cal's five.8

Calboy’s weekly five:

1. Cal takes a bath in the big person tub now, with me. I think he has found out about splashing, because his last couple baths, water flew like fireworks. Also, he first started doing this during his baths: while he’s sitting on my lap he’ll stop all action and look up to find me, smile, and then happily return to his activity. I can just see those sweet smiley eyes that say: “just wanted to check in, ma”; it grabs my heart every time.

2. For father’s day our little fam plus extended fams settled at Discovery Park and enjoyed BBQ grub and salads under trees and in between games of baseball. Calvin was mesmerized by a big bowl of cherries, but decided to gnaw on its metal container instead. Late in the afternoon I found Cal lying on his back impressing his G Aunts with his vocal dexterity, squawking, chirping, grunting, and, of course, smiling. Beth, Lisa, and Vicki sat at Cal’s feet in a horse-shoe half circle, interacting with him and giggling at his antics. The trees had parted a small bit and there was sunlight streaming through on Cal, like a spotlight on a comedian. I almost interrupted the whole event to move the show into full shade, but I let the perfect moment be.

3. So last week, the sleeping situation improved. Then this week it has improved less so. I guess back sliding is a natural part of any change. Anything worthwhile takes time is what I tell myself. And what is worth doing? Not using any version of cry it out and sticking with rocking Cal to sleep (but slowly weaning him off the rocking, you see). Anyway, the synopsis is that I think Cal is getting into the groove of our routine, but is still adapting to his early wakeup time of 6 a.m. Because we’re up with the roosters, there’s this awkward time in the evening where Cal wants to go to sleep (5 or 5:30) and it’s too late for a nap and a tad too early for bed time. So we either let him sleep (and he’ll wake up) or rush through dinner and get him down by 6, 6:30 (and he brings out the crank). It’s a work in progress.

4. Now that I spend so much time watching Calvin sleep (I can’t set him down until he’s in a deep sleep), I have this remarkable urge to make a photo documentary of all his snoozing positions (except that I’m usually holding him and don’t have any hands, or its dark). Like last night, he kept putting his right arm straight out like he was in a fencing competition. Often, he’ll sleep with both hands raised over his head, or he’ll just lay his hand directly over his face. I guess it’s his hands that are the radicals! As he’s falling asleep, many times he’ll clutch the railing of my shirt and attach himself there until I pull his tiny fingers off one by one when he’s fast asleep.

5. Cal can now move forward in his walker (whereas before he would only move backwards)! On Wednesday he showed off his new talents in the kitchen and kept cornering me while I was trying to cook. He’s also sitting with more strength and resolve than ever; I predict a sitting unassisted milestone around the corner ... my love button is growing up.

cal's birth days

The Hallmark card wins, I’m going to write about my birth. Cindy, our doula, typed her notes on a 4x5 baby blue greeting card, covered with soft glittery white flowers. I’ve been carrying that card in my purse for months knowing very well from its daily greetings that I have to cement my memories before time colors them. But I’ve been putting off the torrent of emotion and feelings – both euphoric and painful – that will surely come out as soon as I open the gates.

I had a long labor. From first contraction to baby it was about 50 hours long. But please remember I lived it by the moment, with friends and family at hand, literally, not even knowing I was up against more than two days of laboring before meeting Cal. No anticipation made so much difference.

I had planned to take leave from work that Friday. Naturally, my desk was left untidy, as though I’d be back the next day, not in more than 60. It wasn’t until that evening when an uneasy stomach left me feeling that labor was pending. “I think I’m going to go into labor tonight,” I told Shaun.

You worry that you won’t know when you’re in labor, but of course you know. I woke up a little after midnight on the wee hours of January 7, a Wednesday. Having the incredible refrain of not waking Shaun up immediately (his last good night’s rest for the next two days), I went out the living room, heart palpitating. Puffy-eyed, I did dishes and perused the net. I got one to two more hours before sunrise. When Shaun and I both awoke, we decided he would go to work because my labor wasn’t active yet – I could still talk between contractions. It was sort of an uneasy excitement that overtook me. Like I had won an award but was required to give a speech that day. I could feel it in my throat.

