various requests ("come here", "please eat", "no shouting", etc.). We're still holding to the firm but fair model of punishment and discipline - currently we're using about 30 seconds of enforced sitting still as a mild punishment. He obeys maybe 40% of the time when he's otherwise occupied or interested in what he's doing. That number goes up sometimes when he's tired (generally more compliant) and goes down when he's exhausted (generally more cranky). It's a balancing act for sure.
In the afternoon of Father's Day, I took Daigoro to a local outdoor swimming pool. He hasn't quite gotten used to full body immersion yet. Unlike his father, he appears to be a little uncomfortable in water. We'll have to get him used to it slowly.
Kenshin seems to enjoy standing up with assistance. He's quite capable of pushing up with his legs while Marli helps him to stand.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Off the Charts
Not too long after I posted that last entry, Marli came back from a doctor's appointment and announced that Kenshin's height and weight were literally off the charts for a two month old baby - above the 95 percentile.
He weighs 7.25 kilograms - 16 pounds! That's a big baby!
Daigoro will have the opportunity to go horseback riding (doubling with his mother) tomorrow at my brother's birthday party. I'm looking forward to it. He's been exposed to horses and ponies a lot for his age (I think) - he went on Pony rides at Puck's Farm (a farm north of Toronto which hosts school groups, parties and the general public, helping people learn about how farms work) earlier in the spring, and then again at the Nobleton Fair on the Victoria Day long weekend. My brother and his girlfriend have also taken him to see horses.
He seems to be both interested and intimidated by them, which, for a child weighing somewhere in the 13 kg (30 pound) range and standing about 79cm (2'7"), seems a very healthy attitude.
Speaking of which, I have to comment that the fact that the age children are the most prone to run around without looking where they're going corresponds almost exactly to when their heads are at the height of the male's groin seems to be some sort of sick cosmic joke. One of the prices we pay for being bipedal, I suppose.
He weighs 7.25 kilograms - 16 pounds! That's a big baby!
Daigoro will have the opportunity to go horseback riding (doubling with his mother) tomorrow at my brother's birthday party. I'm looking forward to it. He's been exposed to horses and ponies a lot for his age (I think) - he went on Pony rides at Puck's Farm (a farm north of Toronto which hosts school groups, parties and the general public, helping people learn about how farms work) earlier in the spring, and then again at the Nobleton Fair on the Victoria Day long weekend. My brother and his girlfriend have also taken him to see horses.
He seems to be both interested and intimidated by them, which, for a child weighing somewhere in the 13 kg (30 pound) range and standing about 79cm (2'7"), seems a very healthy attitude.
Speaking of which, I have to comment that the fact that the age children are the most prone to run around without looking where they're going corresponds almost exactly to when their heads are at the height of the male's groin seems to be some sort of sick cosmic joke. One of the prices we pay for being bipedal, I suppose.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Smiley Face
Kenshin is now smiling quite frequently. He lights up with happiness when he's feeling sociable. It's quite a sight. He continues to grow like a weed and is now big enough (at two months) to fit into 3-6 month clothing. Like a typical breast-fed baby, he has rolls upon rolls of fat. My mother says that my brother was once nicknamed "Bud" for his resemblance to the common Chinese and Japanese depiction of a laughing, obese incarnation of Buddha . Our not-so-little Kenshin seems to be following in his Uncle's footsteps. We occasionally call Kenshin "Pudge" for similar reasons.
Daigoro voluntarily used his potty yesterday for the very first time. We've been using a "wetting" doll (complete with potty) as an example for a few weeks now. He's been playing with the young three-year boy that I mentioned we met in the park and seems to have been inspired to trying going potty on his own. The three-year old (I'll develop an alias for him if it looks like he'll be a frequent playmate, as he seems to be becoming) appears to be a good influence on Daigoro, and vice versa.
He also seems to developed a taste for asparagus (Daigoro: " 'spargus"), which is great for nutrition but bad for diaper smell. If you haven't eaten asparagus recently (or not at all, or if you're not genetically pre-disposed), you're not likely to know what I mean, but I assure you, it's pungent.
Curiously, he also likes peas and brocolli, but is not a big fan of carrots, green beans, peppers or many other common vegetables. I don't know if this is some odd trend for him to like foods that children traditionally hate. Perhaps I should serve him some Brussel sprouts.
Daigoro voluntarily used his potty yesterday for the very first time. We've been using a "wetting" doll (complete with potty) as an example for a few weeks now. He's been playing with the young three-year boy that I mentioned we met in the park and seems to have been inspired to trying going potty on his own. The three-year old (I'll develop an alias for him if it looks like he'll be a frequent playmate, as he seems to be becoming) appears to be a good influence on Daigoro, and vice versa.
He also seems to developed a taste for asparagus (Daigoro: " 'spargus"), which is great for nutrition but bad for diaper smell. If you haven't eaten asparagus recently (or not at all, or if you're not genetically pre-disposed), you're not likely to know what I mean, but I assure you, it's pungent.
Curiously, he also likes peas and brocolli, but is not a big fan of carrots, green beans, peppers or many other common vegetables. I don't know if this is some odd trend for him to like foods that children traditionally hate. Perhaps I should serve him some Brussel sprouts.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Little Milestones
I suspect that anyone who has attempted to keep a blog has discovered that one of the main difficulties is disciplining oneself to post regularly. A large part of that difficulty in posting is finding time, but another component is the dilemna of posting something which you know will "fill space" but will be uninspired, vs. posting something which requires time and craft but will be an interesting read.
Since the intent of this blog is foremost as a "chronicle", a few posts here will fall solidly into the category of "record-keeping" rather than a more concentrated effort on being "literary" (whatever that means). This will be one such post.
Last week (the week of May 20th) and the week previous, Kenshin has steadily been smiling more often and for longer periods. It's still not intentional, but a wonderful moment as a parent of a newborn/infant (my wife informs me the changeover from newborn to infant is six weeks - that milestone was crossed on the 21st) is when you see your newborn, who has previously seemed somewhat alien and distant, begin exhibit emotions which can be indentified as friendly or loving (even though they probably aren't really intended yet). A big gummy smile is more of a reaction and imitative expression at this point, but it does wonders for nerves frayed by serving a newborn who otherwise seems only to frown, cry, fuss and stare blankly. In fairness, looking around with interest also is a big part of his emotive range, but apparent actual happiness is a different thing altogether.
Kenshin occasionally giggles in his sleep (I haven't yet seen him do it while awake) which is a delight to watch, or, if you have the fortune of holding him at the time, to feel.
Daigoro has been somewhat moody at times lately - I suspect as his emotions and self-identity develop he is beginning to have feelings which are difficult for him to understand and control. The inevitable "gimmee!" has shown up in his vocabulary, of course attended by the vehement "mine!". He's still very pleasant in general. One of his favourite shows appears to be "Mighty Machines" a Canadian-made television show featuring construction and demolition vehicles doing their thing around sites in Canada.
