Bubba Love

Cal turned up the dial on Christmas. This year was even more frantic and dynamic and breathtakingly beautiful.

Cal danced for the first time, helped unwrap his gifts, was mesmerized by the boxes, opened a door by himself, marveled at Christmas trees, made “friends” with a 3-year-old boy, coveted a nutcracker ornament, went on his longest car ride (2 hours + from Grandma Cindy’s), and continued exploring the low range of his voice – growling and grumbling.

For presents, I poured candles in Cal's leftover baby food jars. They were inspired by him since he'll zero in on any lit candle in a room, and direct his pudgy hand toward them, uttering "hot." Well, everyone loved them, loved Cal's leftovers. One of the scents I affectionately named Bubba Love.

He was the pinnacle of the holiday -- walking the halls of people’s houses, pointing out the mundane and the beautiful, giggling with satisfaction, shadowing and snuggling with me. Receiving kisses and kisses so graciously.

He is a marvel. At Cindy’s party, one thoughtful observer commented, “He’s walking and he’s talking.” She said this with sincere wonderment. He’s connecting with the world like never before. He walks and opens doors and feeds himself and falls asleep in his crib and talks and signs. He is not even a year old.

This year has been a small lifetime. I know I’m not supposed to derive so much satisfaction from one little being, but he glows so bright that sometimes I can’t tell who is smiling. I’ve lost a bit of myself in those glowing eyes and elegant laughs. He’ll always have that piece of me, but that’s what I’d meant to happen. The pieces I still have are only stronger and better for it.

That’s not to say this year hasn’t had its dips and turns and difficulties. Mostly sleeping difficulties and carving out moments of silence and solitude. And I am forced to make choices every moment about what self I put forward. The pressure can seem oppressive, if you let it. This is no small matter. I’m helping to spin an important but complicated web of Cal’s first years; I’m planting so many seeds some days, it’s hard to keep track.

Yet I am the supporting actor in his play. He is resilient and perfect, just as whole as the sky is blue. I often say to myself, in the rhythm of the Christmas song: let it go, let it go, let it go. And someday, let him go.

That’s where I’ll leave you, and this blog. I’m starting a new one but these writings are so perfect and strange and of this time, this one year, that I’d like to keep them safe here, a part from everything else. Someday I’ll find them again and laugh at my naïveté and cry at Cal’s enduring beauty. And be humbled once again by the glory of first steps and ephemeral days of babyhood.

kiss, smile, suprise

Calvin made us laugh hard the other night. He kept pushing his tiny face up against the soft purple chair and then snuggling his mouth into his beastly, behemoth white teddy bear.

“What is he doing?” Shaun said between belly laughs. I shook my head, chuckling.

Meanwhile he kept nuzzling everything soft around him. He’s been doing this off and on and I’ve finally realized that this as the first signs of kissing. Sweet, Cal kisses. Today Nana reported he tried to kiss Mill’s pig-dog Valentino; as small animals, they have a sort of kinship. Naturally, he’d want to smooch him.

Something else that makes us break into huge grins is Cal’s chuckling at the oddest, most un-funny moments. In the car, for instance, he issues short bursts of laughter for no apparent reason. And, I guess, why not laugh at 6:30 on a Monday morning? Life is funny enough without anyone even trying to make it that way.

I read this the other day – parenting is love in action. Yes there is a lot of love. But may I add this: it is also complete surrender in every moment. With each moment, let alone each month, Cal brings us sweet surprises, like those kisses. With each day he grows in unpredictable, beautiful and perplexing ways. Surprises seem to fall on us like rain.

an ode to November

November has been Cal’s “industrial age.” I term it this because the whole baby paradigm changed in his 10th month on the outside. During November, Cal began pointing, climbing, walking and talking. This fistful of milestones has me joyful but also discombobulated. It’s sort of like the anticipation over something that we love like Christmas – you look forward to it and plan for it, but it comes so quick and you kind of forget how crazy the aftermath can be. It's wonderful, but things are different now.