“Go ahead with your day as usual,” Cindy kept advising. How one does that with an impending new addition to one’s family is beyond me. We tried. I went to the grocery store that morning, was on time for our car seat inspection appointment at 10 a.m. (all the while no one could outwardly tell I was in labor), and ate a hearty veggie burger lunch, which would be my last nourishment for some time.

I remember seeing my “plug” (no specifics needed) and my hands shaking because I knew it was all in motion now, like a wheel rolling down a hill, and that I would meet Cal soon. It was no normal day. Shaun came home at noon and we cleaned and readied ourselves and the house; although, my bags had been packed since week 34. I remember Shaun and I watched a movie on our computer in the office because the TV was out of commission. Cindy was unreachable at some point in the evening, except for emergency, until 9 p.m. During the movie, things got a little uncomfortable. I stopped watching and started bouncing on my ball. Shaun sat with me. With my family hanging around near the hospital and things getting more intense, we decided to make the 40-minute trip to Kaiser South. My brother, driving from Oakland, met us at our house to ride share. I remember seeing him through the fog of contractions and feeling like I was really in labor.

We met Cindy and family there at 10 p.m. I was checked at 10:45 p.m. and my cervix was declared 2 to 3 centimeters dilated, not enough to stay. Ironically, Shannon, the midwife who checked me, would deliver Cal … on her next shift. The waiting room was already filling up with my family. So they kept me for another hour just to make sure. After little action, I was sent home with some drugs and a prescription to “get some sleep,” a laughable proposal in hindsight. The ride home and the remainder of the night were tough. With Shaun resting, I was alone in the living room. My contractions were starring me down. At some point, I stopped fighting them, and things got a little better. But the main trouble was that they kept me from sleeping. Luckily, I knew it would end with my sweet angel Calvin. With Thursday’s daybreak, I regained hope and was confident that we’d better head back in. I woke Shaun up at 4:30 a.m.

We arrived at the hospital at 5:30 a.m. and soon after, Shannon declared me 5 centimeters dilated and 100 percent effaced and I was admitted. I can still feel that sigh of relief. I settled in my room, No. 8. We made it ours right away – lights low, mellow guitar music. As we went about unpacking, my first nurse Edie hooked me up to the heartbeat monitor and told me what to expect. Cal’s heart would get recorded every hour for five minutes. That’s when we watched the peaks and valleys writing themselves on long white strips of paper, representing something that we’d come to understand as a tough little heart – one that would withstand lots of time and obstacles to get outside. That was really the only hospitally part of my stay during the early half of labor. When I wasn’t tied up, I walked or rested or showered. I was also coached and held and hugged and prayed for. I just needed a hand and I could get through anything, including those cantankerous contractions.

But the incredible thing about labor is that most of the time you are not in any pain. It hurts for a bit but in the interim, you are cured. So you can rest. Or, even, if you are me, happily suck on a sour raspberry preggie pop or two. It helped having a sugary distraction.

I don’t remember hours, except that they were marked by the monitoring. At first, I looked forward to the monitoring because it meant rocking chair time (later, the monitoring would hurt because Cal would press against it or kick it! He was very active late in labor, which is not that common). I would not have guessed, but this was my favorite position – closing my eyes, consciously breathing, holding a hand, and rocking the contraction away. I didn’t want to be rubbed down or held (I can empathize with my husband who just wanted to hold me; unfortunately, I needed to sit with myself). I just wanted some spare fingers to hold mine. Throughout the day, I lived my life by position – kneeling, leaning, rocking, standing, and bouncing. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have left the rocking chair but Cindy, thankfully, mandated such an action. Transitioning from each position was the hardest part. Just like Cindy said, the pain intensified the first contraction at a new position. I also remember dancing with Shaun in the middle of the room with all kinds of people around – like our first dance at our wedding, but a little less glamorous. My least favorite of the positions was the crawl position or leaning over the the bed. I didn’t like the gravitational pressure on my belly, which intensified the pain from the contractions. Too bad, because that’s what I needed to do more of to facilitate Cal’s turning.

