Tuesday 24 April 2012

No time like the present

Ethan has been napping for 30 minutes.  I've had a cup of coffee, googled teething, then googled my dry cleaners, then played DrawSome on my iPhone with strangers.  Meanwhile, I have a psychology magazine open to an article about willpower resting on my lap.  Where is my willpower? Am I wasting time?  I have things I want to do.  Plant lettuce in the back yard.  Write a the next chapter in something that might one day be a book.  Read this article.  But then Jeremy Kyle is doing lie detector results right after this break, so....

The days fly by when they are divided into 3-4 hourly baby-segments of eating, playing and napping.  After the washing-up and a load of baby laundry, I can tell myself that an hour's TV watching is much deserved relaxation or that facebook is keeping in touch with friends, but we all know it's not.


As the days fly by, time marches ever forward.  Too quickly.  Some days I look at Ethan and almost don't recognise the emerging little person in front of me.  He changes so fast.  When he was small, Thom and I used to love a little squeeky sound he made, like a baby squirrel calling for its mother.  We would call back to him in little squeeks.  I loved that sound.  He's bigger now.  His vocal cords are bigger, too, and the squirrel sound is no more.  Replaced with coos and gurgles and grizzles that communicate so much more.  Wonderful, but also ever changing.  It's clear that if I blink for a moment, if I fail to appreciate each day, they will be gone before I have had a chance to enjoy them.

So , yes, I am wasting a lot of time.  And it pisses me off to admit it.  The thought of wasting time has annoyed me since Noah's death when I swore, in honour of his very short life, that I never would waste the life I'd been given.  At first, other people who didn't value the precious short moments we call life annoyed me.  But then I realised that I was just as guilty.  The daily drudgery bogs me down and I fall into comfortable procrastination.  I don't take opportunities to really appreciate other people in my life.  I watch Jeremy Kyle instead of planting my lettuces.  I guess I feel like there is always time, when the truth is that time is always shorter than we'd like it to be.

Why would I waste time?  I don't actually care which chav fathered the baby of poor woman on the Jeremy Kyle stage.  Watching does nothing more than provide an easy distraction.  Passes the time and fills my mind with something simple.  Jeremy Kyle is an easy example for all the things I'm certain we all do that fill our time without bringing us any closer to what we really truly want.  If I can get closer to what I really want, what's to stop me?  Maybe it's a little frightening to try for what is real, to love deeply, to live fully because the risks are so much greater.  The loss, the inevitable endings or failings cut to the bone.

So I'm finding it difficult to keep my promise and live up to this ideal.  Truth is that living the way I'd like is a big change, and such big shifts rarely happen spontaneously or quickly.  Today is another day.  The sun is shinning and while Ethan naps I can clip on the baby monitor and plant those lettuces.  Tomorrow I will see if I can keep my promise again, and for every tomorrow I am gifted, I can try again.

Sunday 15 April 2012

New and improved baby, now with teeth

Conversation between Thom and a guy he works with:
Other guy: 'What did you name your baby?'
Thom: 'Ethan.'
Other guy: 'You named your baby Lethal?!'


Just when you thought it was safe, things change.  Ethan has developed the drooling ability of a bulldog and anything that dares enter the 3 inch danger zone in front of his mouth is going to get gnawed on.  A few weeks ago after some usually broken sleep at nap time, I wondered about teething.  Google came to the rescue once again and it turns out he has all the classic signs of a fresh new tooth on its way.  I can't wait for the little gnasher to poke through.  Then he really will be Lethal.

I've tried to recall how it felt to grow a tooth.  Apart from a vague memory of dull ache from wisdom teeth, I can't recall how bad it feels.  Good news, I suppose as this pain he's having will soon be beyond his memory and all that will be left is a beautiful new tooth.

I like to tell him this when he wakes up unhappy.  'Soon your lovely tooth will be here and all this will be over.'  He is such an easy going chap, that he generally smiles, even if just briefly before returning to his frustrated baby-grizzling.  It can affect how much he wants to eat and can wake him, but I am always surprised by what a trooper he is.


Teething at less than four months old seemed too early, until I learned that babies can be born with teeth.  They have all their teeth neatly hidden in their gums before birth.  As with everything baby-related, teething comes with old wives tales.  Such as babies born with teeth will be selfish.  And babies who teethe early are intelligent.  Also, perhaps to be expected, loads of conflicting advice on how to help baby transverse this stage.