I can’t wrap my head around this fact: just a handful of months ago Cal learned to sit well. Now he has joined the ranks of the ranting bipeds who tinker endlessly. I think parenthood is the best biological study of human growth that one can undertake.

And now we’re to last week, Thanksgiving. Calvin is a great host, the shining star of any party, the twin t-days were no exception. Our holiday was so full. For me, I can still taste the sweet and bitters of our huge meals, smell the perfume cloud of food at our house and feel the energies of bouncing human emotions. But Calvin was as happy as ever amid the storm of love and food. Even with missed naps and stim overdrive, he sailed on through with hardly a fuss (to tell you the truth, he’s more fussy at home where there’s not a stream of entertaining characters and in their place only me and our boring baby-proofed house).

Shaun and I took our first vacation days in awhile in preparation of fixing our very own Thanksgiving meal on Thursday. We were able to prepare for the holiday with the time needed to pick out and cook a beautiful and fine feast and also hang with our Bubbas. Shaun did most of the cooking (his mushroom stuffing was epic), but I made some oddly delicious bean brownies and helped with salad dressing while Cal was strapped to me. We also made the most of Friday, the buffer day between big meals, to relax and pack for the big Saturday dinner production in Nevada City.

I have to say, Cal is just hilarious at his ripe old age of almost 11 months. Around the 15th of November, Cal uttered his first words: light (mostly says and points to them to remind us to flip switches on) and hot (says in reference to candles, fireplaces and ovens). At first he was just experimenting, but now his delivery has gotten fancy – the “h” in hot is given much attention in the delivery, with Cal exaggerating the beautiful hissing sound and opening his mouth in an oval shape. Then suddenly the tiny “t” noise hits and the word is complete. He is utterly transfixed with all the things he calls hot and wishes in his bones that he could touch each of them, especially since he cannot have even one. This must be a part of their mysterious allure.

So Saturday, Cal showed my mom’s side his “Frankenstein” tottering and his affection for all things that flame. One particular memory I have is dancing to Michael Jackson in the kitchen while my Aunt Denisse moved Cal along with the beat. Cal beamed at us all dancing around him, like fawning fans, and giggled and cocked his head when I busted some of my special moves.

Attending family occasions can be utterly exhausting, but it is a treat that family members swoop in and steal Cal for chunks at a time so I can focus on others. Aunt Beth took Cal on multiple walks along the big evergreens to escape the kitchen buzz.

After Cal fell asleep on Saturday night, the eating commenced. At one point, my mom remembered that last Thanksgiving we’d each written a note to our future selves, with three sincere hopes and dreams for 2009. It was a twist on the traditional “I’m thankful because” and good use of the spirit of hope and family of last Thanksgiving (I think we all had our eyes on Cal’s impending arrival).

So we found the notes hidden up high and we shared them. I was touched by a truly common theme: hopefulness for a happy, healthy baby boy. And that is exactly what we have. What a blessing to feel the love and support that envelops Cal, that surrounds all of us. It's never been a secret, but this year it was louder and clearer than ever. We are blessed, indeed.

all in a week's work

Cal is officially a toddler at all of 10 months. I was just getting acquainted with the quickness of his crawling when he took his first steps last Monday, on his 10 month birthday. Shaun and I missed it but we saw him take steps over the weekend, totally out of the blue (and of course not when we were ardently coaxing him to do it). The first time Cal was standing across from Shaun clutching the chair in our room, and suddenly took two tiny steps toward Shaun before falling into his signature crouch and crawling the rest of the way. Cal met this huge milestone so seamlessly, no face plants or big falls. Perhaps it’s because he’s been building his balance on furniture and our legs for months.

Wait, there’s more!

On Wednesday, I discovered Cal pointing at lights on the ceiling. Actually, a mom friend saw him pointing with his entire hand and mentioned that it looked like the beginnings of full blown pointing. Sure enough, the rest of the day we went around the house pointing at lights (sometimes his pointer finger would sneak out from the rest of his fingers, sometimes it stayed nestled with them). The gem for me was when we’d giggle together at the fact of his pointing. The pointing stuff is amazing because it means he can explicitly share his inner experience with us. And we can look into his eyes with this recognition.