People came and went. By mid afternoon (I was on my second nurse, Jagdeep), I had welcomed something like 14 cheerleaders. There was laughter, side bets, and lots of love in that room. But thankfully (and miraculously), people were respectfully silent through my contractions. Plus I could escape to the shower and be alone or with Shaun under the soothing, warm stream. And it was dark in there. I remember at least four showers, maybe five.

I was examined at 11 a.m. and was 7 to 8 centimeters dilated. By 4 p.m., I had dilated almost one more centimeter. At 5:35 p.m. I was 9+. It was slow, but hard-earned progress. Yet, I didn’t feel I had entered the “transition” phase (a short high-intensity phase before pushing). And Calvin was still high up. My positive outlook was waning.

But things picked up pace after the midwife broke my waters at around 7:30 p.m. I decided to do so, reluctantly, because I was ready to get to the pushing part before I was too exhausted. After my waters broke (worst part was holding still and lying down for the procedure through a contraction), I reacquainted myself with my stomach’s contents. Throwing up is just a part of it. I remember feeling like I looked worse than I felt. I was concerned my sister and girlfriend would rethink child birth because what they’d seen. They told me they wouldn’t.

I also remember at a few points snapping at Shaun. There weren’t coarse words, but there was a, “You’re eating ... again?!” The smell and thought of food made me uneasy. The food was quickly escorted out.

At about 8:30 p.m., I felt the need to push. Actually, it was an order. The first push was chronicled at 8:35 p.m. I was also feeling sick and so hazy I can’t recollect much of what or who was around anymore. I did ask most people to leave before the pushing, which helped me focus. And I do remember the nurses hurrying around, prepping the area for a whole new person to arrive, rolling in the warmed baby station and emergency accoutrements.

Then the midwife came in and put the lid on the whole project. She said that Calvin was in the posterior position, meaning his face angled toward my front (the opposite is preferred). I guess this sometimes happens but the hope is that the baby rotates during labor, corkscrew fashion (interestingly, our ancestors gave birth to posterior babies, but our increasingly big heads made it almost impossible to do so, that’s when babies started turning). So, needless to say, it is hard to vaginally deliver a baby in this position. But Calvin hadn’t rotated and I was ready to deliver!

I was asked to stop pushing and lay on each side for 30 minutes to see if Cal would turn. He’d probably need to turn for me to deliver naturally. I was given some pain meds (that did not work at all) and after the torturous lying down, turning like a pancake, Cal was deemed unchanged (11:10 p.m.).

In the chaos of the moment, I told Shaun I was done, to roll me into the operating room and get that baby out. But I needed to say it more than I needed to do it. I was just clawing at the parameter of my situation, looking for the possible ways out.

That’s when talk of an epidural entered to the foray. I was actually still coping OK with contractions (although they got tougher after my water broke) but the need to push was so desperately uncomfortable (I basically could not stop from pushing even though Cal was stuck) and I wanted something to numb that sensation so I could collect what little energy crumbs I had for the actual pushing.

The anesthesiologist didn’t seem to think the epidural would help in my case, but we all decided that it was worth a try. Shaun was the only one in the room at this point. He clutched my hand and tried to comfort me. His eyes were hallowed, stressed from the grief of watching a loved one in pain for so long. He was also soldiering on under the strain of little sleep. He needed a beer, bad.

I was scared of a needle entering my spine, but I could hardly feel it when it entered. Again, the hardest part was lying still. The relief from the pushing was almost immediate. The numbing sensation (like Novocain for the body) crept through, relieving me unevenly. And although I could still feel the tightening of my contractions (since the medicine was given so late in labor), my body finally relaxed.

I think that was the trick, because although Cal did not turn, he descended. When Shannon came in to check me before a possible vacuum delivery with the doctor, she found that the situation had improved and she said that I could try to push again. I was excited to be able to give birth unassisted.

My Aunts Vicki and Beth and my mom (my birth angels) filtered back into the room thankfully and were with me as pushing began (again) at 12:30 a.m. (now Friday). We got Cindy back in the room at 1:05 a.m.

