Me: Cammy, did you know that tomorrow is the Winter Solstice?
Cam: (Gasps, quickly leaps to his feet) Are we going to go to infinity and beyond?
M: Um, no, I don't think we're going to do that. Did you know that the Solstice is the shortest day of the year?
C: Is there going to be a parade?
M: No, I don't think there's going to be a parade. Tomorrow is the day where the sun is going to be in the sky for the shortest amount of time.
C: What are we going to do for the shortest day of the year?
M: I don't know.... I guess we could say, "Happy Winter Solstice!"
C: (Just looks at me, unable to mask his disappointment).
Friday, December 21, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
Past Due
Thursday, September 20th found me in a cranky, cranky place. Everything was bothering me. I was running on almost no patience, and physically, I was very uncomfortable. I was also feeling a lot of pressure to go into labor – my obstetrician (Dr. B.) had been talking about inducing me for two weeks, and I had an appointment at the hospital for the following Monday to be given a pitocin drip if I didn’t start laboring on my own by then. The thought of having an induction was freaking me out in a big way; I had already cancelled one induction appointment, and I knew that my OB wouldn’t let me get out of the next one without a fight.
So when I felt a cramp at 7:23 p.m., I was excited and relieved for about 10 minutes, until I realized that it meant I would have to go through labor and push a human being out of my body. Also, the more I thought about it, the more I was beginning to conclude that I was perfectly happy with one child, thankyouverymuch. Alas, the contractions did not stop, and in fact became very regular very quickly, so to be on the safe side I called my OB to let her know that I was considering having a baby shortly, and would she please tell me what to do about that. I dialed the number and listened to it ring and ring and ring (and ring and ring and ring) before it became clear that nobody was going to answer. Had this been my first labor, it’s possible I might have stressed out just a teensy little bit (HA!). However, being the childbearing expert that I am since having Cameron (again, HA!), I was able to calmly call my hospital’s labor and delivery ward, and the nurse who answered told me to come in so that they could see if my water had broken (I didn’t realize it at the time, but a woman’s water can break and not be the obvious “gush”).
Anyway, Mike and I headed on over to L&D with my suitcase and snacks, because we had the feeling that they would not be letting me go home. We were correct. It turned out that my waters had indeed ruptured, so we settled down in the L&D and. . . .waited. To be honest, it sucked. I was in the early stages of labor and it was frustrating to be trapped at the hospital. I knew that had I been at home, I could have slept or read, or watched a movie, or done anything else to make the time pass quickly while remaining comfortable. But at the hospital, that was impossible. We had a (well-meaning but very annoying) nurse who came to check on me relentlessly – I know she was only doing her job, but she strapped me to the monitor for countless contractions, and anyone who has ever been in labor knows how unbearable it feels not to be able to get into the position you want to be in during a contraction. I later told Mike that it felt almost like torture. I am a little melodramatic, for sure, but it was still irritating as anything.
At around midnight, the on-call doctor came in and checked my cervix, which was four to five centimeters dilated. I was disappointed to hear this, because it seemed that I still had such a long way to go. My problem was that I kept comparing this labor to my labor with Cam (with Cam, I arrived at the hospital already nine centimeters dilated, and was able to begin pushing almost right away).
The early morning hours after midnight were an endless blur of contractions, the irritating nurse, and a Roseanne marathon on TV. Mike and I tried to sleep, but seeing as I was having contractions every few minutes, this proved to be a challenge. Being in a horizontal position made the labor pains feel absolutely unbearable, so I couldn’t lie in bed. Sitting wasn’t much more comfortable, so at the beginning of each contraction I would stand up and lean on Mike for support. We each tried to doze between the contractions. It was a long night, but at the same time, strangely timeless.
At a little after three in the morning, someone checked my cervix and found that I was about seven centimeters dilated. Once again I was disappointed. I was so exhausted and the contractions were so uncomfortable that I really didn’t want to keep laboring anymore. I was ready for this baby to come out.