Last Friday (May 25), while out with Daigoro at the park (Marli was resting at home with Kenshin), I met a couple around our age (maybe a little older) with a 3-year old son. They seemed to get along very well and happily played with a soccer ball, chasing each other about. The boy's mother mentioned that their young son was a little shy and would benefit from playing with other children outdoors, suggesting we come around again in the future. We have since, but the boy is ill at the moment; hopefully once he recovers he will feel up to playing with Daigoro.
Daigoro is approaching the age where he should start to develop friends, or at least "playmates". I was glad to make this point of contact for him.
This past Monday after work I hauled my bike out of winter storage and tuned it up (cleaning the frame, checking lines, tire pressure, cleaning and re-lubing the chain). Daigoro was enthusiastic about "helping daddy fix the bike", so we had a nice bonding moment in the early evening. Tightening pedals, washing rims and rinsing the frame in the burnished gold light, I reflected on this moment of peace and was thankful.
Kenshin is at a cute stage where he is testing the mobility and control of his limbs. Occasionally while laying on his back his arms and legs will flail madly about. The expressions on his face are of concentration and interest, not alarm, so I can only assume he is enjoying himself. It's somewhat amusing to watch a baby work his arms and legs in this way.
The "stork bite" (a reddish, blotchy skin mark) on Kenshin's brow just over the bridge of his nose has almost completely faded.
Since the intent of this blog is foremost as a "chronicle", a few posts here will fall solidly into the category of "record-keeping" rather than a more concentrated effort on being "literary" (whatever that means). This will be one such post.
Last week (the week of May 20th) and the week previous, Kenshin has steadily been smiling more often and for longer periods. It's still not intentional, but a wonderful moment as a parent of a newborn/infant (my wife informs me the changeover from newborn to infant is six weeks - that milestone was crossed on the 21st) is when you see your newborn, who has previously seemed somewhat alien and distant, begin exhibit emotions which can be indentified as friendly or loving (even though they probably aren't really intended yet). A big gummy smile is more of a reaction and imitative expression at this point, but it does wonders for nerves frayed by serving a newborn who otherwise seems only to frown, cry, fuss and stare blankly. In fairness, looking around with interest also is a big part of his emotive range, but apparent actual happiness is a different thing altogether.
Kenshin occasionally giggles in his sleep (I haven't yet seen him do it while awake) which is a delight to watch, or, if you have the fortune of holding him at the time, to feel.
Daigoro has been somewhat moody at times lately - I suspect as his emotions and self-identity develop he is beginning to have feelings which are difficult for him to understand and control. The inevitable "gimmee!" has shown up in his vocabulary, of course attended by the vehement "mine!". He's still very pleasant in general. One of his favourite shows appears to be "Mighty Machines" a Canadian-made television show featuring construction and demolition vehicles doing their thing around sites in Canada.
Last Friday (May 25), while out with Daigoro at the park (Marli was resting at home with Kenshin), I met a couple around our age (maybe a little older) with a 3-year old son. They seemed to get along very well and happily played with a soccer ball, chasing each other about. The boy's mother mentioned that their young son was a little shy and would benefit from playing with other children outdoors, suggesting we come around again in the future. We have since, but the boy is ill at the moment; hopefully once he recovers he will feel up to playing with Daigoro.
Daigoro is approaching the age where he should start to develop friends, or at least "playmates". I was glad to make this point of contact for him.
This past Monday after work I hauled my bike out of winter storage and tuned it up (cleaning the frame, checking lines, tire pressure, cleaning and re-lubing the chain). Daigoro was enthusiastic about "helping daddy fix the bike", so we had a nice bonding moment in the early evening. Tightening pedals, washing rims and rinsing the frame in the burnished gold light, I reflected on this moment of peace and was thankful.
Kenshin is at a cute stage where he is testing the mobility and control of his limbs. Occasionally while laying on his back his arms and legs will flail madly about. The expressions on his face are of concentration and interest, not alarm, so I can only assume he is enjoying himself. It's somewhat amusing to watch a baby work his arms and legs in this way.
The "stork bite" (a reddish, blotchy skin mark) on Kenshin's brow just over the bridge of his nose has almost completely faded.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Unflattering Recognition
My loving wife bought me the three DVDs of the re-re-(re?)-released Star Wars trilogy, Episodes IV-VI, for Christmas. This particular money grab -ahem- release includes both the newfangled remix (Greedo shooting first and all) and the old-school, rubber-puppet, deserted Mos Eisley, no-Jabba-meeting versions. I was rewatching them recently and decided to pick up Episode III: The Revenge of the Sith 2-DVD set on a whim.
You know, it's not a horrible movie. It's actually got some really good moments... but I digress.
Daigoro has been a bit ill the last few days, runny nose, cough; generally surly. To keep him a little more amicable, we've been letting him have a little more screen time (our code for watching TV and computer videos) than usual. So yesterday it came to be that he was plunked on the sofa while I had Revenge of the Sith playing, mostly as background noise, while I cleaned the room.
A scene came on with Yoda and Mace Windu. Yoda, in the event you've been living in a cave since 1982, is a old, wizened, frog/lizard like character who dispenses sage advice in twisted-around English.
Daigoro looked at the wrinkled, sunken and grey-haired creature talking on screen and looked up at his mother.
"Great-gramma," he announced, pointing at Yoda.
My grandmother is 91 years old as of the time of this writing. She's no spring chicken. She will never read this blog, I am fairly certain of it. If my siblings or parents ever tell that poor, sweet woman that my son thinks she looks like Yoda, I will kill them. With a lightsaber.
You know, it's not a horrible movie. It's actually got some really good moments... but I digress.
Daigoro has been a bit ill the last few days, runny nose, cough; generally surly. To keep him a little more amicable, we've been letting him have a little more screen time (our code for watching TV and computer videos) than usual. So yesterday it came to be that he was plunked on the sofa while I had Revenge of the Sith playing, mostly as background noise, while I cleaned the room.
A scene came on with Yoda and Mace Windu. Yoda, in the event you've been living in a cave since 1982, is a old, wizened, frog/lizard like character who dispenses sage advice in twisted-around English.
Daigoro looked at the wrinkled, sunken and grey-haired creature talking on screen and looked up at his mother.
"Great-gramma," he announced, pointing at Yoda.
My grandmother is 91 years old as of the time of this writing. She's no spring chicken. She will never read this blog, I am fairly certain of it. If my siblings or parents ever tell that poor, sweet woman that my son thinks she looks like Yoda, I will kill them. With a lightsaber.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Double Happiness, Part II
(continued from Double Happiness, Part I)
Midwives are required to stay with the woman for two hours after the birth to monitor vitals and generally ensure everything is OK. Knowing they'd be around for a while, my mother and I prepared food and tea, a small spread of crackers, cheeses, fruits and snacks and fresh baked pizza.
It's funny - everyone said they weren't hungry, but after cajoling them for a bit, they dove into the food with gusto. I split my time between our guests and my wife and new son for a short time, then, once my mother had everything in hand, I quietly shut the door to the bedroom and my wife, son and I had some more quiet time.