I remember that it was quiet again, no more harried hospital procedures. We were going to witness the sacred entrance of Cal into the world. I rested deeply in between pushes because I was bleary-eyed and exhausted, but determined beyond belief. I pushed in the traditional pushing position with my mom holding one leg and Cindy the other.

Pushing lasted a long time and every push was like moving a mountain. It was three pushes (at two I was at my edge) every contraction and contractions weren't letting up. In fact, in the middle of pushing I hit another wall, but I overcame it because I had to, and because the end was near. As pushing wore on, I closed my eyes and imagined Cal in my arms. Those pushes seemed the strongest.

During the pushing phase, Shannon said that she thought she felt Calvin turn, but when he was born, she said that she was mistaken, he was still sunny side up!

Everyone in the room purred at the sight of his first head hairs! A blondey, they said. My mom later told me that Shannon played with Cal’s wispy top hairs while waiting for the next pushes to start (he was crowning for awhile!). At that point, I did not want to see a mirror; I wanted to see him when he was out! When I thought it would never happen, Cal was born. Shannon moved Shaun into position (to catch Calvin) and Shaun held Calvin in his hands at 2:08 a.m.

I tried to reach for Calvin, but Shannon said not to because he was still attached by his cord. Once Shaun cut the cord Cal was given to me, he was so soft. He nursed immediately. Shaun came over to take a look, tears in his eyes. We kissed. I felt pure joy and pure relief from the long hours of work. Immediately, I knew it was all worth it and that I’d do it again.

Calvin was not bloody at all and so utterly beautiful even with his major cone head (that dissipated in a matter of minutes). His coloring was pure pink, and he was glowing and just gorgeous. His blue eyes were wide open and he would not cry, even when the nurses later tried to get him to do so (to test his lungs). My mom said he had my eyes, which made me cry and smile all at once. Others said he looked long and had big feet and hands.

I can’t remember delivering the placenta but I did. I do remember Shannon looking at it, playing with it in her hands, and discussing the wonders of this life-nourishing organ.

After some time, the nurses took Calvin to get weighed and cleaned next to me. Shannon did some stitching (and thankfully, I could not feel a darn thing). My loves who were with me stayed with Cal, touching him and talking to him. I was relieved to move the spotlight and catch my breath. I was deliriously happy and so tired because I’d gone through my second and third winds and was now floating on clouds. Nurse Amy attended to me, ordering a tray of vegetarian food. I ate everything, plus drank at least three juice boxes and ate all the tapioca pudding, which I don’t even think I like. I was ravenous, I hadn’t even realized it.

Champagne was popped and poured. We all giggled like school children and could not believe how angelic and perfect Cal was. I was pretty much unable to walk, but Amy helped me into a wheel chair. I waited there and watched my family touching and kissing our sweet boy.

After about an hour, we collected our stuff and Amy led us to our cozy postpartum quarters, Cal snug in my arms, Shaun at my side. My mom and her sisters, also deliriously happy and tired, slept on chairs in the waiting room.

Cal was born on January 9, 2009. He weighed Seven and a half pounds and was 20.5 inches long. We thought he’d be born two days before, but he had a different plan that gave us the gift of a journey.

I have to say, no one is the same after something like that. Birth is life changing. Shaun says it was traumatizing (always so honest), but he says that with a smile and acknowledgment that he’s thankful he was there. I can’t pin one word to it, but I will say it was the closest I’ve ever come to whatever binds us all together, to the purest ingredients of love.

daddy shaun

This is what Shaun does:

Blows on Cal’s tummy

Hugs me when I’m holding Cal

Hangs Cal upside with the upmost care

Loves me tenderly and shows Cal every day how to love a lady

Is the literary master and reads Cal books all the time (Beebo!)