My obstetrician’s shift started at eight in the morning, at which point she came in and checked my cervix. I was at nine centimeters dilated, but the baby didn’t seem to be coming down the birth canal – she was still high up, which is not what I wanted to hear after having been in labor for twelve and a half hours. My doctor told me that some of my bag of waters was still intact, so she decided to break it to hurry things along. She broke my water, and warned me that my contractions would probably become a lot more intense, but they didn’t (don’t get me wrong, they still hurt like a mofo, but breaking the water didn’t seem to change them at all).
Finally, a (wonderful, non-annoying) nurse suggested that I lay (lie?) on my right side, to help get the baby down (apparently, Rachael was facing the wrong direction – posterior – which, in addition to making the contractions more intense, made it more difficult for her to descend). At that point, everything changed. I felt a contraction that completely overwhelmed me in its intensity. I also felt something that I had never felt while giving birth to Cam: fear. The pain was so large and all encompassing, and I tried not to think about the fact that it would have to get worse before it could end. Thankfully, lying on my side proved to be very effective in getting the baby to descend, and within minutes I knew it was time to push. In between contractions, when I wasn’t cursing myself for refusing the epidural, I was remembering that it took me two hours of pushing to get Cam out, and I decided then and there that I could not bear this pain for another two hours. So with more determination than I have ever shown in my life, I pushed as though my life depended on it, and Rachael was out in less than five minutes.
The doctor put Rachael on my chest, and just as Cameron had, my new baby looked up at me with large, dark blue eyes. Looking at her for the first time I remember well, but after that, things got a little bit hazy. The nurse took Rachael to test her Apgar scores, and my doctor informed me that my placenta was not detaching itself from my uterus. I’ll spare you all of the gruesome and gory details, but suffice it to say that the placenta eventually was removed by my obstetrician (bless her), and that the removal involved both of her hands . . . somewhere. At the same time. And lots of blood. And lots of screaming. It was not my best moment. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
Several minutes later, I began to feel strange. I heard a rushing sound, like a loud wind blowing, but I suspected that I was the only one who could hear it. A nurse came to take my vitals, and found that my heart was beating rapidly and my blood pressure was very low. It turned out that during the whole placenta debacle, I had lost too much blood, and had immediately become very anemic. In the next few minutes, I received my very first intravenous line, and got to stress about phrases that were being thrown around by my doctor, such as “. . .may need to give her a D&C” and “. . .possibly a blood transfusion.” In the end, I was very fortunate and did not need the D&C or the transfusion. My body recovered enough so that I only had to promise my doctor that I would take iron supplements until I was feeling normal once again.
All in all, it was a tiring and difficult labor and delivery. It was more painful than I had anticipated, and more physically challenging than I ever knew it could be. During the pushing, I remember thinking to myself over and over “I would never do this again. I would never do this again.” And I meant it, at the time. But of course I would do it again. Every breathtaking contraction, every drop of blood, and every primal scream brought Rachael into the world. I would do it all again for my daughter.
But not for any future babies, because we are so done.
So when I felt a cramp at 7:23 p.m., I was excited and relieved for about 10 minutes, until I realized that it meant I would have to go through labor and push a human being out of my body. Also, the more I thought about it, the more I was beginning to conclude that I was perfectly happy with one child, thankyouverymuch. Alas, the contractions did not stop, and in fact became very regular very quickly, so to be on the safe side I called my OB to let her know that I was considering having a baby shortly, and would she please tell me what to do about that. I dialed the number and listened to it ring and ring and ring (and ring and ring and ring) before it became clear that nobody was going to answer. Had this been my first labor, it’s possible I might have stressed out just a teensy little bit (HA!). However, being the childbearing expert that I am since having Cameron (again, HA!), I was able to calmly call my hospital’s labor and delivery ward, and the nurse who answered told me to come in so that they could see if my water had broken (I didn’t realize it at the time, but a woman’s water can break and not be the obvious “gush”).