Friday, Cal seemed to be squeezing his fist to indicate “milk.” He did this first when I was feeding him. And over the weekend, Cal was our tiny echo, mimicking words and sounds. Sunday night at dinner found the three of us making this wonderful smacking noise with our lips, taking turns initiating it! The amazing fact was neither Shaun nor I knew who started it; we were just this great continuum of sound interplay.

Walking, pointing, pitch perfect parroting, all in one week.

our time in tahoe

Sunday we made it back from our first “real” vacation with Calboy. It was sad to leave Lake Tahoe behind us; I’m still recovering from the lake’s natural beauty, which is almost stinging. Since our cabin was perched high above Tahoe City, its driveway offered the world’s best view.

I thought having Calvin along on the trip would make things more harder, and it did in some ways, but it also allowed us (because we were awake and walking to get coffee to avoid rousing others), to experience two sunrises – one, an orange and pink glow levitating over a mirror lake, and the other, a clean light bursting from the tops of blue mountains. I breathed a lot deeper in Tahoe.

Thankfully, the weather was sunny and nice for Bubba’s first plunge into the Sierras. But of course, the morning brought ice into the air. For our walks down the steep hill into the funky-cool town of Tahoe, we layered Cal up, bundled him in a thick holiday coat with prancing reindeers and burrito-ed his legs and feet in blankets, his apple cheeks and nose bare and bravely facing the nippiness. Cal didn’t seem to flinch when he burst through the front door in the stroller, chug-a-lugging down the quiet condo-lined street, my parents and Shaun giggling at his bird noises. What else would we be doing? Though, we had a heck of a time trying to keep Cal’s warm hat on his head. We all but gave up on the glove notion because of his fiddling hands.

Every morning, we hit up Sid’s Bagelry for warm muffins with pats of butter (Cal had some too!) and coffee in for-here cups. Calvin sat nobly in his wooden high chair, trying to grab for our hot drinks, twirling in his chair and banging cups around. He studied new customers who came close to our table waiting for a moment of shared connection in which he’s smirk at the stranger and proceed to stare holes through him or her. Friday morning, Shaun spotted a burley beaver in its dam of sticks floating on the creek. Cal saw the beaver just in time before it exited under our toes on a roadside bridge. That was his (or her) only appearance.

Going down the hill, it was amazingly steep and hard; the area at the top with the dynamite view Aunt Beth named Lover's Leap. By the time we were plodding back up hill, it’d be Cal’s nap time and he demanded more and better entertainment to keep him fueled, so it was also challenging; and pushing that stroller up and up perhaps sculpted our behinds like no other exercise before. I was sore, but a good sore. It felt good to bust my butt a little.

Back at the cabin, parties were had, good food eaten. The whole weekend was hybrid Halloween and Ryan’s birthday. At one point, we played a game of who could stretch their elastic, neon skeleton the furthest, complements of Ggma. Millie wore neon-nail gloves and her and Matt carved pumpkins.

Nana bought a toddle toy for Cal at the local consignment store and we gave it to Cal and watched him blaze a trail across the living room. He alternated between wanting to play with the front of the toy (it looked like a cartoon slot machine) and steamrolling everything in his path. He’d go back in forth behind his “walker” smiling huge and big and bumping into people and things. Then, we'd turned him around. He giggled so much on the trip it makes my cheeks hurt thinking about it!

And let’s not forget Apples to Apples marathons with the world series streaming in the background. Mostly, I was just watching between walks and getting Cal down for naps (and walks to get Cal down for naps). This particular word game seems to be all about who is judging and how to judge how the judge will judge. Saturday night by the game’s end, some of the elders had crashed on the living couch and floor, even to the sound of pitched laughter.

When it was time to go, we said our good byes and Cal waved good bye at the crowd of departing family members (he's been doing this sporadically, but never for this long). When Shaun had to fix the car seat, Cal kept on waving good bye. We laughed at his resolve to master his beaty pageant wave for the crowd. It kind of melted us a little and it also made saying good bye to the crystal lake a little easier.

evenings are funny

“Hi Bubbas! We’re home.”

