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.

Cal's spell

Cal brings out the best in people. He unlocks love and softens edges. Just hold his gaze and fall into his sea-blue, sea-deep eyes and you are under his spell. It’s remarkable.

When I’m with Cal, strangers talk with me (or to Cal then me asking about him), people smile wide and long, eyes speak joy, and people no longer care about acting strange and looking funny as long as Cal talks to them or responds to their quirkiness with glee and twirling feet (he does this, it’s brilliant).

On Sunday, we visited my dad’s sister, Julie; it was Cal’s first time meeting her. They were intrigued with each other; Cal kept grabbing at her lips and looking at her intently, and smiling too. He ate a banana at Starbucks and actually liked it. We were out all day (a rarity with naps now) and G-gma Joyce kept saying, “He’s such a good boy, isn’t he,” while beaming. During the almost hour car ride home, Calvin took special interest in the water bottle I had, sucking on the lid and shaking the water inside. At one point he hissed in frustration as I took big gulps. I gave him the bottle. He didn’t want it. I poured him some water in the cap and he lapped that up. He knows what he wants. Then he started this roller coaster fit of giggling that lasted a good 20 minutes. He’d giggle with the bottle fully in his mouth, and stop. Then he’d giggle again. Then he squeel. Then giggle. Nana and I were just watching and laughing. My cheeks were sore from it.

Then back to our house for dinner (Shaun had been at work all day) where my dad said what a gift Cal has been to us, to our lives – absolutely. Part of the joy comes from that unlocking of love of everyone around Cal. He lets his emotions flow unabated and authentic, as he hasn’t fashioned a filter, which invites others to let their love flow without restraint too. While we teach him language and our worldly customs, perhaps we can learn his love-without-borders ways.

Maybe we can all take a queue from Cal and permeate joy for joy's sake.

OK, the other part of course is that he’s unbelievably cute, which, yes, goes a long way to crack shells and melt hearts, including, first and foremost, this mom’s.

it was him

Sometimes I think it's so plain now that Cal was the one twirling in my tummy when I was pregnant, just eight months ago. I think “It was him the whole time, he was the one kicking and hiccupping, especially in the evenings and after lunch, he was the one bounding about in the womb,” like somehow it is so utterly obvious now, after the great mistery has been unveiled.

I guess that’s because I can’t really remember what my life was like before the addition of this whole new person, this fantastic flower of a human being that just keeps evolving. The puzzle piece of what is Cal has fit so seamlessly into our picture.

His screeching at frustrations and talks with strangers and store clerks; his tapping hands, like bird’s wings, flapping as I breastfeed; his catlike big blues fluttering curiously; his fingers (sticky like any good gypsy or petty thief) snatching everything on the counter’s edge; his legs in a diamond shape and his hands clutching his blanket as he sleeps; his laughter that is almost tangible and fills the rooms of our house; his perfumed body smelling of solids and breast milk and Cal all on the tips of his hair; his bright face and puppy cheeks unapologetically real, greeting me whenever I enter a room; his gaping smile, so very authentic it makes me want to cry.

All this is so captivating and real that it seems I should’ve known it was him all along. It’s amazing how quickly this whole new person who you can't believe didn't always exist, grabs you and changes you.