Anyway, Mike and I headed on over to L&D with my suitcase and snacks, because we had the feeling that they would not be letting me go home. We were correct. It turned out that my waters had indeed ruptured, so we settled down in the L&D and. . . .waited. To be honest, it sucked. I was in the early stages of labor and it was frustrating to be trapped at the hospital. I knew that had I been at home, I could have slept or read, or watched a movie, or done anything else to make the time pass quickly while remaining comfortable. But at the hospital, that was impossible. We had a (well-meaning but very annoying) nurse who came to check on me relentlessly – I know she was only doing her job, but she strapped me to the monitor for countless contractions, and anyone who has ever been in labor knows how unbearable it feels not to be able to get into the position you want to be in during a contraction. I later told Mike that it felt almost like torture. I am a little melodramatic, for sure, but it was still irritating as anything.
At around midnight, the on-call doctor came in and checked my cervix, which was four to five centimeters dilated. I was disappointed to hear this, because it seemed that I still had such a long way to go. My problem was that I kept comparing this labor to my labor with Cam (with Cam, I arrived at the hospital already nine centimeters dilated, and was able to begin pushing almost right away).
The early morning hours after midnight were an endless blur of contractions, the irritating nurse, and a Roseanne marathon on TV. Mike and I tried to sleep, but seeing as I was having contractions every few minutes, this proved to be a challenge. Being in a horizontal position made the labor pains feel absolutely unbearable, so I couldn’t lie in bed. Sitting wasn’t much more comfortable, so at the beginning of each contraction I would stand up and lean on Mike for support. We each tried to doze between the contractions. It was a long night, but at the same time, strangely timeless.
At a little after three in the morning, someone checked my cervix and found that I was about seven centimeters dilated. Once again I was disappointed. I was so exhausted and the contractions were so uncomfortable that I really didn’t want to keep laboring anymore. I was ready for this baby to come out.
My obstetrician’s shift started at eight in the morning, at which point she came in and checked my cervix. I was at nine centimeters dilated, but the baby didn’t seem to be coming down the birth canal – she was still high up, which is not what I wanted to hear after having been in labor for twelve and a half hours. My doctor told me that some of my bag of waters was still intact, so she decided to break it to hurry things along. She broke my water, and warned me that my contractions would probably become a lot more intense, but they didn’t (don’t get me wrong, they still hurt like a mofo, but breaking the water didn’t seem to change them at all).
Finally, a (wonderful, non-annoying) nurse suggested that I lay (lie?) on my right side, to help get the baby down (apparently, Rachael was facing the wrong direction – posterior – which, in addition to making the contractions more intense, made it more difficult for her to descend). At that point, everything changed. I felt a contraction that completely overwhelmed me in its intensity. I also felt something that I had never felt while giving birth to Cam: fear. The pain was so large and all encompassing, and I tried not to think about the fact that it would have to get worse before it could end. Thankfully, lying on my side proved to be very effective in getting the baby to descend, and within minutes I knew it was time to push. In between contractions, when I wasn’t cursing myself for refusing the epidural, I was remembering that it took me two hours of pushing to get Cam out, and I decided then and there that I could not bear this pain for another two hours. So with more determination than I have ever shown in my life, I pushed as though my life depended on it, and Rachael was out in less than five minutes.
The doctor put Rachael on my chest, and just as Cameron had, my new baby looked up at me with large, dark blue eyes. Looking at her for the first time I remember well, but after that, things got a little bit hazy. The nurse took Rachael to test her Apgar scores, and my doctor informed me that my placenta was not detaching itself from my uterus. I’ll spare you all of the gruesome and gory details, but suffice it to say that the placenta eventually was removed by my obstetrician (bless her), and that the removal involved both of her hands . . . somewhere. At the same time. And lots of blood. And lots of screaming. It was not my best moment. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
Several minutes later, I began to feel strange. I heard a rushing sound, like a loud wind blowing, but I suspected that I was the only one who could hear it. A nurse came to take my vitals, and found that my heart was beating rapidly and my blood pressure was very low. It turned out that during the whole placenta debacle, I had lost too much blood, and had immediately become very anemic. In the next few minutes, I received my very first intravenous line, and got to stress about phrases that were being thrown around by my doctor, such as “. . .may need to give her a D&C” and “. . .possibly a blood transfusion.” In the end, I was very fortunate and did not need the D&C or the transfusion. My body recovered enough so that I only had to promise my doctor that I would take iron supplements until I was feeling normal once again.
