Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see
Bluebirds singin' a song
Nothin' but bluebirds all day long
Never saw the sun shinin' so bright
Never saw things goin' so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly
Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
(Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see)
Never saw the sun shinin' so bright
Never saw things goin' so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly
Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
Life just wouldn't be very derned interesting if there wadn't a little irony tossed in every once in a while to throw you off kilt; you know, to spice it up tobaski style.
During Michele's pregnancy - which lasted a challenging ten days beyond the due date - I held secret, future visions of the perfect little angel (strangely sexless at the time) sleeping peacefully in Daddy's arms or looking around quizically and observantly at the world around him/her, patiently eager to learn all about life outside of the womb. Most of us were expecting that Kael would be a relaxed, calm baby, much like both his parents were as babies and continue to be as adults (so long as there are no “Michele Specials” involved of course). I held visions of a perfect little Buddha; mindful; quietly alert, in harmony with his/her surroundings. What I neglected to consider during these moments of ridiculous fantasizing was another character trait shared by both Mama et Papa : highly sensitive.
“Inconceivable!”. One of my all-time favourite lines from the classic, The Princess Bride, quickly turned into “incosolable!”, around the apartment as every time he seemed on the verge of falling asleep or finally quieting down, Mt. Kael would suddenly re-erupt. I have come to call these outbursts “Kael storms” (difficult to forecast) or a “kalestrom” - depending on the intensity of the wail. So you try every trick in the book and still, the kid is acting as if his fingernails are being ripped out. “Inconsolable!”. Mind you, he's been fed, his diapers changed, he's warm enough – so what else could he possibly need? During those first few weeks, you are tortured by that helpless feeling of being at a loss as to what your screaming child desires. When we mentioned our son's condition to the nurse, who came to visit us at home early on, she kindly said that these uber-sensitive babies are common, and moreover, they are the ones that turn out to be world leaders. How flattering! Come to think, of it, I now recall the mentioning of Gandhi's mother almost losing it on her future saint of a son after his 60th straight day of crying for world peace after his birth. Thankfully, she kept her cool, just as we must with our little spirited angel.
So, while very looking forward to Kael being inaugurated as Prime Minister or awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his groundbreaking work with the Dalai Lama, we must somehow learn to deal with our little fussy-gussy of a baby boy. Enter “the formula”. No, I don't mean the evil, overpriced concoction they warned us of in breastfeeding class. No, I'm talking about the “Cuddle Cure”, invented by a hippie doctor in California. We learned of the method from a book called “The Happiest Baby on the Block”, donated to us generously by friends of ours who have graduated on to “Happiest Toddler on the Block” with their son – and Kael's future partner in play crime - Rhys. Now, I admit to being rather skeptical of the gazillion baby books and theories out there (much to Michele's frustration), but I do recommend this one to new parents. It's a wealth of pertinent non-preachy information, well written, witty, and the theories jibe with the evolution of our species. Without going into too much detail, the jist of it is that babies in modern times actually come out three months earlier than they did during our cave-dwelling days; therefore, in the first three months, it is important to mimic the conditions of the womb as closely as possible. Let's not forget that they've got it good in the womb: fed on demand, no germs, no bad breath for parents etc. And then one day boom, they are released from this den of comfort into a bright, overstimulating world. It is said that birth is the most traumatic experience of our lives – though I name a few of the bathroom experiences in China as close runner's up.
The Cuddle Cure, or the 5 Ss, goes something like this: 1) swaddle, 2) side/stomach, 3) ssshhh, 4) swing and 5) soothe. The swaddle, or creation of a baby straightjacket, creates the snugness inside the womb and prevents senseless overstimulation by unpredictable, flailing arms. The stomach or side relates to how he was positioned in the womb. The ssshhh is the most interesting one to us because it is the most important of the Ss when attempting to tame a Kaelstorm. Shhhh, quiet! Don't disturb the baby...Wrong! Apparently, it's loud, very loud, in the womb. We're talking vacuum cleaner at full blast loud in there, what with the blood rushing up and down tubes, swooshing around to and fro. Sshhing in his ear as suggested in the book, however, has not worked once. So, during desperate times, I attempted to use the hair dryer as an alternative. I plugged it in unconvincingly and brought our screeching ball of joy within range of the blasting sound, more expecting it to at least drown out his crying than soothe him. Lo and behold, he zipped right up instantly, staring blankly into space, as if he had never been upset in his life. Ever since that magical moment, the dryer has become our new best friend and we are never more than a few feet away from it at all times. Some friends are predicting he will be strangely drawn to hair salons in the future, but we are willing to take that risk for a few moments of peace.
Kael's next S is the swing, although it isn't so much a swing that he likes as a jiggle. We've gone through a whole host of different dances and jiggles, but the one in favour currently is the Richard Simmons, an aerobic-inspired back and forth step the man? himself would be proud of – though it can be quite demanding on Mom and Dad in the middle of the night. And when the dryer's drone gets a bit tiresome, oj throws on the funk, latin or whatever other booty-shaking grooves he's got and tries to appease him through dance. It rarely works as well as the Richard Simmons, but at least Papa keeps his sanity.
