My Grandpa died last Thursday and the funeral was today. I was taking the baby to see him on Wednesday (he and my Grandma lived three hours away) when he took a turn for the worse. So my one-day trip turned into six days. Ben and I lived out of plastic shopping bags and his diaper bag for three days until Ron arrived with a suitcase.
So I'm back home again and grateful to be here. Ron and I were both becoming a little unglued. I had him bring half my wardrobe when he came over because I didn't know what fit me anymore and I STILL ended up at the mall twice, hunting down shoes for me and a tie for Ron.
Ben wore nothing but sleepers for two days until Ron arrived. Thank God Ben is such a good baby. I was dragging him to various relatives' homes, putting him to sleep in his carseat, on his activity mat, in my baby cousin's bassinet. He handled it very well. Then Grandpa died Thursday night at 10:30 p.m. and I dragged poor Ben out of bed, bundled him up and hauled him to where the family was gathered. We didn't get home until 2 a.m.
I'm trying to deal with this OK; after all Grandpa was
87. He was a remarkable person, born in 1917 to Polish immigrants, served in World War II, went to work as a bank teller after the war and worked his way up to become a vice president. At age 62, he retired early because his doctor said his emphysema would kill him within 10 years. Well, we got 15 extra years. It was the emphysema in the end, though; Hospice put him on a morphine-induced coma because he was struggling to breathe.
Anyway, he was a great person. He bought me my first car and helped our family after my dad died. He built his own house, grew grapes and made wine, did carpentry and read history books. He was brilliant.
Sometimes I miss San Francisco so much and second-guess our decision to return. But I guess this is why we did, huh? I was able to be there for my mother and my Grandma and Grandpa saw Ben twice before he died.
This is vintage Grandpa: When Ron and I arrived last Easter with Ben, my Grandpa gave us a card with $20 in it. Ben was in top form, laughing and smiling and giggling and blowing bubbles and just staring at Grandpa. Grandpa was so charmed that he pulled out his wallet (he was having a good day, healthwise) and said "Ben, you've just earned another $20" and made Ron take it. I've put the card and money aside and will buy something special with it.
##
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Ah, There's the Epiphany
Something amazing happened last week. It began as an ordinary Tuesday. I decided to take Ben to our usual weekly movie. I put him in a cute outfit and went easy on the Vaseline (for his dry skin) so his head wouldn’t shine like a cue ball.
The cat was moping around the house, emerging only to yowl pitifully or shred newspapers in an orgy of frustration. She was starved for attention. Hell, I was starved for attention. Ron was exhausted and I was having trouble connecting to others on more than a superficial level. I tried to sound upbeat, but it was all I could do not to bawl into the phone.
On some level, I was just going through the motions, functioning by rote, doing what I was supposed to do. I changed him, made bottles, rocked him, fussed over his little red face. I smiled and talked to him because that was good for babies. But sometimes I concentrated on just making it through until I could hand him off to Ron.
And so it went until last Tuesday. Going places with Ben has been very stressful for me. I was always doing something boneheaded, like losing his pacifier or propping him up weirdly in a cart or trudging through miles of mall with his carrier jolting against my leg. The simplest tasks like picking up film, getting groceries, filling a pescription seemed overwhelming. I was always overdressing him for winter weather, and the poor little thing would sweat copiously under all those layers.
But I decided to go to the movie after all. This meant I had to get myself presentable -- no easy feat as Ben cried and whimpered. Then he quieted long enough for me to eat a toasted bagel. A small thing, but important. It kept my blood sugar from dropping, strengthened a link with my past life and settled my nerves. As I dusted the bagel crumbs off my hands, that’s when my Tuesday really began. I couldn’t be a complete screwup if I was able to locate, toast and eat a bagel.
The stroller worked beautifully. I wheeled Ben into the mall and joined the line of strollers outside the movie theater. I was even able to have a little popcorn and Coke. I managed to feed Ben with a minimum of drama, although I did squirt formula all over the seats and drop his pacifier on the filthy floor.
Giddy with success, I decided we would shop after the movie. Ben just stared at me like the angel he was while I tried on 10 pairs of pants and a half-dozen tops. As a reward, I bought him booties and a funny hat.
Elated, I called Ron, thinking of stopping by the office. But his harried hello reminded me that it was deadline day, so I made up another excuse and got off the phone. I then called Caroline, who’s laid up from knee surgery. I got directions, bundled Ben and stroller back into the car and headed to her house.