Shaves especially close just so he can give Cal scratchless kisses

Knows a handful of books and songs by heart and sings and chants them

Finds new ways to make Cal smile – blankets over his head, then woosh! pulls them off

Talks to Cal like he’s a member of our family, not just some baby

Spends almost all his leisure hours with Cal and I

Brings me anything I need when I’m with Cal

Handles spit up and diapers better than expected

Overflows our cups with love and passion

Thanks me every day for my patience


Happy belated father’s day love! You light up our little world.

cal's five.7

I missed my deadline completely but here's last week's five:

1. Shaun and I celebrated our second secret anniversary Wednesday while Cal stayed with Nana and Grandpa. When we came to scoop him up, he was fast asleep in the magic high chair. My mom said he looked like a toddler, with his long body and large feet and hands. I still can’t believe he’s grown so much. Someone spiked my milk with miracle grow.

2. Cal and Shaun were social butterflies last weekend, hopping around to graduation parties, while I attended to myself and the house. Saturday I was home to catch my breath from the nanny hiring process rigmarole. I let my mind focus on cleaning and played the music on loud. It helped me get centered for the week ahead. Anyway, when the boys got back, Shaun had stories of Aunt Beth giving Cal sloppy kisses and of Cal ’s jovial mood, even as he was passed between hands. I’m so thankful that Cal is game for so many of our family’s adventures.

3. Yesterday my bus was 25 minutes late and I couldn’t get through to Shaun. My mom helpfully gave me a ride hope from the bus stop, but when we pulled up, Rosario ’s car was gone. My heart sank. Oh, Shaun had arrived home early! I raced into the house and found no one and again I could feel my stomach sting. Oh, they went to get the mail! Still, I couldn’t find them when I peered down the street. Finally, I found the Shaun and Cal in the backyard admiring our tomatoes on the brink of ripening. Although I guessed that they were fine, wherever they were, I could feel color returning to my face. I can’t help but let fear creep in a little when I can't find them; my boys are my world.

4. At our final Davis mommy group event ( Cal was an elder at 5 months, which is the max), Cal watched the babies in awe. He seemed to take particular interest in Kennedy, who’s just a few weeks behind him, and is a sweet little soul who loves her soothie. Well, Kennedy was fussing off and on, and Cal just stared at her. It’s funny, and definitely cute, how he’s kinda nosey now. He’s a curious boy. Then Cal fell asleep in my arms as I swayed back and forth. It took only four minutes, in the hubbub of activity – babies crying, lights on high, and moms chattering. Go figure.

5. Cal went to the gym the first time this week without me (apparently I was MIA the whole week) but with Nana. According to the feedback, he reacted very well to the new situation and even liked the entertainment the other kids provided. He surprises me everyday regarding how easily he adapts to new situations. Although I don't want to introduce him to too much, he really enjoys novelty and new people.

not so easy peasy

Monday found me home with Cal for the first time in awhile. The last time I spent the day caring for him, just me and him, was during my maternity leave, three months ago. Then, he would weave in and out of sleep and all he wanted were the basics and some smiles. Yes, during the first month of postpartum, I was exhausted, recovering from the birth, facing and overcoming breastfeeding issues, and acclimating to my new role as the guardian and caretaker of an entire person. I remember one night in particular, watching a documentary in our bed on the laptop and thinking I couldn’t physically get through the night ahead, which included a menagerie of wake ups and feedings, because I was so dang sore and tired. But the fog gave way to clear skies as I pushed passed the six-week mark. I felt better physically and the caretaking task was actually getting easier.

But Cal has changed. He has grown, taken on a dazzling awareness, and become better attuned at voicing his needs and harder to trick into any funny business like leaving the room. He prefers to be rocked certain ways at certain times during certain moods and has a roller coaster romance with sleep – flirting with it then waking up, sleeping only if the circumstances permit. He’s picky about it, but so are most people. And his budding personality continues to sparkle through his likes and dislikes and quirky sense of humor – blowing bubbles, laughing fits, successive chirps, and wild-eyed smiles.

Back to Monday. So Monday was fun but it wasn’t easy. Shaun, former Mr. Mom, welcomed my report Monday night as I recounted the rotation of activities and challenge of keeping Cal entertained. I told him that we sat outside on blankets; swayed in the hammock; played on the floor, in his walker, on the couch, and in the bedroom; read books; danced to music; took several naps; and ate somewhere in between, among other things. What it comes down to is that some major wheels are turning behind those keen eyes, yet Cal still needs an adult to guide him through his day. But independence is creeping in here and there. He definitely holds his own with toys now, fancying the colorful crunchy toys and manipulating and chewing on everything from stackable cups to wooden rings.