Before I crack the door, he’s already crawling in my direction. I enter the house at 5:15, and I watch Cal speed racing toward me on his hands and knees, leaving our nanny in the dust on the floor behind him. Now that Shaun and I carpool, we arrive together, but Cal, grunting, bypasses his dad and dashes over to my feet where he grabs my pant legs and stands in front of me. It’s his way of greeting me after a long day away. I can’t help but revel in it. I smile and say hello then attempt to wash my hands. After, I pick him up and tote him around.

He likes when I’m holding him while Shaun makes him laugh. Half the time in the evenings now he is laughing; I mean, completely cracking up. It really sets him off when I walk down the poorly lit hallway and Shaun starts in after us making big monster noises and dramatically stomping around. I’d think this would scare him, but Cal thinks this is the cat’s meow. Even when Shaun’s not meaning to stage a monster chase game, Cal laughs when Shaun walks behind us. After playing all kinds of peek-a-boo games, we sit on the floor and I ask him about his day. He’s busy playing with something, but I know he listens because he pipes up in his own format. Later, while Shaun is starting dinner, we go to Cal’s room.

Trying to wrestle a huge cloth diaper and footed PJ’s on a 9 month old is probably my hardest physical task of the day. It takes lots of song and dance to get him unclothed, diapered, then clothed, and when he’s free of my confines, he crawls straight to the window draped in three panels of soft jean. He hides in the jean and falls over the thick curtains, all the while holding on for dear life and giggling. Sometimes this sort of thing would make him cry but not there or then. It’s funny.

I snatch him up and pop in his pacifier and he curls up clutching his blanket beside me on the futon on the floor, which rests beside his crib. We both breathe for the first time that day it seems. He nurses for a few minutes then I choose three books and most of the time he’ll watch me read them, only periodically grabbing at the pages. Lately, he’s interested in the parade of animals in Brown Bear, Brown Bear. Or maybe it’s the animal noises I make.

After reading, we say good night to his nightlights, formally known as Mr. Moon and Mrs. Star (they both kept their last names). Once I flip the switches, it’s dark. I power on the waves on the sound machine and I rock him for several minutes, singing twinkle, twinkle or humming. He knows it’s time so he just rests his head against my chest (he used to resist at first, now he just unwinds.) Once I say goodnight, I lay him in his crib on his side, he rubs his blanket over his hands and keeps his eyes closed. Eventually, he rolls on to his stomach, tucking his feet underneath.

As I slip out of the dark room buoyed by the eventful evening, Cal’s laughs still streaming through my head, it’s just past 6 so I have time to accomplish a few more tasks before putting myself to bed too.

the professor and the athlete

I don’t want to leap to conclusions, but I think Cal is on the verge of taking his first small steps (one big step for Calvinkind!). Couldn’t resist.

For a while Cal’s been fluid and comfortable on his fat little feet, gliding around the room from chaise lounge to couch, and even using the wall. It’s the cutest darn thing to look down and find him clinging to your jeans, looking up to meet your gaze. He often prefers to cling to pant legs because, I think, it offers an ever-novel vantage point, and also, he prefers to stay close. Sometimes I surmise that it’s his very ingenious way of getting me to stop moving so frantically about and to stay with him while he totters, and it works.

More recently, he shuns our hands, and pulls away to stand alone for several seconds and then, when he starts to wobble, crouches to the floor. Last weekend Cal pulled this standing stunt over and over again (as if seeming to say: Look, no hands!), testing his muscles and balancing more frequently and for longer intervals. On Sunday, 1-year-old Oren, the nephew of friends of ours, came over to “play.” The adults were eager to see how the two adorable and positively different baby slash toddlers would interact, if at all.

Once the gates were released and they were put on the floor, Calvin crawled straight toward Oren to inspect our smaller than usual visitor. He tried to grab his face, but we intervened. Then, over the course of the visit, he kept trying to use Oren’s shoulders and head for a standing launching pad. Oren, who isn’t so much into all this standing and walking nonsense, just looked at a much bigger Cal as if he was an ambassador from another, more athletic, planet.