Ben was his lovable, charming self and cheered her up. But soon it approached 3 o’clock. Ben was hungry again and I was fading fast. He cried most of the way home and I was hungry too. I set up his bottle while he howled and a sandwich for myself. I managed to feed him while wolfing down the sandwich and afterwards we just sat on the couch, worn out.
I didn’t have the energy to rock him to sleep, so I just wrapped him in a blanket and took him into my darkened bedroom. I tucked him in and ay beside him, holding his pacifier until we fell asleep. We slept for three hours. Ron found us there when he got home at seven.
A typical day, almost mundane. But a miracle happened that day. That was the day I stopped seeing Ben as a fussy little being who made everything difficult. He was my little buddy. We’d spent the day together in a real sense for the first time. We went to the movies and shopped and visited and took a nap. It wasn’t just me doing these things while dragging a heavy appendage along. I’d spent the day with my son and without him, the day would not have been so good.
Books, articles and websites make much of bonding. A lot of it is hooey. But it is important to forge a bond with your baby, to go beyond caregiver and infant. It’s important that the woman sees this being as her child and the baby to see this big person as his mother. That you belong to each other.
For some people, this emotion happens at birth. Hell, some people feel this connection when the line on the pregnancy test is barely pink, naming the baby and reading to it and later playing videotapes of the ultrasound. But for me, there was a gap between how I was supposed to feel and what I actually felt.
Well, now Ben is crying. He’s not trying to interrupt my writing, he’s just hungry. He’s a good boy and and I look forward to spending the day with him. For many mothers, such feelings are a matter of course. For me, it’s a miracle.
##
The cat was moping around the house, emerging only to yowl pitifully or shred newspapers in an orgy of frustration. She was starved for attention. Hell, I was starved for attention. Ron was exhausted and I was having trouble connecting to others on more than a superficial level. I tried to sound upbeat, but it was all I could do not to bawl into the phone.
On some level, I was just going through the motions, functioning by rote, doing what I was supposed to do. I changed him, made bottles, rocked him, fussed over his little red face. I smiled and talked to him because that was good for babies. But sometimes I concentrated on just making it through until I could hand him off to Ron.
And so it went until last Tuesday. Going places with Ben has been very stressful for me. I was always doing something boneheaded, like losing his pacifier or propping him up weirdly in a cart or trudging through miles of mall with his carrier jolting against my leg. The simplest tasks like picking up film, getting groceries, filling a pescription seemed overwhelming. I was always overdressing him for winter weather, and the poor little thing would sweat copiously under all those layers.
But I decided to go to the movie after all. This meant I had to get myself presentable -- no easy feat as Ben cried and whimpered. Then he quieted long enough for me to eat a toasted bagel. A small thing, but important. It kept my blood sugar from dropping, strengthened a link with my past life and settled my nerves. As I dusted the bagel crumbs off my hands, that’s when my Tuesday really began. I couldn’t be a complete screwup if I was able to locate, toast and eat a bagel.
The stroller worked beautifully. I wheeled Ben into the mall and joined the line of strollers outside the movie theater. I was even able to have a little popcorn and Coke. I managed to feed Ben with a minimum of drama, although I did squirt formula all over the seats and drop his pacifier on the filthy floor.
Giddy with success, I decided we would shop after the movie. Ben just stared at me like the angel he was while I tried on 10 pairs of pants and a half-dozen tops. As a reward, I bought him booties and a funny hat.
Elated, I called Ron, thinking of stopping by the office. But his harried hello reminded me that it was deadline day, so I made up another excuse and got off the phone. I then called Caroline, who’s laid up from knee surgery. I got directions, bundled Ben and stroller back into the car and headed to her house.
Ben was his lovable, charming self and cheered her up. But soon it approached 3 o’clock. Ben was hungry again and I was fading fast. He cried most of the way home and I was hungry too. I set up his bottle while he howled and a sandwich for myself. I managed to feed him while wolfing down the sandwich and afterwards we just sat on the couch, worn out.
I didn’t have the energy to rock him to sleep, so I just wrapped him in a blanket and took him into my darkened bedroom. I tucked him in and ay beside him, holding his pacifier until we fell asleep. We slept for three hours. Ron found us there when he got home at seven.
A typical day, almost mundane. But a miracle happened that day. That was the day I stopped seeing Ben as a fussy little being who made everything difficult. He was my little buddy. We’d spent the day together in a real sense for the first time. We went to the movies and shopped and visited and took a nap. It wasn’t just me doing these things while dragging a heavy appendage along. I’d spent the day with my son and without him, the day would not have been so good.