Newborns, as I've mentioned before, are not pretty in the conventional sense. In fact, for a few weeks after the birth they still look like wizened and somewhat plump old men ("men" specifically because they look like they're balding). I'm going to assign "Kenshin" as my second son's moniker - it was one of the Japanese names we considered for him and later rejected. Kenshin sometimes reminds me of Churchill. We gazed at Kenshin, the product of our love and nine months of Marli's body protecting and nuturing this tiny new life. Briefly, it felt unreal, like somehow the past few hours of pain and anxiety hadn't really happened, and this bundle of flesh and needs didn't belong to us.
Eventually the midwives interrupted our musings - it was time for another brief status check, and I took the opportunity to fulfill a promise. Six months before, when we had found out that Marli was pregnant, we went to a place called "Fran's" - a 1940s era diner on College west of Yonge - to celebrate. While there, Marli happened upon their famous rice pudding and suggested that when the baby was born, she would love to have a Fran's rice pudding as a special reward.
So it was, at 7:40 on a Monday night, I left the house to go get Fran's rice pudding. Since the midwives are typically supposed to leave two hours after the birth, I said my goodbyes, expecting them all (with the exception of my mother, of course) to be gone when I returned.
I walked into Fran's fifteen minutes later feeling lighter than air. I ordered two rice puddings and a cheeseburger combo (Marli having assured me that she didn’t want anything). I couldn't help telling the server about my good fortune. Two sons! She asked me a few questions - when? Which hospital? At home? Really? How is your wife?
I mentioned that Marli had specifically requested Fran's rice pudding as a treat. She seemed pleased. I tipped her exorbitantly (especially for a take out order - hey, share the happiness, right?) and left for home.
Another quarter of an hour later, I was back home. The midwives were still there - there was a small detail that they were waiting on before they could go. I delivered the pudding to Marli in bed and tucked into my meal, feeling pretty peckish myself.
Once the midwives were satisfied with the situation, they packed up. Another round of thank-yous and goodbyes. I chatted briefly with my mother afterward and then she too packed up her gear to go home. I couldn't (still can't) thank her enough.
So we were left as our own small family (again minus, for the moment, Daigoro, who would return the day following with my parents-in-law). I considered the life experiences that would be lost as the result of not having a daughter, but also all the joy that two brothers could have together.
"A boy should have a brother," Marli said.
Double happiness. A Chinese phrase usually seen at weddings, probably not appropriate for a birth, but it sounds fitting. I've recently been learning Chinese characters while picking names for Kenshin, and I looked up the character used in the "double happiness" character. It's the character for a drum, superimposed over the character for a mouth. Song and drumbeats - music. Happiness. Twice over.
Seems like the blessing of two sons to me.
Midwives are required to stay with the woman for two hours after the birth to monitor vitals and generally ensure everything is OK. Knowing they'd be around for a while, my mother and I prepared food and tea, a small spread of crackers, cheeses, fruits and snacks and fresh baked pizza.
It's funny - everyone said they weren't hungry, but after cajoling them for a bit, they dove into the food with gusto. I split my time between our guests and my wife and new son for a short time, then, once my mother had everything in hand, I quietly shut the door to the bedroom and my wife, son and I had some more quiet time.
Newborns, as I've mentioned before, are not pretty in the conventional sense. In fact, for a few weeks after the birth they still look like wizened and somewhat plump old men ("men" specifically because they look like they're balding). I'm going to assign "Kenshin" as my second son's moniker - it was one of the Japanese names we considered for him and later rejected. Kenshin sometimes reminds me of Churchill. We gazed at Kenshin, the product of our love and nine months of Marli's body protecting and nuturing this tiny new life. Briefly, it felt unreal, like somehow the past few hours of pain and anxiety hadn't really happened, and this bundle of flesh and needs didn't belong to us.
Eventually the midwives interrupted our musings - it was time for another brief status check, and I took the opportunity to fulfill a promise. Six months before, when we had found out that Marli was pregnant, we went to a place called "Fran's" - a 1940s era diner on College west of Yonge - to celebrate. While there, Marli happened upon their famous rice pudding and suggested that when the baby was born, she would love to have a Fran's rice pudding as a special reward.
So it was, at 7:40 on a Monday night, I left the house to go get Fran's rice pudding. Since the midwives are typically supposed to leave two hours after the birth, I said my goodbyes, expecting them all (with the exception of my mother, of course) to be gone when I returned.
I walked into Fran's fifteen minutes later feeling lighter than air. I ordered two rice puddings and a cheeseburger combo (Marli having assured me that she didn’t want anything). I couldn't help telling the server about my good fortune. Two sons! She asked me a few questions - when? Which hospital? At home? Really? How is your wife?
I mentioned that Marli had specifically requested Fran's rice pudding as a treat. She seemed pleased. I tipped her exorbitantly (especially for a take out order - hey, share the happiness, right?) and left for home.
Another quarter of an hour later, I was back home. The midwives were still there - there was a small detail that they were waiting on before they could go. I delivered the pudding to Marli in bed and tucked into my meal, feeling pretty peckish myself.
Once the midwives were satisfied with the situation, they packed up. Another round of thank-yous and goodbyes. I chatted briefly with my mother afterward and then she too packed up her gear to go home. I couldn't (still can't) thank her enough.
So we were left as our own small family (again minus, for the moment, Daigoro, who would return the day following with my parents-in-law). I considered the life experiences that would be lost as the result of not having a daughter, but also all the joy that two brothers could have together.
"A boy should have a brother," Marli said.
Double happiness. A Chinese phrase usually seen at weddings, probably not appropriate for a birth, but it sounds fitting. I've recently been learning Chinese characters while picking names for Kenshin, and I looked up the character used in the "double happiness" character. It's the character for a drum, superimposed over the character for a mouth. Song and drumbeats - music. Happiness. Twice over.
Seems like the blessing of two sons to me.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Vignette: Protecting Mother
Occasionally Daigoro exhibits behaviour which is interesting but probably doesn't require a lengthy blog entry. I'll prefix these short episodes and snapshots with the title and tag "Vignette". This first vignette occurs a few months ago, in early February or late January (I believe):
Daigoro was accompanying Marli on a trip to the midwives. He was happy and inquisitive throughout the visit, as is his usual manner. However, when the midwives asked to examine Marli's abdomen and palpate the uterus, Daigoro became more and more upset as they poked and prodded his mother's swollen belly. Finally he couldn't take it any more and actually flung himself between their hands and mama's stomach, apparently in an effort to protect her.
Pretty impressive, when you think about it - an twenty month old child trying to bodily intervene to protect his mother from two other women easily twice his size and four times his weight. It brings to mind of images from mythology of young children or animals protecting their injured or fallen parents. Instinct or love? Hard to say, but touching either way.