All in all, it was a tiring and difficult labor and delivery. It was more painful than I had anticipated, and more physically challenging than I ever knew it could be. During the pushing, I remember thinking to myself over and over “I would never do this again. I would never do this again.” And I meant it, at the time. But of course I would do it again. Every breathtaking contraction, every drop of blood, and every primal scream brought Rachael into the world. I would do it all again for my daughter.
But not for any future babies, because we are so done.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Did I Forget To Mention...
Oh yeah, a funny thing happened about a month ago: we had a baby! Her name is Rachael. She's pretty cute. Don't believe me? See for yourself:
An interesting thing happens when you double the amount of children in your house: your free time, usually used to upate your blog, completely disappears. Who could've known?
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A post done in real time
In the crib:
I sad yittle girl on Caillou. I sad yittle girl. A sad yittle girl on Caillou's name is?
MoreMommyMoreMommyMoreMommyMoreMommyMoreMommyMoreMommy!
All done nap, Mommy. All done nap.
[singing] Da da da da da da! A rest of it goes?
Mommmmmmmmmmmymommymommymommymommy!!
[kicking the crib bars] bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang
I. . .I yittle girl at yiberry! A yittle girl at yiberry's name is? I her!
Orange binky! Where are you, orange binky? A orange binky is? No can't see it!
In my head:
Oh my freaking lord, please make him go to sleep. I will do anything, dear sweet baby Jesus, if you just make him nap for an hour. I'll. . . .I'll clean the upstairs toilet! Just make him sleep. One hour. Forty-five fucking minutes.
. . . .
He's been quiet for a while. Is he sleeping? I think he's sleeping. Don't think it, Kate, you'll jinx it.
. . . .
I can't hear anything. . .I think he's asleep. Oh thank you, God. Thank you, sweet little baby Jesus. I love you both. Do I really have to clean the upstairs toilet? I'm 35 weeks pregnant for Christ's sake. I should be resting while I have the chance. Screw the upstairs toilet. It'll still be dirty tomorrow. Hmmmmm . . .maybe I'll take a nap. Or I could watch ---
In the crib:
Yook yike bear! Yook yike bear in my crib! Pretty silly! Hahahahaha!
[singing] Doo doo doo doo doo!
All done nap, Mommy!
More get out of crib now, Mommy.
More get OUT.
I sad yittle girl on Caillou. I sad yittle girl. A sad yittle girl on Caillou's name is?
MoreMommyMoreMommyMoreMommyMoreMommyMoreMommyMoreMommy!
All done nap, Mommy. All done nap.
[singing] Da da da da da da! A rest of it goes?
Mommmmmmmmmmmymommymommymommymommy!!
[kicking the crib bars] bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang
I. . .I yittle girl at yiberry! A yittle girl at yiberry's name is? I her!
Orange binky! Where are you, orange binky? A orange binky is? No can't see it!
In my head:
Oh my freaking lord, please make him go to sleep. I will do anything, dear sweet baby Jesus, if you just make him nap for an hour. I'll. . . .I'll clean the upstairs toilet! Just make him sleep. One hour. Forty-five fucking minutes.
. . . .
He's been quiet for a while. Is he sleeping? I think he's sleeping. Don't think it, Kate, you'll jinx it.
. . . .