Books, articles and websites make much of bonding. A lot of it is hooey. But it is important to forge a bond with your baby, to go beyond caregiver and infant. It’s important that the woman sees this being as her child and the baby to see this big person as his mother. That you belong to each other.
For some people, this emotion happens at birth. Hell, some people feel this connection when the line on the pregnancy test is barely pink, naming the baby and reading to it and later playing videotapes of the ultrasound. But for me, there was a gap between how I was supposed to feel and what I actually felt.
Well, now Ben is crying. He’s not trying to interrupt my writing, he’s just hungry. He’s a good boy and and I look forward to spending the day with him. For many mothers, such feelings are a matter of course. For me, it’s a miracle.
##
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Shooting Up
Ben had his two-month shots on Friday. He took it like a man. I thought I'd be a mess, but I handled it fine. The nurse (who'd obviously seen nutcase moms before) said I could step out if it was too much for me. I just looked at her like she was nuts. She expected me to LEAVE my baby while he received painful shots? I just kept looking at his face and talking to him. It's for his own good, after all. Then as soon as I picked him up and held him, he quieted down. Such a good boy.
Today we went to see a movie. (A theater here has a special matinee for mothers with little babies every Tuesday.) Then we went shopping. Then we went to visit the wife of the publisher of the Ann Arbor News. She just had knee surgery and her recovery is slow. She loved seeing and holding Ben, though, who was a real charmer.
But after that we were both hungry and tired, so we went home and ate. I gave Ben his bottle while munching a sandwich and watching "Baby Story" on TLC. It’s this nutty half-hour show that follows some poor woman through the birth process. 15 minutes to meet the happy couple and 15 minutes of anguished birthing.
The parents are ALWAYS a happy, heterosexual, well-off, usually white married couple who always dreamt of children. They often have an adorable toddler already and Daddy is intensely involved. Mommy talks in that annoying sing-song voice that you usually only hear from 30-year kindergarten teachers. Although I've noticed that more women my age with children talk that way ALL THE TIME.
Anyway, the second 15 minutes take you through the birth itself, which is generally a trip. Most of them don't want drugs (??!!) so they hoo and hah through the contractions. One woman had her toddler witness the whole thing. Another woman had her neighbor's 8-year-old grandson in the room, where he stayed for the whole 12-hour labor. Poor kid was exhausted.
So anyway, after that, Ben and I crawled into the bedroom and took a long nap on the bed -- myself, the baby and the kitty. We were wiped out. Ron found us still there when he came home at 7 p.m.
##
Today we went to see a movie. (A theater here has a special matinee for mothers with little babies every Tuesday.) Then we went shopping. Then we went to visit the wife of the publisher of the Ann Arbor News. She just had knee surgery and her recovery is slow. She loved seeing and holding Ben, though, who was a real charmer.
But after that we were both hungry and tired, so we went home and ate. I gave Ben his bottle while munching a sandwich and watching "Baby Story" on TLC. It’s this nutty half-hour show that follows some poor woman through the birth process. 15 minutes to meet the happy couple and 15 minutes of anguished birthing.
The parents are ALWAYS a happy, heterosexual, well-off, usually white married couple who always dreamt of children. They often have an adorable toddler already and Daddy is intensely involved. Mommy talks in that annoying sing-song voice that you usually only hear from 30-year kindergarten teachers. Although I've noticed that more women my age with children talk that way ALL THE TIME.
Anyway, the second 15 minutes take you through the birth itself, which is generally a trip. Most of them don't want drugs (??!!) so they hoo and hah through the contractions. One woman had her toddler witness the whole thing. Another woman had her neighbor's 8-year-old grandson in the room, where he stayed for the whole 12-hour labor. Poor kid was exhausted.
So anyway, after that, Ben and I crawled into the bedroom and took a long nap on the bed -- myself, the baby and the kitty. We were wiped out. Ron found us still there when he came home at 7 p.m.
##
Monday, April 05, 2004
I Wish I Was a Duck
Ron keeps stealing my songs! He’ll hear me sing them to Ben, and then the next day he’s singing them! What am I going to have to do, get them copywrited? This is no trivial issue -- it takes a truly poetic soul to compose lyrics like this:
Oh, I wish I was a duck.
Quack quack quack.
Oh, I wish I was a duck.
Quack quack quack.
I would be so lucky if I was a little ducky.
Oh, I wish I was a duck.
Quack quack quack.