Daigoro was accompanying Marli on a trip to the midwives. He was happy and inquisitive throughout the visit, as is his usual manner. However, when the midwives asked to examine Marli's abdomen and palpate the uterus, Daigoro became more and more upset as they poked and prodded his mother's swollen belly. Finally he couldn't take it any more and actually flung himself between their hands and mama's stomach, apparently in an effort to protect her.
Pretty impressive, when you think about it - an twenty month old child trying to bodily intervene to protect his mother from two other women easily twice his size and four times his weight. It brings to mind of images from mythology of young children or animals protecting their injured or fallen parents. Instinct or love? Hard to say, but touching either way.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Double Happiness, Part I
What words can possibly describe the experience of a new birth? My wife mentioned to me recently a saying (she couldn't remember the source) which went something like this: "People who don't believe in God usually haven't attended a birth." It is a miraculous experience. To try to document such an event with mundane descriptions seems almost to belittle it. But even a few years can dull the memory of the experience, so it's best to get it written down while it's fresh in my mind.
Easter Monday began quietly. Although Marli had been having sporadic contractions throughout the weekend, we felt that it was reasonable to invite my parents over to visit - both wanted to spend some time with Daigoro. We were having a relaxed visit, chatting with my parents and playing with Daigoro.
After Daigoro went down for his afternoon nap, my mother settled into some knitting while my father decided to take some time to get to know my musical tastes by listening to shuffled songs on my iPod. After 3:00 PM, my wife called me from the bedroom and quietly informed me that "it looks like we're having a baby today." Her water had broken not too long before. In fact, she had been chatting with my parents just a half an hour earlier when the stronger contractions had begun, and she intentionally concealed her discomfort in order to not get my parents overly excited just in case things didn't progress. I went out to tell my parents, who were delighted by the news. We had planned a home birth with midwives, so we had a lot to do.
We started making preparations. Daigoro woke up not too long afterward, so we bundled him up so that my father could take him to my parents-in-law's house. My wife prefers more privacy when she's in labour, so there was some urgency in getting my father and my son out of the house that I didn't communicate well initially. My mother had volunteered to provide support during the birth with hosting and other duties not directly associated with birthing. After they were safely on their way, the midwives arrived shortly after 4 PM.
My wife has had medical training, so she had recognized a potential problem - there was meconium in the ammniotic fluid (I'll hold off on describing exactly what meconium is for the squeamish - if you want to know, look it up). This can cause several complications if the baby has aspirated any of it, so as part of the protocol they would need to call the paramedics so that they could intubate if necessary. The alternative was to go to the hospital. After a consult and a few more checks, the midwives and my wife decided that it would be safer for all concerned to go to the hospital.
I felt disappointed - we had planned on a home birth for many months - but safety had to come first. I grabbed the hospital bag my wife had prepared as well as a bag with my own personal items and prepared to go to the hospital while the midwives checked my wife one more time. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) her cervical dilation had increased from 5 cm to 7 cm in the short time that it had taken us to make the decision to leave (less than 10 minutes). The baby wanted to be born soon, so we shifted gears once again, dropping the bags and preparing to call the paramedics as we got closer to transition (the transition from strong contractions to the final stages of pushing - the last few centimetres of cervical dilation). At this point it was almost 5:15.
Things were progressing quickly. Marli's contractions were strong and spaced less than five minutes apart. I was told to stop timing the contractions as we got close to 5:30, and the paramedics were called. Firefighters arrived within five minutes (briefed quickly by one of the midwives on the precautionary nature of their presence) and paramedics shortly thereafter. Marli by this point was quite close and the pressure was strong and difficult for her. She prefers neither to be touched nor talked to when in pain, so I stood by, ready to assist, but mostly silent, especially during contractions. The paramedics (and the firefighters) wanted to be in the room, but they were respectful of the midwives instructions and remained outside. I was told later by my mother that two of the younger firefighters were somewhat unnerved by Marli's "vocalizations" and left to sit in the truck outside.
Marli hates to labour on her back, but unfortunately her discomfort made it difficult to get her to adopt a new position. Words of encouragement and rational explanations didn't quite seem to cut it; Marli said afterward, "it was like the cooperative part of me just shut off." The students were quiet and attentive, taking fetal heartrates at the correct times - the heartbeat was strong and steady as I heard it - rapid squishy thumps sloshing out of the Doppler like someone operating a plunger in a slushy machine.
Soon it came time to start pushing, around quarter to six, and we had to "help" Marli adopt a slightly different position on her side, with two people on the upper leg, another on the lower and two more "in the slot" (to use a somewhat appropriate military/hockey term). It was obviously uncomfortable for her, but it was pretty necessary as far as I understand.
To prospective natural childbirth coaches: the period immediately prior to transition seems to take forever; be prepared for this. To be with your wife/lover/friend/daughter (whatever your relation to the mother) in quite severe pain is difficult - there's not a whole lot you can do. People endure pain in quite different ways, of course. Marli vocalized quite loudly - not panicked screaming, but certainly sharp and urgent. She describes the worst of the pain as feeling like your pelvis is being pulled apart, which of course is pretty much what's happening. It's hard to relate to this kind of pain when you're male - the only thing I can think of is that if you can imagine the worst joint lock you've ever been in, but continuously for a long period without relief. Translate this pain to your groin and pelvis area. Now, add to this pain the worst sensation of being "blocked up" you can possibly imagine. Now amp that combined pain up a few notches and throw in whatever cramp and muscle pain that you usually get from taking any uncomfortable squatting or sitting position for more than a few minutes.
Yeah. Ouch. That's one of many reasons why I'd never begrudge a woman the decision to not have a drug-free birth experience.
I could see the pain and effort in her eyes and face, but I could also see the strength. She wasn't panicking. I love my wife.
Marli was pushing in earnest now. There was a sense of urgency in the room, but also a quiet professionalism that I had to admire. A few unpleasant details I'll leave out of this narrative, but suffice it to say that birth is a messy experience; fortunately Marli had expertly prepared the bed to prevent staining almost a week before. Just before six the head was starting to show - the midwives quickly checked the cord and cleared it from being in a dangerous position (wrapped once, loosely), a minor complication but one that I was thankful for experienced midwives to deal with it. It seemed to take somewhat longer than normal for the crowning to finish. As seconds ticked into minutes, the situation became a little more serious, if not critical. The midwives worked their magic, using a combination of manipulating the baby and mama's legs (not without protest) to get the necessary room. The head crowned just after 6 PM, but there was also a short period where we were unable to get the rest of the shoulders and body through. With some effort, our son emerged at 6:04 PM on Easter Monday into the waiting hands of his father. I held him for a moment before placing him on his mother's stomach while the midwives quickly cut the cord.
My new son was a pale grey-pink and somewhat floppy as he was whisked out of the room to the kitchen table we had set up as a potential resuscitation table. The paramedics stood ready to intubate, but as soon as they began to suction, he coughed and began to cry.
I had remained in the room with Marli. She was already apologizing to the midwives for being "uncooperative" during the birth. I quickly ducked out to find out our son's status. Seeing the midwives already towel-cleaning a crying newborn, I knew that I would be able to tell Marli our son was going to be OK.