So it was Oren the kind professor with soft strawberry curls in his hair and Calvin the star sports player with short, aerodynamic fuzz, both spinning their own feats for us to see. While Calvin crawled fast and climbed on everyone's laps and clang to knees and couch arms to stand, Oren pointed at things and showed his sharing “tricks,” by gesturing and offering toys to people close to him. I think Cal can use someone like this in his life; I have a feeling sharing is nowhere near his top concern.

It was interesting to meet Cal's contrast. And it was also funny watching Calvin try to inspect and tower over Oren. But after they left I had a sinking feeling -- what will I do to teach my 90th percentile little guy to use his powers of diplomacy instead of his strength? I’m starting to think I gave birth to a Shaquille O’Neal. Unlike Shaq, I’m hoping, praying, Calboy will learn to play nice.

Letters

October 16, 2008

Dear baby Cal,

How are you? I am so happy that someday soon I’ll get to meet you. I wonder if you’ll have a fuzzy head of hair and huge blinking blue eyes or a bald head and curious green eyes. Whatever you look like, I know you’ll be perfect. I’ve already fallen in love with you.

Do you know that we already play games? Mainly you kick me and I smile to myself, or you push with your feet and hands and I’ll touch you gently from outside. Often, you hiccup so it feels like a tiny earthquake rumbling inside my tummy (it kind of tickles!). Other times you are a boxer, others, a graceful dancer. You get stronger every week. You are so active these days. When I’m on the bus early in the morning, you’re already busy doing acrobats. You’re favorite time is after dinner when I’m relaxing (and you’re having a great feast!) and dad massages my stomach and we both smile and laugh at the thought and feel of you rolling around in your home. That is my favorite time too.

In fact, many people love putting their hands on my belly to feel you kicking. It is their first connection with you, so it brings so much joy to their faces. I’m so lucky that I get to spend everyday with you.

Sometimes I think of you as an astronaut, weightless and bouncing around in my stomach, restricted only by your umbilical cord. At this point (27 weeks) I already know you can hear my voice and dad’s voice, which is amazing. I also read today that you are sleeping regularly, opening and closing your eyes, and sucking your fingers! You’re also practicing your breathing for when you make the journey outside and take your first breath of air. Although I am so eager to hold you and meet you, I hope and pray you get to relax and grow in my tummy for many more months so you can be big and strong.

I hope you like cereal, peanut butter, salad, plums, apples, burritos, and a little chocolate here and there because these are some of the foods I love to eat. I also drink lots of orange and pomegranate juice, yum! As you grow, my stomach grows too. When I glance in the mirror, it appears I’m hiding a balloon under my shirt, but it’s really you in there. I love providing a warm and safe home for you until you’re ready to see the world.

I still can’t believe the miracle that you are. But I am so glad that we picked each other. When I first found out that I was pregnant, you were the size of a poppy seed and now you’re more than 14 inches long and weigh 2 pounds – like a head of cauliflower. And you’ll only grow bigger!

You are such a wonderful blessing. Keep on bopping and bouncing around and I’ll see you in a couple of months, when I can finally shower you with kisses.

Love always,
mom

October 19, 2009

Dear Cal,

How are you?

Last week I found a letter I wrote to you when you were in my tummy. I wrote it one year ago. I cannot believe how remarkable you are and how both our lives have changed since I wrote that first letter. I’m writing you another letter so that I can marvel next year at the beautiful arch of your growth. I will try to write to you each October. As the leaves change colors and season turns cooler, I’ll think about you and your cycles and changes.

A year ago I wondered about your looks – now I know you do have fuzzy hair and huge blinking blue eyes. Although I guessed that, I didn’t know how expressive those bright blue eyes would be or how funny and captivating you’d act with your smirks and your toothy grins. Or how soft that peach fuzz head would feel.