Ron says I can adopt his songs if I like, but since his lyrics run along the lines of ...
I’m a member of the Clean Butt Club,
Clean Butt Club,
Clean Butt Club.
I’m a member of the Clean Butt Club.
My name is Benjamin.
... His offer is less than enticing.
I tell you, if Ron keeps doing this, he’ll soon be a member of the Bruised Head Club.
##
Oh, I wish I was a duck.
Quack quack quack.
Oh, I wish I was a duck.
Quack quack quack.
I would be so lucky if I was a little ducky.
Oh, I wish I was a duck.
Quack quack quack.
Ron says I can adopt his songs if I like, but since his lyrics run along the lines of ...
I’m a member of the Clean Butt Club,
Clean Butt Club,
Clean Butt Club.
I’m a member of the Clean Butt Club.
My name is Benjamin.
... His offer is less than enticing.
I tell you, if Ron keeps doing this, he’ll soon be a member of the Bruised Head Club.
##
Friday, April 02, 2004
It's Probably Not Fatal
It’s hard to still be hurting. I mean, the baby’s over two months old. It’s very discouraging. I’m constantly running a debate in my mind -- should I contact the doctor? Is it getting better? I hesitate to call my doctor. She’s a little nuts, the type where you turn up with a little cough and she says, “Well, it’s probably not walking pneumonia … but we should check.”
Plus I’ve got this screenplay to finish. A local aspiring filmmaker wants to produce a 15-minute movie of “The Europa Society.” (See www.apprenticefilms.com and buy a tote bag.) Writing fiction is the last thing I feel like doing. For years I would have killed for an opportunity like this, and it comes at a time in my life when I’m least able to do it.
Well, at least I can take care of Ben.
##
Plus I’ve got this screenplay to finish. A local aspiring filmmaker wants to produce a 15-minute movie of “The Europa Society.” (See www.apprenticefilms.com and buy a tote bag.) Writing fiction is the last thing I feel like doing. For years I would have killed for an opportunity like this, and it comes at a time in my life when I’m least able to do it.
Well, at least I can take care of Ben.
##
Thursday, April 01, 2004
Bizarre Napping Rituals
I'm finally joining the real world again. Baby Ben is getting bigger, I'm finally feeling better, and spring is FINALLY here. He's sleeping on his activity mat right now (one of those big square pads with dangly toys hanging above).
I keep hearing about these moms and their elaborate napping rituals:
1. Swaddle kid
2. Turn on special lullaby CD
3. Sway for 20 minutes
4. Rock for 20 minutes
5. Put kid in crib
6. Turn on special light-and-music gizmo
7. Lower lights to prescribed level
8. Tiptoe out while holding breath
9. Break into liquor cabinet (Oops, that’s me)
Repeat five times daily.
Some mothers watch their babies like hawks for special signs of tiredness. "If the baby is fussy, it's too late," they say. Is the baby rubbing his eyes? Bobbing his head? Breathing slower? I bet there's a gal in Albany N.Y. taking her baby's blood pressure every hour to identify the optimal nap time.
My kid has "Nap Attacks,” dropping wherever he happens to be when the attack hits. Sometimes he's in his swing, sometimes he's in my arms, sometimes he's in the carseat or on his mat. I usually just leave him wherever he is and cover him up. I don't know, maybe I'm courting disaster and sentencing Ben to a life with insomnia, restless legs, sleep apnea, night sweats and bedwetting.
##
I keep hearing about these moms and their elaborate napping rituals:
1. Swaddle kid
2. Turn on special lullaby CD
3. Sway for 20 minutes
4. Rock for 20 minutes
5. Put kid in crib
6. Turn on special light-and-music gizmo
7. Lower lights to prescribed level
8. Tiptoe out while holding breath
9. Break into liquor cabinet (Oops, that’s me)
Repeat five times daily.
Some mothers watch their babies like hawks for special signs of tiredness. "If the baby is fussy, it's too late," they say. Is the baby rubbing his eyes? Bobbing his head? Breathing slower? I bet there's a gal in Albany N.Y. taking her baby's blood pressure every hour to identify the optimal nap time.
My kid has "Nap Attacks,” dropping wherever he happens to be when the attack hits. Sometimes he's in his swing, sometimes he's in my arms, sometimes he's in the carseat or on his mat. I usually just leave him wherever he is and cover him up. I don't know, maybe I'm courting disaster and sentencing Ben to a life with insomnia, restless legs, sleep apnea, night sweats and bedwetting.
##
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