One of the paramedics looked over at me and asked, "How's daddy?" My wife often observes that with all the focus on the mother and child, fathers are often overlooked during a birth. With all of the emotion of the minor complications (potential aspiration of meconium, awkward cord position, prolonged period to crown and deliver the shoulders) I felt that I had to maintain a calm exterior. Now that need for composure was gone, I found myself suddenly brimming up with tears of joy, "Fine," I said roughly, "I'm fine, thanks."
I returned to the room to update my wife. A minute or so later, after the midwives had a chance to clean up the baby and do a few checks, they returned our son to us. Already he was a much healthier pink, crying and looking about with dark, almond-shaped eyes.
While the midwives worked around us and in the adjacent room with the much-appreciated aid of my mother, filling out paperwork and generally cleaning up, Marli and I enjoyed a brief quiet moment with our newborn son.
(to be continued in "Double Happiness, Part II)
Easter Monday began quietly. Although Marli had been having sporadic contractions throughout the weekend, we felt that it was reasonable to invite my parents over to visit - both wanted to spend some time with Daigoro. We were having a relaxed visit, chatting with my parents and playing with Daigoro.
After Daigoro went down for his afternoon nap, my mother settled into some knitting while my father decided to take some time to get to know my musical tastes by listening to shuffled songs on my iPod. After 3:00 PM, my wife called me from the bedroom and quietly informed me that "it looks like we're having a baby today." Her water had broken not too long before. In fact, she had been chatting with my parents just a half an hour earlier when the stronger contractions had begun, and she intentionally concealed her discomfort in order to not get my parents overly excited just in case things didn't progress. I went out to tell my parents, who were delighted by the news. We had planned a home birth with midwives, so we had a lot to do.
We started making preparations. Daigoro woke up not too long afterward, so we bundled him up so that my father could take him to my parents-in-law's house. My wife prefers more privacy when she's in labour, so there was some urgency in getting my father and my son out of the house that I didn't communicate well initially. My mother had volunteered to provide support during the birth with hosting and other duties not directly associated with birthing. After they were safely on their way, the midwives arrived shortly after 4 PM.
My wife has had medical training, so she had recognized a potential problem - there was meconium in the ammniotic fluid (I'll hold off on describing exactly what meconium is for the squeamish - if you want to know, look it up). This can cause several complications if the baby has aspirated any of it, so as part of the protocol they would need to call the paramedics so that they could intubate if necessary. The alternative was to go to the hospital. After a consult and a few more checks, the midwives and my wife decided that it would be safer for all concerned to go to the hospital.
I felt disappointed - we had planned on a home birth for many months - but safety had to come first. I grabbed the hospital bag my wife had prepared as well as a bag with my own personal items and prepared to go to the hospital while the midwives checked my wife one more time. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) her cervical dilation had increased from 5 cm to 7 cm in the short time that it had taken us to make the decision to leave (less than 10 minutes). The baby wanted to be born soon, so we shifted gears once again, dropping the bags and preparing to call the paramedics as we got closer to transition (the transition from strong contractions to the final stages of pushing - the last few centimetres of cervical dilation). At this point it was almost 5:15.
Things were progressing quickly. Marli's contractions were strong and spaced less than five minutes apart. I was told to stop timing the contractions as we got close to 5:30, and the paramedics were called. Firefighters arrived within five minutes (briefed quickly by one of the midwives on the precautionary nature of their presence) and paramedics shortly thereafter. Marli by this point was quite close and the pressure was strong and difficult for her. She prefers neither to be touched nor talked to when in pain, so I stood by, ready to assist, but mostly silent, especially during contractions. The paramedics (and the firefighters) wanted to be in the room, but they were respectful of the midwives instructions and remained outside. I was told later by my mother that two of the younger firefighters were somewhat unnerved by Marli's "vocalizations" and left to sit in the truck outside.
Marli hates to labour on her back, but unfortunately her discomfort made it difficult to get her to adopt a new position. Words of encouragement and rational explanations didn't quite seem to cut it; Marli said afterward, "it was like the cooperative part of me just shut off." The students were quiet and attentive, taking fetal heartrates at the correct times - the heartbeat was strong and steady as I heard it - rapid squishy thumps sloshing out of the Doppler like someone operating a plunger in a slushy machine.
Soon it came time to start pushing, around quarter to six, and we had to "help" Marli adopt a slightly different position on her side, with two people on the upper leg, another on the lower and two more "in the slot" (to use a somewhat appropriate military/hockey term). It was obviously uncomfortable for her, but it was pretty necessary as far as I understand.
To prospective natural childbirth coaches: the period immediately prior to transition seems to take forever; be prepared for this. To be with your wife/lover/friend/daughter (whatever your relation to the mother) in quite severe pain is difficult - there's not a whole lot you can do. People endure pain in quite different ways, of course. Marli vocalized quite loudly - not panicked screaming, but certainly sharp and urgent. She describes the worst of the pain as feeling like your pelvis is being pulled apart, which of course is pretty much what's happening. It's hard to relate to this kind of pain when you're male - the only thing I can think of is that if you can imagine the worst joint lock you've ever been in, but continuously for a long period without relief. Translate this pain to your groin and pelvis area. Now, add to this pain the worst sensation of being "blocked up" you can possibly imagine. Now amp that combined pain up a few notches and throw in whatever cramp and muscle pain that you usually get from taking any uncomfortable squatting or sitting position for more than a few minutes.
Yeah. Ouch. That's one of many reasons why I'd never begrudge a woman the decision to not have a drug-free birth experience.
I could see the pain and effort in her eyes and face, but I could also see the strength. She wasn't panicking. I love my wife.
Marli was pushing in earnest now. There was a sense of urgency in the room, but also a quiet professionalism that I had to admire. A few unpleasant details I'll leave out of this narrative, but suffice it to say that birth is a messy experience; fortunately Marli had expertly prepared the bed to prevent staining almost a week before. Just before six the head was starting to show - the midwives quickly checked the cord and cleared it from being in a dangerous position (wrapped once, loosely), a minor complication but one that I was thankful for experienced midwives to deal with it. It seemed to take somewhat longer than normal for the crowning to finish. As seconds ticked into minutes, the situation became a little more serious, if not critical. The midwives worked their magic, using a combination of manipulating the baby and mama's legs (not without protest) to get the necessary room. The head crowned just after 6 PM, but there was also a short period where we were unable to get the rest of the shoulders and body through. With some effort, our son emerged at 6:04 PM on Easter Monday into the waiting hands of his father. I held him for a moment before placing him on his mother's stomach while the midwives quickly cut the cord.
My new son was a pale grey-pink and somewhat floppy as he was whisked out of the room to the kitchen table we had set up as a potential resuscitation table. The paramedics stood ready to intubate, but as soon as they began to suction, he coughed and began to cry.