The shapes of your eyes are similar to mine – little almond lakes protected by your long black lashes. Their blue color takes breaths away. I remember now that your Nana had a dream you’d have eyes like mine. Your mouth reminds me of your Uncle Ryan – especially when your lips are shut and you’re acting noble or serious. I think you have your dad's height and itch to tinker with things ... that's just the tip of the iceberg. You express bits of all of us, yet you are your own beautiful you.

You’re a curious little boy. A lot of people use the word “aware,” meaning they think you’re paying attention and tuning into what’s going on. Many adults lose this ability, so it is a gift to watch you watch the world.

Last year I wrote about the games we played when I poked at your feet as they pushed on my belly. We play so many games now. You like peek-a-boo with blankets and you also chase after us when we peek out from behind things. We roll on the floor together and explore everything down to the zipper on my sweater. Your favorite toys are not really toys, but kitchen objects. You also like buttons and pulling drawers open. Anytime there’s something new, you crawl straight toward it. You are quick. I have to jog after you. You want to play with the phone and remote control, and grab at them every chance although they are off limits. You play drums on oatmeal containers, boxes. You chew on all kinds of spoons and other things and then drop them on the floor and watch us pick them up. Then you drop them again.

Your Nana cares for you most mornings during the week; your Nana and Pops take you on walks every morning. At their house, you like to pet the little doggies, play drums on many surfaces and watch Nana vacuum. Lights make you light up, and you really appreciate Nana's twinkly string lights that dangle over the entranceway.

You are mostly on the move but you are silent and still when you’re in the stroller on walks, watching the world so intently. You seem to like being in the backyard on a blanket in the grass or playing on a swing at the park, which makes you laugh. When you were a younger baby you enjoyed watching the leaves in trees sparkle and sway. Nature seems to calm you, and also music. I've probably sang bingo 100 times by now. You like it, so we keep singing.

You can do so many things now – stand without help (you do this a lot now, because you are mastering this skill), crawl, drink out of a sippy cup, grunt to tell us your needs, fall asleep (you take two naps like clockwork and your bedtime is 6). Lately, you’ve been trying to pull yourself onto things. Yesterday, we had an older baby over at our house and you were intrigued. You crawled right up to him and tried to use his shoulder to stand! You are tall and agile and have a short-hair haircut. You seem like a little boy already.

I told you about the food I liked to eat when I was pregnant; now I know some of what you like. At Tomales, you liked your Uncle Ryan’s tomato/roasted bell pepper soap. Ggma recreated it recently and you ate it all up. You also like sweet potatoes, potato soup, peanut butter, squash and green bananas, nothing too sweet. When you like something, you grunt and lean toward us so you can get in another mouthful faster. When you don’t, you put your fingers in front of your mouth and grunt, and we know you’re “all done.”

Something we really enjoy now is that sometimes you’ll lay your head on us and cuddle. So many people just like being with you, holding you, watching you seek out things, watching you bloom. You seem to enjoy their company too.

People say you will have a lot to say when you learn to talk, kind of like your dad. Whatever you say, I can’t wait to hear it. You teach me to be mindful of the world. And also to take action! I love our Wednesdays, when it's just you and me. You keep me on my toes; I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Can’t wait to tuck you in tonight.

Love you,
mom

bonks and booboos begin

Blogger.com was down, written Friday Oct. 2

Maybe I’m getting old, but Cal has gotten slap-stick quick. He has mastered his crawling technique in a month’s time and now can burst into overdrive once he sees something electrical or dangerous to eat, or both. They tell you that kids seek out cords, plugs and everything off limits and you shake your head in ignorance until you find out that they do. I’m sure it has to do with novelty and that priceless “I can’t have it so I want it” quality.

My weekly Wednesday with Calvin ended with a sore back and all around fatigue. Don’t get me wrong, we had fun – especially at the park where, sitting directly in front of the bucket swing on the bark-padded ground, I pushed Cal and he swayed back and forth like a pendulum wearing a wide grin. He got quiet when I ducked out of view, then chuckled when I burst back into his frame. I could see his white bottom teeth glistening as giggles poured out.