I can't hear anything. . .I think he's asleep. Oh thank you, God. Thank you, sweet little baby Jesus. I love you both. Do I really have to clean the upstairs toilet? I'm 35 weeks pregnant for Christ's sake. I should be resting while I have the chance. Screw the upstairs toilet. It'll still be dirty tomorrow. Hmmmmm . . .maybe I'll take a nap. Or I could watch ---
In the crib:
Yook yike bear! Yook yike bear in my crib! Pretty silly! Hahahahaha!
[singing] Doo doo doo doo doo!
All done nap, Mommy!
More get out of crib now, Mommy.
More get OUT.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Mary is… well, she’s…“different”.
Kids go through phases. All parents know this and accept it. They know that an annoying habit will fade eventually, but they also know that it can work in the opposite direction; something cute or funny a child does will almost certainly end one day. Having said that, Cam is going through a very interesting phase right now, and I’m sure I’ll have mixed feelings when it’s over.
His current phase: Cam is constantly pretending he’s a girl.
It seems to have started a few months ago. Cam began pretending he was the characters on Calliou: first he was Calliou, and then Leo and then Andre. Then suddenly he was Sarah more often than not, and then Rosie and Clementine, and then I don’t remember the last time he wanted to be any of the boys.
Now he wants to be any girl in any book we read or any TV show we watch. Whenever we’re reading a book, he’ll point to every single girl and ask their name, so he can add them to his list of characters.
Off the top of my head, he has recently been:
- D.W. (from the Arthur books)
- Betsy (from a Curious George story)
- Emily Elizabeth (from Clifford)
- Martha (one of Emily Elizabeth’s friends)
- Sallie (from the Cat in the Hat. He really likes her bow).
- Little Girl Going Potty Who Wants Privacy (from his potty training book).
- Daffodil (the girl bunny from Clifford’s Puppy Days. He keeps forgetting her name, and we have to remind him.)
- Little Girl Who’s Afraid of Monsters and Whose Pony Tail Goes Flying Up (????)
And most recently:
- Cindy Lou Who (How the Grinch Stole Christmas)
Our absolute favorite, however, has got to be “Different Mary”. One episode of Calliou had a little girl on named Mary, and later that day Cam said, “I’m Mary”. And we said, “Like Mary had a little lamb? That Mary?”. And Cam replied, “No, different Mary”. And the name stuck.
Cam takes his acting quite seriously. When he is in character, you must address him correctly. One day I was driving in the car with him, and a song came on that he had heard before. As I was turning it up, I said, “Hey Cammy, you like this song!”, and Cam quickly corrected me: “Different Mary likes this song”. He also likes to establish his character early. One morning when he woke up, I walked into his room, and Cam was struggling to pull himself up to a stand, wiping the sleep out of his eyes, and the first thing he said to me was, “I’m Different Mary”.
Like I said, I’ll have mixed feelings when this phase is over. On one hand, it’s freaking hysterical. On the other hand, we have all these boy’s clothes that are just going to go to waste.
His current phase: Cam is constantly pretending he’s a girl.
It seems to have started a few months ago. Cam began pretending he was the characters on Calliou: first he was Calliou, and then Leo and then Andre. Then suddenly he was Sarah more often than not, and then Rosie and Clementine, and then I don’t remember the last time he wanted to be any of the boys.
Now he wants to be any girl in any book we read or any TV show we watch. Whenever we’re reading a book, he’ll point to every single girl and ask their name, so he can add them to his list of characters.
Off the top of my head, he has recently been:
- D.W. (from the Arthur books)
- Betsy (from a Curious George story)
- Emily Elizabeth (from Clifford)
- Martha (one of Emily Elizabeth’s friends)
- Sallie (from the Cat in the Hat. He really likes her bow).
- Little Girl Going Potty Who Wants Privacy (from his potty training book).
- Daffodil (the girl bunny from Clifford’s Puppy Days. He keeps forgetting her name, and we have to remind him.)
- Little Girl Who’s Afraid of Monsters and Whose Pony Tail Goes Flying Up (????)