I had remained in the room with Marli. She was already apologizing to the midwives for being "uncooperative" during the birth. I quickly ducked out to find out our son's status. Seeing the midwives already towel-cleaning a crying newborn, I knew that I would be able to tell Marli our son was going to be OK.
One of the paramedics looked over at me and asked, "How's daddy?" My wife often observes that with all the focus on the mother and child, fathers are often overlooked during a birth. With all of the emotion of the minor complications (potential aspiration of meconium, awkward cord position, prolonged period to crown and deliver the shoulders) I felt that I had to maintain a calm exterior. Now that need for composure was gone, I found myself suddenly brimming up with tears of joy, "Fine," I said roughly, "I'm fine, thanks."
I returned to the room to update my wife. A minute or so later, after the midwives had a chance to clean up the baby and do a few checks, they returned our son to us. Already he was a much healthier pink, crying and looking about with dark, almond-shaped eyes.
While the midwives worked around us and in the adjacent room with the much-appreciated aid of my mother, filling out paperwork and generally cleaning up, Marli and I enjoyed a brief quiet moment with our newborn son.
(to be continued in "Double Happiness, Part II)
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Standing at the Threshold
I have a personal fascination with human memory. One of the aspects of memory which I always find interesting is the capacity for human beings to forget how painful or difficult a particular episode or period was. Which is not to say all memory of the incident or time is completely forgotten, but you never recall fully how painful something is after the fact. For example, I remember that the pain of breaking my collar bone in a biking accident when I was 24 was quite intense, but when I remember the incident, no matter how hard I try, I can't evoke the sensation of pain exactly.
This is a very "good and sensible" thing, if you think about it - people would be collapsing in pain every time they thought of a previous injury. Similarly, women might really think twice about having children a second time around. Perhaps you have injured yourself a second time after receiving a painful injury previously and thought to yourself "oh yeah, that's how that felt." Now imagine that with the pain of childbirth. Nostalgia is a useful (and sometimes dangerous) thing.
Quite aside from physical pain, there is the difficulty of mental or physical stress; which brings me to the main thrust of this post - we're expecting our second child any day now. We're about to go through the whole rigamarole of sleep deprivation, which I touched on in a previous post, all over again. This time, we'll have the added challenge of a toddler.
One co-worker has commented to me that marriage is a change in your life, but relative to having your first child, it is quite minor. He then went on to compare the jump from one child to two as being a seismic shift similar in magnitude.
So here I stand on the threshold of another portal, looking back at the path that has lead me here, and peeking through to the paths beyond. I feel both elated at the ground we have covered so far, and daunted by the unknown terrain ahead.
Daigoro is steadily improving his vocabulary. Every day he seems to be able to apply the correct new word to an object or action. Marli and I find ourselves increasingly unsure if his new discovery is as a result of one of us specifically teaching him or Daigoro just picking the word up on his own. He is growing emotionally as well. This morning I watched with fondness as he lay down beside our cat and stroked it gently. He seemed pleased to be able to interact and be gentle with the cat, to which the cat responded with a few licks and purring. When the cat became a little impatient with Daigoro's attentions, he gave Daigoro a gentle bite, which cat owners will recognize as being playful as well as cautionary in different situations. Instead of reacting fearfully, Daigoro withdrew his hand and said, "kitty, no biting," not angrily, but as a loving parent might chide a wayward child.
Similarly, Daigoro has in weeks past displayed touching moments of empathy; pulling a blanket over a stuffed bear for warmth, wanting to help put a diaper on a baby doll. He almost always reacts positively to images of babies, smiling and pointing with delight. While I'm sure that his reactions will change as a new baby begins to live with us 24/7, I'm also satisfied that he's emotionally well-adjusted enough at the moment that he should be able to adapt well.
We're heading into Easter weekend, a celebration of a great transformation - an unimaginable leap from one state of being to another. A very appropriate time for a second child to be born.
This is a very "good and sensible" thing, if you think about it - people would be collapsing in pain every time they thought of a previous injury. Similarly, women might really think twice about having children a second time around. Perhaps you have injured yourself a second time after receiving a painful injury previously and thought to yourself "oh yeah, that's how that felt." Now imagine that with the pain of childbirth. Nostalgia is a useful (and sometimes dangerous) thing.
Quite aside from physical pain, there is the difficulty of mental or physical stress; which brings me to the main thrust of this post - we're expecting our second child any day now. We're about to go through the whole rigamarole of sleep deprivation, which I touched on in a previous post, all over again. This time, we'll have the added challenge of a toddler.
One co-worker has commented to me that marriage is a change in your life, but relative to having your first child, it is quite minor. He then went on to compare the jump from one child to two as being a seismic shift similar in magnitude.
So here I stand on the threshold of another portal, looking back at the path that has lead me here, and peeking through to the paths beyond. I feel both elated at the ground we have covered so far, and daunted by the unknown terrain ahead.
Daigoro is steadily improving his vocabulary. Every day he seems to be able to apply the correct new word to an object or action. Marli and I find ourselves increasingly unsure if his new discovery is as a result of one of us specifically teaching him or Daigoro just picking the word up on his own. He is growing emotionally as well. This morning I watched with fondness as he lay down beside our cat and stroked it gently. He seemed pleased to be able to interact and be gentle with the cat, to which the cat responded with a few licks and purring. When the cat became a little impatient with Daigoro's attentions, he gave Daigoro a gentle bite, which cat owners will recognize as being playful as well as cautionary in different situations. Instead of reacting fearfully, Daigoro withdrew his hand and said, "kitty, no biting," not angrily, but as a loving parent might chide a wayward child.
Similarly, Daigoro has in weeks past displayed touching moments of empathy; pulling a blanket over a stuffed bear for warmth, wanting to help put a diaper on a baby doll. He almost always reacts positively to images of babies, smiling and pointing with delight. While I'm sure that his reactions will change as a new baby begins to live with us 24/7, I'm also satisfied that he's emotionally well-adjusted enough at the moment that he should be able to adapt well.
We're heading into Easter weekend, a celebration of a great transformation - an unimaginable leap from one state of being to another. A very appropriate time for a second child to be born.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Bouncing Off Walls
The other day, Daigoro was running about in his grandparents' TV room.
This isn't unusual behaviour for him - he likes to be active. What was unusual for him is that he was literally bouncing off walls.
"Literally" is a sadly misused word these days. I often wince when news reporters say something like "they literally tore into the other team," or "it literally blew their minds," when, of course (unless they were actually talking about wolf pack attacks on sports players, or very carefully timed and placed explosives) they are figuratively doing something. Many people seem to just use it as a magnifying word. Somewhere in the ironic punishments division of Hell, I imagine these word-sinners suffering literally the exact things they should have described in a figurative sense - "hey, news anchorperson, how do you like literally being knocked off your feet? Hmmm? Or literally being cut to pieces? Hmmm? Sorta different than being figuratively cut to pieces, eh?"
No... in this case, Daigoro was literally (really literally, not figuratively) bouncing off walls. He'd run across the room, use his hands to slow his impact somewhat, then go bouncing off in another direction. He'd hit another wall, then go bouncing off in another run, careening about like a toddler-sized pinball in a 5m x 3m enclosure.