After all the craziness of the day, I introduced our new nanny to our wonderful, whirling lives and left Cal for a trial period while I took a respite at the gym. It was hard to leave him, but I was thankful for the break. I also couldn’t wait to return.

5 months and growing

at the 5k last weekend

all tuckered

Cal was five months old yesterday. It has both been an eye blink and an epoche since he was born. Cal has grown on scales both physical and mental that boggle the mind.

Physically, Cal has gone above and beyond. Cal is almost too big for his changing table. I fantasize that he’ll outgrow the diapers when his legs clear the table's edge, but that is a small stretch of imagination. He wears onesies and jumpers for 12- or 18-month olds. We are on the biggest snaps on his Bumgenius diapers. The other day, Cal wore a 2T shirt like it was a regular event. Out of the house, we manage all sorts of comments like, “He’s big for his age, yeah?” “How much did he weigh at birth?” “He’s almost as big as you!”

But especially when he sleeps, right next to me, so serene, he looks like the tiniest, sweetest angel. His hands often cup each other, like little magnets, like the bestest of friends. In these moments I’m reminded that he still has a long way to grow.

Calvin's features seem more like a little boy’s now. He still has that button nose, but his face isn’t so squished. His whole head has grown tremendously along with his brain. I have to say I’m glad it wasn’t that size at birth. But it is beautiful in its globular shape, his hairs are still so soft on top. His eyes are more round than squinty. Meaty cheeks anchor his charmingly squared face. He’s coming into the heyday of babyhood as once handsome dude.

Cal ’s eyes speak to his growing intelligence. When we talk, I feel like there’s some subatomic understanding. Our eyes meet regularly in conversation. His eyes are watering holes, and of a Tahoe-lake blue hue now. Like the real lake, you can tell that they’re deeper than what you could imagine – they dart and delight and take on emotions from serious to playful.

Calvin is curious about a whole room’s happenings, not just what’s in the fore. He’ll zero in on things far and near and twist his head toward action. He likes to grasp and mouth pretty much everything. It’s hard to eat dinner with him on your lap anymore. Once an object touches one hand, the other hand meets it on the way toward his mouth, which opens for their landing. He likes to suck on hands: his, mine, and yours. If grasping objects was a sport, he’d probably medal. Sometimes he’ll cling onto things like the sheet on his crib and he’ll pull it clear off before I can pry the soft cotton fibers away.

Cal cries for other things besides food, comfort, and sleep. He likes you to be comedic, to entertain him. One fine day, I can't quite pinpoint when, songs stopped being background noise and started being tools to soothe and entertain him.

Trees still captivate his attention. I think Cal digs the whole package – movement, sound, color. He smiles at the leaves, like he coos and smiles at faces. I think he knows they’re not toys, that they’re alive. He admires the big and small of life and helps me remember just how beautiful the sun-dappled trees are and that my hands can transform into elegant spiders in a ballet. Cal likes itsy bitsy spider.

One more thing. Cal has found his feet, just like he discovered his hands about two months ago. When we change his diaper, he grabs his feet for us and investigates his toes pulling them toward his drooling cave, helping the whole diapering process along. Shaun laughs at this new development. But it seems logical to me – we’ve been munching on his feet since day one, why wouldn’t he want to too?

Happy belated birthday Mr. Bubbas.

back to work

I’ve come to think of it as the 3 o’clock ache. Instead of getting hungry and tired in the afternoon at work I now just miss Cal instead. What is he doing? What noises is he making? What is he looking at? How much drool is snaking down his shirt? I want to brush my hand over his fuzzy head. Smell his sweetness. Stare at him so he doesn't seem to grow. I miss him right now.