To say the first 6 weeks were not easy is a gross understatement. However, incorrigeably positive, I am happy to report that, on the doorstep of the 3 month mark, the worst of the collicky period is behind us. The situation did become somewhat more tolerable when we finally accepted that we were not doing anything wrong. Cause I tell ya, when your baby's only waking moments, aside from being silenced by the power of the booby, are spent wailing and screaming (I wish I were exaggerating), you start to wonder what the %^^$ you are doing wrong. My tank of patience, usually a rather large tank, was emptied until I was running on fumes almost daily. Coupled with limited sleep, I was actually on the brink as it were. I am prepared to wager that nothing is as uncomfortable as the sound of your child wailing in agony. The experience has also surfaced a side of me I had yet to see, a side that can easily be pinpointed as learned behaviour from my own father: a strong temper. Strangely, a punch in the face or being chopped down in a soccer game has never made me mad, but piercing screeches eminating from my son's impressive chops have. Go figure.
And yes, a kaelstorm is often what I came home to, sometimes after a long day's work. Ahh, poor baby. No, poor Mom actually. Michele is the one who primarily had to deal with the kaelstorms day and night. Jiggling became so constant and intense that she has developed tendinitis, sporting the splints on each hand respectively. Add that to a case of thresh and a general eating disorder that many of you are already fully aware of. Yet, as with the pregnancy, Michele has been a trooper and has admirably kept her sense of humour throughout- mostly anyways. Sleepless nights and non-stop fussiness will take its toll on even the most dedicated parent and we are no exceptions. But, it is Mom who has bared the brunt of it and I wish to pay homage to her at this time. Men just couldn't do what women do.
And now that I've got my typical whinging out of the way, let me say that it has all been worthwhile, beyond shadow of a doubt. All the cliches of being a parent are entirely true. Just looking down at that cute, handsome face sleeping peacefully comes this indescribable sense of joy that arises from deep within my heart. It is a feeling that remains unparaleled. It's Beauty. It's Love. It's Creation. And this time, it is very, very personal. Do you want me to go on? The ladies do, but the men are like, move on there fruitcake.
A few weekends ago, bless it, we got our first taste of baby sans constant fussiness. Kael actually had a few minutes of quiet awareness – something I'd heard babies' do, though was beginning to suspect only a rumour- where he would stare up at me, eyes wide open with pursed lips soundless. It was amazing. We were really able to enjoy him. The notion of even the remote possibility, at some point in the future, of life with Kael without wail, sent shots of positivity rushing through our veins.
Now at virtually 3 months old, Kael is becoming more and more expressive with each passing day. The best part of each day, by leaps and bounds - provided the skies are clear - is coming home from work, and seeing Kael's face light up when he sees me. Priceless. No matter how elated I've ever felt, whether at the best party or winning a championship, nothing compares to the feeling of my beautiful boy smiling up at me with his huge blues eyes. We usually just stare at each other for awhile, unable, unwilling, to steer our gaze elsewhere.
And yet this angel of a boy remains a “spirited” one, challenging Mom and Dad's patience to the max at times, by refusing to go down (ie sleep) without a fight or fuss. His spiritedness confirms our appropriate choice of names for, as Kael is a Gaelic name meaning mighty warrior. His signals, which initially were as indecipherable as the map of the Tokyo subway system, are slowly starting to make sense as we get to know and trust one another. Patterns emerge, though they are still about as reliable as the weather at this point. We aren't completely out of the woods, but we're close.
And when I recall those first few days at home, when, sleep-deprived and exhausted, you suddenly find yourself home with this helpless, screaming little being - completely dependent on you for survival – and you look at one another with that, “Ok, now what?” expression, it does seem like a long time ago already. You spend the better part of a year preparing for that moment, and then when it arrives, you just don't know what to do. We've already witnessed quite a change in our little guy during that period. He's doubled his birth weight and outgrown his first set of clothes faster than Flea gobbling down a piece of meat.
And, of course, even when his “spirited” phase cools down, we know there awaits an equally challenging next step phase on deck to put us to the test. These stages of his development, I suspect, are precisely what makes parenting so rewarding in the end. To gradually witness and be a part of his evolution until , he reaches adulthood, is a journey worth looking forward to. As natural and common a process as it is, it really is the miracle of life when it happens to you. Or, at least, it is as it is happening to me.
Recently, we had a full week of sunshine here in the rainy city and it has given everyone a little extra skip in their step. The stunning backdrop of scintillating golden, snow-capped peaks, seen from any vantage point around Vancouver, has indeed been an amazing sight to behold. And while walking back from my morning walk with Flea today, I happened to pass by the winter's farmers' market only steps away from our building, where some musicians were swinging to a great rendition of the wonderful classic “Blue Skies”. Yep, no matter happens, with Kael and Michele in my life, there'll be nothin' but blue skies – and blue eyes – from now on.
oj
And speaking of music, I've compiled a top five list of Kael inspires tunes. See if you can guess the real song by replacing the word in italics with a real word.
1) “Booby Nights”
2) “Wrapped like an Egyptian”
3) “Peein' (Over You)”
4) “Jiggling Baby”
5) “Burp It Out (Loud and Clear)"
Can you guess the real song?
Also, if anyone wants to see more pics, check out Michele's Facebook site. Just search for Michele Black.For now anyways...