The near-boundless energy of toddlers. Inspirational at times - downright exhausting at others.
In happier news, Daigoro has gotten over his clenching-his-legs-together phase of diaper resistance, at least for the moment.
This isn't unusual behaviour for him - he likes to be active. What was unusual for him is that he was literally bouncing off walls.
"Literally" is a sadly misused word these days. I often wince when news reporters say something like "they literally tore into the other team," or "it literally blew their minds," when, of course (unless they were actually talking about wolf pack attacks on sports players, or very carefully timed and placed explosives) they are figuratively doing something. Many people seem to just use it as a magnifying word. Somewhere in the ironic punishments division of Hell, I imagine these word-sinners suffering literally the exact things they should have described in a figurative sense - "hey, news anchorperson, how do you like literally being knocked off your feet? Hmmm? Or literally being cut to pieces? Hmmm? Sorta different than being figuratively cut to pieces, eh?"
No... in this case, Daigoro was literally (really literally, not figuratively) bouncing off walls. He'd run across the room, use his hands to slow his impact somewhat, then go bouncing off in another direction. He'd hit another wall, then go bouncing off in another run, careening about like a toddler-sized pinball in a 5m x 3m enclosure.
The near-boundless energy of toddlers. Inspirational at times - downright exhausting at others.
In happier news, Daigoro has gotten over his clenching-his-legs-together phase of diaper resistance, at least for the moment.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Cycles and Phases
Daigoro goes through cycles, much like other children. His cycles can be somewhat strange, however. For example, when he was very young (0-6 months or so), he enjoyed getting his diaper changed so much that we actually changed him to calm him down even if he didn't need changing (on occasion, when we had reached a mental breaking point). Later, he began to dislike getting changed (6-18 months), mostly on account of wanting to be able to squirm about. Then, for a brief period, he seemed to be fairly lukewarm to the idea (18-22 months). For the last two months or so, however, he's become resistant again, to the point of clamping shut his legs every other day or so and protesting "no, no, stop!". For any other parents who may have not had this experience, it's surprisingly difficult to change a baby who is actively resisting you by tucking his knees and legs together and drawing them in against his body. Then when you go to wipe his bottom, he puts down his legs, then you go to wipe his groin and he tucks them up again. Smart cookie, Daigoro. Sometimes it's related to diaper rash (which, thankfully, he doesn't get very often at all), but sometimes it just seems to be his mood to put up resistance.
For a while there, he seemed to want nothing but YouTube clips of trucks. Now he wants "games" - computer games like Dora the Explorer, Diego and other delightful diversions at www.nickjr.com. We're limiting his play time, of course, but it's interesting (and somewhat disturbing) to hear a child want something (aside from a cookie) as the very first thing when he wakes up in the morning, and that something to be a computer game. (Well, to be honest, the very first thing he asks for is "Mom" or "Dad", so we've got that portion of his affections locked down).
We've recently begun reading him bedtime stories more often. When he was younger, he seemed somewhat uninterested - usually losing attention about three pages in, but now he's pretty keen. Last night, for the first time, he wanted to take his book to bed with him and read it (well, flip through the pages and stare at the pictures). He's taken the book to bed with him before, as a sort of security blanket; he's also taken dolls, trucks and various other toys with him to clutch while falling asleep. Last night, though, he sat in bed reading after we put him down. Marli commented, "We may as well have been robots, for all he needed us to be there." It was kind of cute to look at him, lying on his back reading, completely oblivious to his adoring parents.
Cycles and phases. Some things he returns to; some he never will.
For a while there, he seemed to want nothing but YouTube clips of trucks. Now he wants "games" - computer games like Dora the Explorer, Diego and other delightful diversions at www.nickjr.com. We're limiting his play time, of course, but it's interesting (and somewhat disturbing) to hear a child want something (aside from a cookie) as the very first thing when he wakes up in the morning, and that something to be a computer game. (Well, to be honest, the very first thing he asks for is "Mom" or "Dad", so we've got that portion of his affections locked down).
We've recently begun reading him bedtime stories more often. When he was younger, he seemed somewhat uninterested - usually losing attention about three pages in, but now he's pretty keen. Last night, for the first time, he wanted to take his book to bed with him and read it (well, flip through the pages and stare at the pictures). He's taken the book to bed with him before, as a sort of security blanket; he's also taken dolls, trucks and various other toys with him to clutch while falling asleep. Last night, though, he sat in bed reading after we put him down. Marli commented, "We may as well have been robots, for all he needed us to be there." It was kind of cute to look at him, lying on his back reading, completely oblivious to his adoring parents.
Cycles and phases. Some things he returns to; some he never will.
Monday, March 12, 2007
The Origins of Humour
Honest, unforced laughter from a child is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world to my ears.
Daigoro likes to laugh. As mentioned frequently before, he's generally a happy kid. He'll laugh if we mug funny faces for him, if we blow raspberries ("zerberts") on his belly, if we do funny dances or somersaults for him. The thing that sets him off, though - the type of humour that sends him into gales of laughter - is pratfalls. He loves it when things fall down, slip or run headlong into other things. If you show him one of those dumb "Funniest Home Video" clips of cats and dogs having various "incidents", he'll giggle and laugh until his eyes tear up and he struggles to catch his breath.
He wandered into the computer room while I was watching Robot Chicken, a great little 10 minute filler show from [adult swim]. One episode has a segment with nothing but toy Cylon Centurions (from the old Battlestar Galactica sci-fi series) slipping, falling, crashing into each other (or unlucky Daggetts) and otherwise doing one long pratfall sequence. Daigoro thought it was hilarious and sat there laughing his head off. I just had to play it for him again. (If you're familiar with Robot Chicken: no, I didn't let him watch much more than that sequence. It does get pretty graphic at times)
I've read that the human grin (and laughter) is an outgrowth of the primate grimace; a facial expression primarily intended to communicate fear and discomfort. Showing teeth in most other mammals is a threat, which has probably been the downfall of many an unwary human who smiled broadly at a angry dog. I guess the difference with primates is that, living in troops and small bands, "smiling" communicates this fear and allows the rest of the band to understand what you're going through. I'm not too up on anthropology, but I have to assume that over time, this shared experience of fear turned into a communal release valve - a way of saying "I'm frightened of this (or this potentially happening to me) but we're still alive and laughing about it."
I don't know the exact quote - "all humour grows out of pain" or something to that effect. A corollary seems to be "comedy equals tragedy plus time".
Where does Daigoro learn to laugh at things? Marli and I don't typically watch pratfall based humour shows (funny though it can be) and we certainly don't laugh at Daigoro when he falls down. Yet he finds people (or animals) falling or tripping or getting bonked on the head the very pinnacle of humour at the moment. Is it because toddlers can relate to falling down or getting hurt - that the subconscious fear of falling and the relief of seeing it happen to someone else somehow translates into comedic gold?