A lot of the times it feels wrong to be a mom of a baby and have to leave him every gosh darn day (but Wednesday, which is my savior). People told me, but the pull of a mother to her baby is like the steely grip of an ocean undercurrent. It's strength is not apparent until you're in it. That book, Our Babies, Ourselves made me think of how silly our culture is regarding infant care. Most western mothers must work, and yet infants were designed biologically to be close to, and most of the times touching, their mothers. Mothers and babies form a sacred dyad – one that is so entwined that their hearts and breaths mimic each other. If we must be working hard for our money, why not have free or affordable day care in every workplace? Paid and long maternity leave has my vote.

I find myself jealous of the last hunter gatherers in Africa and South America. They do not have much technology. But mothers in those tribes spend almost all their time, at work and in leisure, with their babies. Colic is unheard of and crying bouts last seconds. It's kind of ironic that those babies are the happiest on all of Earth. I wonder what the captains of industry would say about that.

Alas, I better make peace with what is; especially in the dire straights of this economy in this country where we prize independence and possessions, and push our mothers off to work. I should say that there are clearly benefits to freedoms founds here, but unfortunately, I’m running straight into the cons.

Yesterday Shaun got a job. Last night he was pumping his fists and calling for the champagne. I’m happy for his mental well-being. This is what we’ve both been hoping for; it is necessary for us to stay afloat in the long term. And no matter how much I fantasize about living like nomads, I’d like to keep our house. But I will still mourn the day when Cal gets dropped off in another’s arms, so far away from our own. I just have to let the current wash over me and be thankful I get to see my love by 5:25.

cal's five.6

Cal cutie’s five:

1. “You’ve created a monster,” I told Shaun yesterday. A tongue-blowing, tongue-wiggling, tongue-tinkering monster, that is, but an awful cute one. He has the most acrobatic, lively little tongue, keen for imprinting new tricks. So Shaun has apparently taken to use his “teaching moments” to train Cal new tongue-noise techniques, like the one that makes a farting sound. It’s already starting, I know it, the love of bodily function noises. But it’s rather sweet to watch. Shaun makes the noise. Cal makes the noise. Cal makes the noise. Shaun makes the noise. Each feed off each other’s superb noise-making functions. Cal will even perform a solo act now, wildly pleasing himself with his new abilties. All I can do is watch and laugh. I try to do this tango with Cal too, but I’m just not as good. Personally, I prefer the smiling two-step. Leave the fart sounds to the boys.

2. Shaun held a sleeping Cal last night like he never wanted to let him go. “He never sleeps like this,” he whispered. Meaning as sound as a log. After I few minutes, Shaun set him down next to me and all three Hugheses went to bed.

3. We tested to see if Cal knew his name on Wednesday, because we thought he might think his actual name is Bubbas Hughes. We call him Bubbas often – although we’re trying to curb the habit. It's just too hard to quite cold turkey. Cal was lying on the lounge, I was sitting in front of him and Shaun was sitting on the couch to Cal ’s right. “Calvin” he called over. Cal swiveled his tiny head to face his dad. “He knows his name!” I said. Then Cal looked at me. “Bubbas” Shaun rang out. Cal looked again at Shaun. “Shoot” I said. Then Shaun called Calvin something like “Wednesdays are wonderful.” And of course he looked. So we didn't take into account that he'll turn his head toward any ol' noise. We are not that scientific.

4. I took Cal shopping on Wednesday for brown sugar and library books. The front carrier is a must these days because it takes an extra hand to keep him from grabbing anything within his range. Well, I brought the carrier, but I spied some Cal mustard on it, so I walked into the store basically minus three hands. Well, we finally managed to grab the sugar and get in line. The check out lady helped me set the sugar down. It took me a second to get my debit card out, lots of juggling, and Cal was grabbing at my rubber key chain holder. Finally, we completed the transaction. Phew. The kind fellow behind me piped in: “Only a mother could do that.” I’m just learning on the job, I thought.

5. This is a sad one, but Cal is such a rolly polly these days he rolled (quickly!) clear off his play gym and bonked his head (just a tiny bonk) on the wood floor. I cried a little too. Seriously, I've learned my lesson, all rolling now gets doen a large floor mat.

biology makes it so

There’s reason biology hardwired us to love our babies more than life itself – sometimes they drive us up-the-wall bonkers. But instead of throwing up our hands and walking clear out the door, we walk away for five minutes and come back and try again. And again. It is knitted in our very souls to do so.