Now that we’re homebound on Wednesdays (Shaun no longer carpools) we’re discovering the niceties of staying home. Grocery trips are replaced with walks and park trips. Eventually, we’ll venture out on the bus with our compact stroller, but we haven’t yet.

We spent a long stretch of time on a blanket outside, where Cal would pile on top of me or steal my glasses. That’s the other thing – he shuffles toward me with this beautiful grin (queue slow-mo) and just when I think he’ll nestle into my arms and give me a hug: he snatches my glasses and starts to mouth and inspect them, clenching them tightly in his fists while I try hard to wrestle them free. It’s not exactly like taking candy from any baby, he’s very strong. He gets upset when I eventually retrieve them, grunting with acute frustration and bounding after them, even if I put them behind me or under my leg. He knows that things still exist now. He is persistent about the glasses and I can’t help it because I don’t want to egg him on – but it makes me laugh, if under my breath.

The other thing is that his grunts have multiplied lately. My mom and I were talking about this last night at a friend’s fundraiser gala (my first night without Cal and without Shaun!). Calvin has so many desires and ambitions now, waiting to burst out, and they surface as these highly impassioned grunts. Sometimes, we can even extrapolate from the grunting and body language what exactly he wants; frequently, it involves things he can’t have. But the other day, Nana responded to his grunts at the decorative lights threaded over her living-area entranceway, which he’s always marveled at, by plugging them in; he smiled in approval.

Midday Wednesday I turned my head and Cal had pulled the stool over; it landed with a thud beside (thankfully not on) him, but he fell down with it. Emotion coursed through me as I heard his heavy breathing and crescendo crying begin – it made me tremble with grief even as I’d known he’d be alright. The stools were banished to the garage.

Our day together was speckled with grunting and bonked heads and lots of cuddling after my little adventurer’s accidents under the sun and in the breeze of early fall. Calvin is learning cause and effect (by way of hard floors and objects, and exposed outlets if he got his way). I’m learning to stay calm despite the mental anguish of watching him learn, and fall. I guess, welcome to Parenthood 101.

Running after Cal and absorbing so much emotion from his physics experiments runs a mom ragged. Thankfully, there are those two long midday naps – much needed rest for mama, and baby.

play, the original way

Today I learned about something called original play, named and encouraged by Fred Donaldson, a psychology professor, and it really hit home to me.

My favorite way to play with Calvin now is to sprawl out beside him, on his mat or a blanket on the grass, and allow him to dictate what happens next. He usually crawls on top of me, uses me to practice his standing or finds something interesting on my clothes or body. We invariably end up tangled and moving, and we might start some game or another, like him trying to get my glasses and giggling when I turn my head or me kissing the bottoms of his feet. It’s like the most gentle, laid back kind of wrestling. He never gets upset. And it really connects us.

And apparently this is exactly what original play is – play like the dolphins swirling their bodies together in the oceans, play like the mom and baby lion tumbling easily on the savannah. According to Donaldson, original play uses fluid movement and touch to create a raft of trust between the playing parties, putting fear, aggression, cultural dictates and competitiveness at bay. The only rules, surprisingly, are for the parents: no standing, tickling or grabbing. The kids, therefore, get the lay of the land, but are cued by the parent’s behavior to be free and comfortable but set aside aggression. Of course, there’s real strength in this kind of play, especially as kids get older, just no one-upping or attempts to control the other person’s body.

I’m glad I learned about the positives of this type of gentle lolling and rolling around, of original play, which we already enjoy so much, apparently like a lot of other animals on this big, beloved blue marble.

Cal-dimensional

Today is the first day of fall: the only season my sweet little son has yet to experience. Less than four short months and Cal will be one year old – crazy. My disbelief has less to do with time’s passage than Cal’s complete transformation from a totally reliant infant into this individual who crawls between my legs, recognizes words, imitates sounds, and perseveres after whatever’s in his sights.