And most recently:
- Cindy Lou Who (How the Grinch Stole Christmas)
Our absolute favorite, however, has got to be “Different Mary”. One episode of Calliou had a little girl on named Mary, and later that day Cam said, “I’m Mary”. And we said, “Like Mary had a little lamb? That Mary?”. And Cam replied, “No, different Mary”. And the name stuck.
Cam takes his acting quite seriously. When he is in character, you must address him correctly. One day I was driving in the car with him, and a song came on that he had heard before. As I was turning it up, I said, “Hey Cammy, you like this song!”, and Cam quickly corrected me: “Different Mary likes this song”. He also likes to establish his character early. One morning when he woke up, I walked into his room, and Cam was struggling to pull himself up to a stand, wiping the sleep out of his eyes, and the first thing he said to me was, “I’m Different Mary”.
Like I said, I’ll have mixed feelings when this phase is over. On one hand, it’s freaking hysterical. On the other hand, we have all these boy’s clothes that are just going to go to waste.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
For Want of Any Words at All
A couple of weeks ago, Cam and I went to the playground. He ignored the swings, the slide, the climbing structure, and the play car in favor of exploring the path surrounding the park. As it was ninety degrees out, I made a point of telling him that we shouldn't get too hot, and we must remember to drink our water.
He half-ran and half-marched in that distinctive toddler way, kicking up dust with his sandals and stopping every few feet to inspect rocks. I followed and swatted at the mosquitoes that landed on his ankles and on the back of his neck. Every once in a while, he would pick up a rock, study it for a moment and turn to me, saying "I bring ish one home."
When it came time to leave the playground, Cam placed his three new treasures on the seat of his tricycle where they promptly fell off. Undeterred, he picked them up and, clutching them to his chest, waited patiently for me to push him home.
Bending over, even slightly, while 30 weeks pregnant is no small feat. Bending over while 30 weeks pregnant in ninety degree heat and pushing a 28 pound toddler on a tricycle for three blocks is, as you can imagine, even more of a challenge, and not something I'm looking forward to doing again. But Cam was determined to get these rocks home, and he didn't trust that they would travel safely in his pockets or in mine (believe me, I tried).
It was a long, sticky walk home, but we made it, and so did the rocks. Cam named them (Clementine, Kaitlyn and Leo) and placed them gently in his kiddie pool to cool them off, cheerfully saying "Shouldn't get too hot!" I wiped the sweat off of my forehead and wondered if what I was experiencing was heatstroke.
******
At home, Cam gives me his toy stethoscope and tells me to check his heartbeat. I oblige, saying "It says. . .ba-dum, ba-dum. . .and it says your heart loves cookies, and trucks, and Mommy and Daddy, and dogs and tractors, and your sandbox, and playing outside."
Cam carefully places the stethoscope around his neck and listens to my heartbeat, and his brow furrows with the importance of the exam. "Mommy yuvs. . .cookies! And Cammy! And Ho Ho [his name for Santa Claus]! And Daddy! And Ho Ho again! Yuv Ho Ho two times!"
******
He talks and talks all day long, always in exclamation points. He names everything: the windowsill, the couch, the rug, and a blue plastic teething ring are called Sally and Billy and George and Andre, respectively. They are all his friends.
He adores his stuffed animals, and will pick them up one by one, telling me "Ish my friend. I yuv him so much. I hug him so tight."
******
I spend good portions of my days trying to make sense of what all of this means to me in words that will satisfy my mind. Nothing fits. No words are large enough.
All I know is how it feels during these moments, when it becomes increasingly clear to me that Cam is a kind, funny and compassionate little person who worries about rocks being too hot, and who needs to name and personify every inanimate object he comes across. Behind my ribcage, something stirs and begins to tighten. Behind my eyes, a bite. If I could, I would look away. It can be too much sometimes.
What can I do? How can I say it? I resist writing anything down for fear of diminishing what I feel, for fear of not doing justice to who my little boy is.
At the end of the day, it must be enough to say He is amazing. He blows us away all the time.