'Let them use a dummy/pacifier.'  'Don't let them use a dummy, it'll mess up their teeth.'
'Use teething gel.'  'Don't use teething gel, it could kill them.'

In any case, I have bought  into some of the hype by getting Ethan an amber teething necklace.  Baltic amber is meant to offer pain relief when worn against the skin.  I' not convinced Ethan notices a difference, but I feel calmer after putting on the magical necklace.  And he responds well to mom being calm, plus looking cute in baby jewellery.

Thankfully, tooth pain isn't constant and L'Ethal (lil' Ethan) has blessed the household with 12 hours of sleep last night.  I should have been enjoying it, but I woke every half hour after midnight with a start and paranoid ideas about why he wasn't crying for milk.  How did a stress-ball like me end up with such an easy-going, lovely baby?

Saturday 7 April 2012

Learn like Kids Do

We are watching Ethan's every move.  Noting what makes him smile.  What makes him curious.  What makes him unhappy.  It brings new understanding to the way people interact with each other, how we weave into each other.  As we watch him, he watches us and together we figure out ways of being together, slowly sussing each other out day by day.

I also learn about myself, and maybe about people generally.  Watching Ethan, life is divided into simple needs.  Food.  Warmth.  Play.  Love.  Somewhere along the road, we might get all confused, knotted up and discouraged as the struggles in life seem more complex.  

I've been using baby nap time to read a book about Milton Erikson, a legendary hypnotherapist who used stories to help his clients overcome problems (My Voice Will Go With You, by Sidney Rosen).  Erikson encouraged people to not lose childlike curiosity and playfulness in the midst of frustration.  The first of his stories in the book is called 'Learning to Stand Up' and really captures the long-forgotten frustrations of getting balance coordinated between legs, feet and hips for a child learning to stand for the first time.  The tale is possibly intended to remind the listener that we have already overcome such great challenges.  The skill to overcome the greatest barriers is there, even if it is forgotten.  And we are encouoraged to maintain the fresh, creative perspective of a child, even in adversity.

I see Ethan, each day, making another small change in his movements and behaviour to accomplish his goals.  Getting food.  Reaching for something he likes.  Interacting in ways that invite as well as show love.  

And children love in a beautiful way.  Without concern for how they seem or what others will think of them.  I was out for coffee with friends the other week.  Ethan and my friend's child took to sizing each other up.  Staring un-ashamedly for ages before deciding 'I like you' and smiling without a care if the feeling was returned.  This is how all love should be, given without fear or demand that it be returned.  My friend's child, now almost 2, left the cafe crying to be leaving his new friends.  

These times are as beautiful as they are tough.  My mind goes to Noah and what he might be doing.  What he might be like.  In a quiet moment, during a peaceful baby nap, I was sitting in the springtime sunshine in the backyard looking at the cherry blossoms starting to bloom.  Baby monitor clipped to my belt loop, I thought of Ethan's lovely smile and how intensely wonderful he had made my life.  And as I looked at the delicate blossoms beginning to form I thought of how intensely painful life felt without Noah.  

Mind drifting to Noah's funeral, a line from the Lord's Prayer popped into my mind, 'Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.'  The day of the funeral I stood silent as the prayer was recited.  How could I ask for God's will when it was so wrong and painful?  Sitting watching the blossoms and listening to the silent baby monitor, I felt gratefulness that Ethan came to me.  I was suddenly struck by how much I wanted one part of God's will - or whatever brought Ethan to me - and not the other, the part that took Noah away.  And even still, that brief moment in time I had with Noah was a gift that I wouldn't trade away given the choice.  I could only hope that the same will that brought Ethan to be with me here on earth was looking after Noah somewhere in heaven.
  
am sad.  And yet every time I think that I can't get through, I do.  Like the child in Erikson's story, like Ethan, I find ways to adjust.  Like every child, I always have done and always will.  Like that child standing for the first time, my balance can be off and I might fall.  But I can try to steady myself and start again, maybe getting a bit further next time.  Part of what can help when missing Noah is being immersed in the experience of love like a child would be. Without the demands that make love about satisfying my fears.  Is there love without pain?  Like the my friend's child, falling in love with a new friend, so unconcerned about the outcome, crying and sadness still follows when the one you love leaves, even if it's not forever.  That true and unselfish love is as wonderful as it is painful.  Then every moment with the ones you love feels like a wonderful gift, no matter how it turns out in the end.