And with Shaun working long, hard hours, I’ve been spending lots of quality time with Calvin. In recent memory, last Sunday’s lazy, hot and wonderfully long hours stand out. Cal’s great grandmother Kathryn was at our house all day and Cal spent probably three hours outside splashing in water, laying in the hammock and sitting in shade under the shade tree with her. During that time, Cal de-leafed a dead mint stem – plucking the leaves one-by-one off their perch and crinkling them to hear their melody. When I brought out a bowl full of water and bottle parts (which he promptly giggled at), he would alternate sucking on the toys, patting the water and methodically ferreting out any errant leaves that had landed in his tiny reservoir. He was sparkling, and in his element.

Last week at a moms club event, one mom led a discussion centering on temperament and behavior modification. Much of the behavior mod discussion wasn’t relevant to babies, but the temperament information made me think about Cal’s disposition, Shaun’s and mine, and how we all play off each other. Right away I deduced that Cal was different than myself (loud and intense) and more like Shaun in his many gregarious and outspoken mannerisms, but as I thought about it, I could see how we have some things in common too: his sensitivity and interest in others, his perseverance and focus, his vocalization of emotions. On an online quiz I took, we both were rated as “spunky” – but I think spunky in different ways. On another Web site, I found the “dimensions” of temperament, and wrote some notes under each:

Activity level. Calvin is generally squirmy and active. Although the natural world can bring out his relaxed side, he still craves new experiences and likes being on the move.

Regularity. Since he was born, Calvin has wanted to eat at regular intervals (2 hours), and, early on, started sleeping regularly without any schedule-setting from us.

Approach/Withdrawal. When Cal sees something new, he brightens up. He's happy to play "pass the baby" at a party! New people bring interest, and even though he has some stranger anxiety emerging, as long as I’m not in the room, he’ll interact happily with other people.

Adaptability. Cal thrives on consistency, but is open to the occasional schedule change, as long as his sleep is accommodated. Hey, he camped at a remote beach on Tomales Bay. I think his adaptability is thanks to his interest in novelty.

Sensory threshold. I would say Cal is more sensitive than not: he likes his bottle room temperature, sleeps only certain ways and with some coaxing (rocking) by us and prefers the feel of soft blankets. He will also wake up in response to racket (usually mine) in the kitchen.

Mood. Cal is quick to giggle, smile and smirk (he has a new, tight-lipped grin he sports nowadays), and lights up when he sees someone or something he likes. When he cries, we know he really does need something — and it’s usually comfort, sleep or a helping hand.

Intensity. Cal definitely seems extroverted – he laughs and cries loud. He also "talks" a lot. If he is unhappy, he makes it known. Generally, he enjoys making noises, like squawks and high-pitched squeals. His new MO is repeating sounds he hears.

Distractibility. Calvin can be highly persistent so it depends on what he’s being distracted from – if it's sleep, he likely won’t be distracted easily. If it's a toy he's passionately moving toward, he also won't be happy. But if it's a worthy distraction, it might work.

Persistence. If the item is new, Cal will play with it for some time. If it is something he wants and it is off limits, he will stop at nothing to get it in his tiny paws!

your Cal fill for today

I don’t want to forget …

Cal’s windshield wiper feet, when he’s excited they sashay back and forth; the yoga “downward dog” pose he’s suddenly acquired and keeps practicing to great hilarity; how he uses our sprawled out bodies as a way to get up on his feet and stand and how I secretly love it because it’s a way to get some rest; catching his gaze and looking into his eyes as if I’d never looked at anyone before; while rocking him to sleep, resting my chin on his fuzz head and him not minding; loving and resenting my status as the parent with the magic sleep touch; how he cemented his crawl technique on his 8-month birthday; his giggles before bed and frantic splashing in the bath tub; Ggma’s constant stream of $2 bills; how he’s started sleeping like a frog on his belly, legs and feet folded neatly under him; his determination to get anything that lights up and has buttons into his mouth; how Shaun says “I always know how to make him smile,” and how I think he’s right; his ticklish belly and thighs; how his squeals shatter silences; his quiet curiosity; his discovering the crinkly beauty of dead leaves, pinching and rolling them around in his fingers; how he raises his hands and grunts to be picked up, and then becomes quiet and contented in my arms; the moment we reunite after a long day at the office.

Because of course, all this will change tomorrow.