Recently, Shaun and I have come up against this very going bonkers. We’ve had some success with Cal at sleep time, but it’s been mixed with some set backs. Bless his sweet soul; Cal would much prefer sleeping, eating, and playing in our arms much of the live long day. And just like I told Shaun last night in a tired, squeaky whisper: We can’t blame him. Just as biology ordered us to never give up on him, it ordered him to want to stay close to us. No other mammal is more dependent on its mother than a human baby. Our babies start out with the brain capacity of other primates (they are little love monkeys for goodness sake) and endure tremendous and brilliant growth to end their first year where other babies start out. Basically, they’re still in gestation for the first 12 months of life. That’s why they need us. According to biology, Cal is definitely one of the fittest. (For that and more insightful goodness, read Our Babies, Ourselves.)

So we’ve tried to hold him much of the time. And who wouldn’t want to hold the little guy for hours? But sometimes our stomachs growl or the sink overflows and we have to set him down real quick to complete household tasks. And at night, we’d like it, if we could, to set our sleeping bundle of joy down for bed and spend an hour with each other or with whatever demands our attention. That’s been the goal, anyway.

But Calvin is what they call in the sleep world a one-cycle sleeper. So even when we create a whole sensory experience (rocking, singing, sucking), get him to the limb-limp stage of sleep, set him in crib, and then slink away, he awakens wide eyed and bushy tailed 30-45 minutes after that and quickly works himself up, finding that he's not where he fell asleep, or where he'd prefer to be. (It has occured to me that this conflicts with my last entry. To clarify, this is a recent phenomenon that happens sporatically, but seems to be occuring more lately.) And at that point, it takes even more sensory experiences to get him back to sleep. Not only does this throw the breaks on adult time, it means he's not getting all the wonderful sleep cycles that he needs.

There is lots of good news though. First, we have a plan. He and I have a bedtime routine we’ve recently committed to which helps the going to sleep part. I'm trying to wean him slowing off some of his sleep attachments, while creating new ones. And I’ve taken to going on walks with him right before bed – which makes him very sleepy. Also, Shaun and I have been thoroughly blessed with a little guy who wakes only briefly to feed (when he’s in bed with us) then goes right back to sleep. Yes that calls for a hallelujah. Last, I know a lot more about sleep now that I’ve looked into it and I’ll be camping out next to his crib for a few times to try some “cycle blending,” which means rocking him back to sleep before he fully awakens (my source material: No-Cry Nap Solution).

Still, yesterday I felt like I had been running to catch a train all week. Running toward sleep, away from all this restless cat napping. I crashed into my own slumber in an hour-long midday nap. It felt good because I needed it. I only wish Cal could crash into his own sleep when he also needed it. It must be frusterating to flirt with sleep.

I never forget that someday Cal won’t need us to hold him or rock him to sleep. Shaun asks when. I can’t say exactly, but I think we won’t even notice it until that one fateful day when we'll desperately miss it.

Now, onto something else.

I realize I’ve missed a few days with this blog, which totally frustrates me. But I’m trying to allow myself a small bit of slack these days. I mean, for so many mothers before me, the main call during motherhood was to mother. Now mothers pursue careers, garnish their lives with hobbies, bank time with charities, still look chipper in the morning, clean the house, and blog about it all. That perceived pressure is something I alone have to set down and walk away from. There is only so much time in a day. And sometimes that time is best spent lying on a towel looking at trees for 30 minutes, like I do with Cal almost every evening. Also, work has picked up. Which means a little less blogging some weeks, but I'll be back in no time.

This blog has been a place of pride for me. I feel good that despite my complete lack of scrapbooking, I’m scribbling down our memories, sharing our joys, ruminating about speed bumps along the way, and exploring my own thoughts, which helps clear my head.

I think biology has also hardwired me to think about what I'm imparting to the next generation and try my darndest to be a good parent, like all other parents before me.