Physical comedy is looking at the physical pain that one could be experiencing and someone internalizing it - turning it into something to be mocked, not feared. All our more elabourate comedy forms (satire, farce, parody) seems to stem from understanding the underlying pain or ridiculousness of a situation and simply laughing at it. Social pain - embarassment, awkwardness, humiliation - is still pain, especially to social animals like humans.
Not that Daigoro thinks about this sort of thing. He just laughs and laughs and laughs… because it's funny. That's all that's important, really.
Daigoro likes to laugh. As mentioned frequently before, he's generally a happy kid. He'll laugh if we mug funny faces for him, if we blow raspberries ("zerberts") on his belly, if we do funny dances or somersaults for him. The thing that sets him off, though - the type of humour that sends him into gales of laughter - is pratfalls. He loves it when things fall down, slip or run headlong into other things. If you show him one of those dumb "Funniest Home Video" clips of cats and dogs having various "incidents", he'll giggle and laugh until his eyes tear up and he struggles to catch his breath.
He wandered into the computer room while I was watching Robot Chicken, a great little 10 minute filler show from [adult swim]. One episode has a segment with nothing but toy Cylon Centurions (from the old Battlestar Galactica sci-fi series) slipping, falling, crashing into each other (or unlucky Daggetts) and otherwise doing one long pratfall sequence. Daigoro thought it was hilarious and sat there laughing his head off. I just had to play it for him again. (If you're familiar with Robot Chicken: no, I didn't let him watch much more than that sequence. It does get pretty graphic at times)
I've read that the human grin (and laughter) is an outgrowth of the primate grimace; a facial expression primarily intended to communicate fear and discomfort. Showing teeth in most other mammals is a threat, which has probably been the downfall of many an unwary human who smiled broadly at a angry dog. I guess the difference with primates is that, living in troops and small bands, "smiling" communicates this fear and allows the rest of the band to understand what you're going through. I'm not too up on anthropology, but I have to assume that over time, this shared experience of fear turned into a communal release valve - a way of saying "I'm frightened of this (or this potentially happening to me) but we're still alive and laughing about it."
I don't know the exact quote - "all humour grows out of pain" or something to that effect. A corollary seems to be "comedy equals tragedy plus time".
Where does Daigoro learn to laugh at things? Marli and I don't typically watch pratfall based humour shows (funny though it can be) and we certainly don't laugh at Daigoro when he falls down. Yet he finds people (or animals) falling or tripping or getting bonked on the head the very pinnacle of humour at the moment. Is it because toddlers can relate to falling down or getting hurt - that the subconscious fear of falling and the relief of seeing it happen to someone else somehow translates into comedic gold?
Physical comedy is looking at the physical pain that one could be experiencing and someone internalizing it - turning it into something to be mocked, not feared. All our more elabourate comedy forms (satire, farce, parody) seems to stem from understanding the underlying pain or ridiculousness of a situation and simply laughing at it. Social pain - embarassment, awkwardness, humiliation - is still pain, especially to social animals like humans.
Not that Daigoro thinks about this sort of thing. He just laughs and laughs and laughs… because it's funny. That's all that's important, really.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Circle Game
I've recently invested some time in transferring parts of my moderate-sized CD collection into MP3 format for use on my iPod 30GB. Yes, I'm officially about five or six years behind the curve in terms of this technology, but I've never been a big "music guy". I enjoy music, but it doesn't seem to define my life in the same sense that it does for many people.
In any case, I was bopping along on shuffle mode when Joni Mitchell's song "Circle Game" came up. My pace slowed a bit as I paused to listen to the lyrics. Here they are reproduced in part:
So I'm trudging along thinking about how I could possibly be getting more out of the experience of fatherhood, "savouring" more, as it were, as well as putting more into it for Daigoro's sake. As it goes, I think I'm doing pretty well - but we'll see.
Not really anything to do with Daigoro, to be honest, but certainly made me take a moment mentally and think about exactly what this whole business of being a father means. It reminds me of what I debt I owe to both my parents for giving me a loving and nurturing childhood. Not entirely without strife or darkness, of course (that would be pretty damaging in itself) but by and large, a excellent foundation for my own turn as a parent. When Daigoro smiles and hugs us, it feels like warm sunshine embodied in a little squirmy package. There are definitely perks to being a father.
I'm nostalgic by nature - I tend to really become attached to places and memories, probably more so than is good for me. The song makes me think ahead to moments when Daigoro won't look at me with the same shining love in his eyes, to times where he'll hate me or fear me in turn. The passage of time for a parent is both stunningly quick (when considering it in retrospect) and occasionally agonizingly slow (when trying to endure another fifteen minutes of a cranky toddler).
Daigoro is starting to use more words to express more of his opinion.
"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!!!" (general emphatic disagreement with what we're asking him to do)
"No, thank you." (in response to bathtime or the need to get ready for church)
I'm starting to ramble a little now... perhaps I'll edit this entry later. I just wanted to capture my feeling on hearing this song and thinking about Daigoro and the upcoming addition to our family.
In any case, I was bopping along on shuffle mode when Joni Mitchell's song "Circle Game" came up. My pace slowed a bit as I paused to listen to the lyrics. Here they are reproduced in part:
Yesterday a child came out to wonderI almost stopped in my tracks. I was really getting choked up listening to the lyrics. I don't know if most parents do - I suspect so. Same thing probably happens to men who listen to "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin. It's horrendously cliché, I know, but it's hard not to be affected by the enormity of the passage of time and the cyclical nature of parenthood/fatherhood.
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, when youre older, must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
Were captive on the carousel of time
We cant return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
So I'm trudging along thinking about how I could possibly be getting more out of the experience of fatherhood, "savouring" more, as it were, as well as putting more into it for Daigoro's sake. As it goes, I think I'm doing pretty well - but we'll see.
Not really anything to do with Daigoro, to be honest, but certainly made me take a moment mentally and think about exactly what this whole business of being a father means. It reminds me of what I debt I owe to both my parents for giving me a loving and nurturing childhood. Not entirely without strife or darkness, of course (that would be pretty damaging in itself) but by and large, a excellent foundation for my own turn as a parent. When Daigoro smiles and hugs us, it feels like warm sunshine embodied in a little squirmy package. There are definitely perks to being a father.
I'm nostalgic by nature - I tend to really become attached to places and memories, probably more so than is good for me. The song makes me think ahead to moments when Daigoro won't look at me with the same shining love in his eyes, to times where he'll hate me or fear me in turn. The passage of time for a parent is both stunningly quick (when considering it in retrospect) and occasionally agonizingly slow (when trying to endure another fifteen minutes of a cranky toddler).
Daigoro is starting to use more words to express more of his opinion.
"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!!!" (general emphatic disagreement with what we're asking him to do)
"No, thank you." (in response to bathtime or the need to get ready for church)
I'm starting to ramble a little now... perhaps I'll edit this entry later. I just wanted to capture my feeling on hearing this song and thinking about Daigoro and the upcoming addition to our family.
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