And at the end of the day, when Cam has hugged his animals close and professed his love for all of them, and there are no words that are big enough, I opt for small words. I tell him "Mommy and Daddy love you so much. We hug you so tight." I think it is enough.
He half-ran and half-marched in that distinctive toddler way, kicking up dust with his sandals and stopping every few feet to inspect rocks. I followed and swatted at the mosquitoes that landed on his ankles and on the back of his neck. Every once in a while, he would pick up a rock, study it for a moment and turn to me, saying "I bring ish one home."
When it came time to leave the playground, Cam placed his three new treasures on the seat of his tricycle where they promptly fell off. Undeterred, he picked them up and, clutching them to his chest, waited patiently for me to push him home.
Bending over, even slightly, while 30 weeks pregnant is no small feat. Bending over while 30 weeks pregnant in ninety degree heat and pushing a 28 pound toddler on a tricycle for three blocks is, as you can imagine, even more of a challenge, and not something I'm looking forward to doing again. But Cam was determined to get these rocks home, and he didn't trust that they would travel safely in his pockets or in mine (believe me, I tried).
It was a long, sticky walk home, but we made it, and so did the rocks. Cam named them (Clementine, Kaitlyn and Leo) and placed them gently in his kiddie pool to cool them off, cheerfully saying "Shouldn't get too hot!" I wiped the sweat off of my forehead and wondered if what I was experiencing was heatstroke.
******
At home, Cam gives me his toy stethoscope and tells me to check his heartbeat. I oblige, saying "It says. . .ba-dum, ba-dum. . .and it says your heart loves cookies, and trucks, and Mommy and Daddy, and dogs and tractors, and your sandbox, and playing outside."
Cam carefully places the stethoscope around his neck and listens to my heartbeat, and his brow furrows with the importance of the exam. "Mommy yuvs. . .cookies! And Cammy! And Ho Ho [his name for Santa Claus]! And Daddy! And Ho Ho again! Yuv Ho Ho two times!"
******
He talks and talks all day long, always in exclamation points. He names everything: the windowsill, the couch, the rug, and a blue plastic teething ring are called Sally and Billy and George and Andre, respectively. They are all his friends.
He adores his stuffed animals, and will pick them up one by one, telling me "Ish my friend. I yuv him so much. I hug him so tight."
******
I spend good portions of my days trying to make sense of what all of this means to me in words that will satisfy my mind. Nothing fits. No words are large enough.
All I know is how it feels during these moments, when it becomes increasingly clear to me that Cam is a kind, funny and compassionate little person who worries about rocks being too hot, and who needs to name and personify every inanimate object he comes across. Behind my ribcage, something stirs and begins to tighten. Behind my eyes, a bite. If I could, I would look away. It can be too much sometimes.
What can I do? How can I say it? I resist writing anything down for fear of diminishing what I feel, for fear of not doing justice to who my little boy is.
At the end of the day, it must be enough to say He is amazing. He blows us away all the time.
And at the end of the day, when Cam has hugged his animals close and professed his love for all of them, and there are no words that are big enough, I opt for small words. I tell him "Mommy and Daddy love you so much. We hug you so tight." I think it is enough.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
First Love
We took Cameron to the zoo for the first time this past weekend. We thought he’d really enjoy all the animals, because he loves playing with his toy animals and reading about them in books. He knows all the names of the barnyard persuasion, and could identify at least the most popular animals on an African safari. He also knows the corresponding sounds that they all make (his elephant impersonation is great; it’s kind of like “doo doo DOOOoooo!”, done in a high-pitch voice. Absolutely hysterical).
Cam seemed somewhat interested in the first animals we saw (the zebras), but his attention quickly shifted to the miniature “train” that was giving families rides around the park. He also immensely enjoyed playing in the jeep that had “crashed” into the Lion’s den (while giving the actual Lion a passing glance at best), and he had a great time riding on a giant mechanical bunny on the Merry-Go-Round (the real bunnies were completely ignored). And of course we had to end the day in the playground with the giant wooden trains and fire trucks. I’ve said it before: this boy loves his vehicles. The animals didn’t stand a chance.
