Week of July 31, 2002
It's been an unusual week for Owen. I think he's making up for his week without food by eating everything he can lay his hands on. Normally he's not much for dinner, since by 5 he's close enough to bedtime to have lost interest in eating, but this week dinner is as much as a hit as any other meal. I guess babies 12 to 21 months are at their most versatile as far as foodstuffs and we're trying to present a variety of things for him to sample. So far so good, he's pretty game for it all. His current favorite is mushrooms, and he'll pick them right out of anything we serve to eat first. I think that he does have hobbit blood after all.He's been more clingy than usual too, coming over for hugs and wanting us to snuggle up and read to him. He's been sleeping terribly, and often all it takes to calm down his heartrending tears is some snuggling in the rocking chair (not that calm = ready to go back to sleep). We'll be glad when he stops waking up again, and wish we knew what was up. Maybe it's just a phase and at the moment he needs more contact. It must be hard to be on the edge of toddlerdom -- anxious to explore but needing reassurance, feeling torn between the familiar and the new. Scott and I are out of practice getting by on < 4 hours of sleep, but I try to remind myself that when Owen was at his worst, 4 hours in one block would have seemed like nirvana. It's handy that I fall asleep quickly, and sleep heavily, poor Scott fares poorly during these nights of broken sleep.
Owen's discovered kissing in earnest -- I'll look down and he's got his lips pressed up against my leg or my collarbone. He looks up grinning, proud of himself. Not sure if he's just exploring or mimicking, but it's incredibly endearing. He's also been nursing first thing in the morning. After 4+ months of complete disinterest in nursing, this seems to be part of the clinging thing and unfortunately, is taking place after I finally gave up pumping. I don't know if he's getting much of any milk, but he's doing his best to poke and prod and knead me into production. I feel like a dried up old cow.
He's finally climbed the stairs to the top. For the last few weeks he's just been practicing the first 4 or 5 steps, getting up and down them like a pro. He's cautious, and we all seemed happy with that arrangement. We figured that he was a little edgy about going to the very top because the stairs are open and well, I'd be scared if I were 2 1/2 feet tall. Alas, he finally realized he could just keep going past step 5, and now all he wants to do is go up and down the stairs. He's fast, that gate better go up soon.
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One interesting facet of our morning ritual at Rao's is the feeling of community it gives us. Or is it having a child that has done that? Before Owen, we didn't spend that much time walking around our town. We weren't in a position to observe things, notice patterns, and recognize faces. But having a place where we hang out each day at the same time, even a person with poor observation skills like myself can recognize people. There's a cadre of familiar faces, some of whom actually know Owen's name. We look for them, and miss then when they're not there. We know what they drink, what they eat. They're strangers, but they're now part of our world.
Scott and I are so shy, we rarely introduce ourselves or even get past feeling anonymous. Anonymity was always comforting and safe. But Owen has forced us out and about, and we've even been greeted on the street with a "Hello couple from Rao's!". It's eerie, and strangely comforting. Nothing bad has come of this loss of anonymity (slight as it is), and I like these quick interactions. They give me a sense of place and of continuity. Connectedness. We are part of the world here.
Sometimes I feel badly, toting a child who may intrude on the solitude of someone's coffee, or who will refuse to smile when someone is earnestly trying to get his attention. But most of the time, our ritual is a great pleasure. Our familiarity with our environment, this net of people and feeling of community, has added an unexpected depth to our world. I am enjoying its presence, having never noticed its absence. It helps, I imagine, that the framework of knowing and being known is just a tiny edge of this world. It doesn't feel confining, because it is slight, but it's more than I've ever known, anywhere. My early life offered no continuity. I was uprooted often, and constantly felt like an outsider in the places we lived. I enjoyed being able to explore new areas, and my father tried to give us a sense of adventure, but I always felt distanced and alone. But here, through sheer number of years, I feel a sense of place that I've never known. If we stay here for Owen's growing up, will he come to hate it for all the reasons that I enjoy it? If so, perhaps it's appropriate for him. We should all sample the other side of things. And there is a whole world he can't see, if he lives here. Maybe he will grow up with the home base that I always craved, and be free to roam because he'll carry it in his heart.
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