While Cam was playing in one of the wooden structures, a little girl who was probably 4 or 5 came up to Cam, and appeared to grab his hands. I couldn’t quite see what was going on, and a second or two later the little girl ran off. Cam stepped out of the house with a bewildered look on his face. “What happened, buddy? What’s going on?” I asked him. Cam held up both his hands. “Yittle girl kiss hands”, he said. “She kissed your hands?” I asked. Cam nodded. His gaze then turned to the girl as she scampered away, and said “Yittle girl come back!”
Perhaps cars won’t stay his first love for long.
Cam seemed somewhat interested in the first animals we saw (the zebras), but his attention quickly shifted to the miniature “train” that was giving families rides around the park. He also immensely enjoyed playing in the jeep that had “crashed” into the Lion’s den (while giving the actual Lion a passing glance at best), and he had a great time riding on a giant mechanical bunny on the Merry-Go-Round (the real bunnies were completely ignored). And of course we had to end the day in the playground with the giant wooden trains and fire trucks. I’ve said it before: this boy loves his vehicles. The animals didn’t stand a chance.
While Cam was playing in one of the wooden structures, a little girl who was probably 4 or 5 came up to Cam, and appeared to grab his hands. I couldn’t quite see what was going on, and a second or two later the little girl ran off. Cam stepped out of the house with a bewildered look on his face. “What happened, buddy? What’s going on?” I asked him. Cam held up both his hands. “Yittle girl kiss hands”, he said. “She kissed your hands?” I asked. Cam nodded. His gaze then turned to the girl as she scampered away, and said “Yittle girl come back!”
Perhaps cars won’t stay his first love for long.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
the Pretenders
The plastic yellow dump truck is Dorothy; a red matchbox car that Cam opened on his second birthday is the Scarecrow. For the wizard, we use Mr. Potato Head. The man behind the curtain is a Playmobil truck driver. Toto is represented by a chewed green straw that we picked up at Starbucks. I get to be Auntie Em this morning, and Cameron is playing both the roles of Tin Man and the Wicked Witch.
My favorite character is the Cowardly Lion: a wad of sheep's wool wrapped around a broken tongue depressor and secured with pipe cleaners. Cam and I made it last month at our farm-hosted playgroup. Every time I see it out of the corner of my eye, I wonder how on earth a handful of pubic hair has ended up on my coffee table.
"I Tin Man! I stuck!" Cam cries, beginning our game.
"You can't talk." I remind him. "Dorothy hasn't oiled your mouth yet."
Once he becomes unstuck, Cam likes to skip directly to the exciting part. He hands me Mr. Potato Head. "I am the Wizard!" I say in a deep, booming voice.
Now comes Cam's favorite plot twist: Pulling the Playmobil truck driver out from under a pillow, he gleefully announces "Tricked you! I not great big wizard! I just yittle guy!" The wizard's act of deceit and subsequent exposure delights Cam to no end. Sometimes we act out this scene dozens of times.
From here, the menagerie moves on to the castle of the Wicked Witch, who glares at the dump truck and remarks sternly "I no YIKE you, yittle girl!!!" The dump truck responds by tossing a bucket of water (a crayon; burnt sienna) at the Witch, who in turn screams "I melting! I melting! I melting!"
Flash forward to Kansas. The dump truck has been abandoned and the part of Dorothy is now being played by Cam, who flings himself into my arms. "I miss you, Auntie Em!" he cries in a high pitched squeak (his best "girl voice").
"I missed you too, Dorothy! I'm so glad you came back!" I say.
"Yesh. Now Auntie Em nurses Wizard." he says. He hands me Mr. Potato Head and eagerly waits for the feeding to commence.
"Sweetie," I say, breaking character, "Mommy doesn't really want to nurse Mr. Potato Head."
"Just pretend." he tells me.
Duh.
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