amazing feets

“Oh my God, did you see that!? He actually picked it up. He must be the smartest baby in the world...” Michele

They say that love is blind. Based on my short foray into parenthood, I cannot argue. Why, just the other morning, while propping Kael up on his feet like a marionette, he stooped forwards and picked up his beloved peacock, then had to let go of it immediately upon standing erect again to retain balance. Astounding, non? Non? Well, believe it or not, it is to us. Minor and perfectly natural developments such as picking something up off the floor, become minor miracles highlights of the day to a new parent - especially when they are your child's first.

Another, um, more solid example, is pooing. Most of us, if we are lucky, spend several minutes of each day on the porcelain throne getting rid of food previously ingested. But Kael's digestive system, which is not yet running at full capacity, drops the kids off at the pool on a somewhat alarmingly irregular basis. In fact, he sometimes goes almost 12 days without excreting that excess waste festering in his young colon, which Doctor J assures us is not abnormal behaviour for breastfed babies*. Sure, it makes for less stink and mess to clean up, but on other hand, notre petit trésor is obviously uncomfortable during those periods when he's all bunged up. He gets cranky when he hasn't pooed in a while, as do you and I. So when at last I get that text message from Michele announcing “Poop there it is!” or something along those lines, a mix of elation and pride prompts me to involuntarily emit a boisterous “woohoo”. Afterwards, I must of course explain to my curious co-workers that I haven't won the lottery, but that my son has just defecated. Their blank, confused stares hint that they just aren't as impressed as I am.

I'm quickly finding out that parenthood, such as life, is all about the small victories.

Spring arrived early here in BC and the signs of blossoming and joy were everywhere, including our wee man. He is now fully awake and those big, blue eyes of his that even I can't help get lost in, reflect the tremendous growing curiosity he has for his surroundings. Just as Dr Karp had assured us, it took him a full three months to accept that he can't retreat back into the womb and that this outside world is here to stay. Besides, maybe he's starting to realize that his parental units aren't that evil after all...The hair dryer was officially retired in March, though it still sits in the same spot, gathering dust, reminding us of trying times past. But we haven't forgotten its integral contribution to our keeping us somewhat sane. We are even considering encasing and donating it to the museum of colic as a former war hero.

The latest trend continues to be putting anything and everything within grasp into his mouth. (“Kael, be careful, you don't know where Papa's fingers' have been!” warns Michele. She's right of course). And I'm talking anything within range of those chubby little fingers he clearly had the misfortunes of inheriting from Daddy’s genes. He also enjoys chomping on his own feet. It's really quite impressive. He discovered his feet while lounging on the changing table. The insert-into-mouth reflex immediately sprung into action as he instinctively grabbed onto the heel of his foot and proceeded to shove it into his mouth like a Popsicle. His fans, ogling over him, went mad with excitement, egging him on for more, and finally daring him to stick them both in at the same time - which he eventually succeeded in doing thanks to some great persistence. What talent! What a feat! Ah, definitely another perk to being a new Dad is to finally have licence to get away with the dad jokes...

Even though the colicky period is officially done (big sigh of relief), that doesn't stop us from still having a Scorpio to deal with. He knows what he wants and he finds a, shall we say, very direct way to let us know when he doesn't get it. His vocabulary for expressing disgust is quickly evolving, as screeches are longer lasting and higher pitched while grunts grow angrier and deeper resounding; and yet, at the other end of the gamut of emotions, his grins also spread wider and his eyes sparkle with joy. Indeed, for the vast majority of the time, he is a healthy, happy baby. Who would have thunk after the trials of those first three months? You really do think it’s going to last forever. If you know any expecting parents, do be sure to let them know that even if their little bundle of scream doesn't seem to enjoy the outside world in the beginning, to persevere to show love and patience. The transformation will happen eventually, no matter how improbable it seems when he prefers the drone of the dryer over your own kisses.

At six months, he began to wear his own food. I mean, he started eating solid foods. Let's face it, more of it winds up on his face, bib, seat, floor and dog than in his mouth. Just prior to his first feed, he'd been anxiously watching us at the table while we ate dinner as if to say, “Yo, that looks good, hook me up!” So we did, though not exactly with the same shit as we ate. My favourite part is watching his reaction when introducing a new food. It catches him off guard initially so it begins with a look of bewilderment, which is closely followed by a scrunching of the face similar to the look you get when biting into a lemon. Finally, you get his verdict. If the face stays sour and he cries, it means that he's not crazy about this time around but maybe he'll find it more pleasurable next time. And if his regard remains neutral, it means he adores it. He also likes to suck up the water, too, gulping it down as if he had just spent 40 days and nights crossing the Gobi. He often ends up gasping and panting, or more commonly gagging to the point of his face almost turning blue. It's all or nothing with this kid – or, to use Michele's code, he's very intense - which is what I love about him already.

********************************************************************************

A little while back, I was waiting outside La Grotta del Fromaggio while Michele went in to purchase some mate and cheese – standard achat n'est-ce pas? - rocking a dozing baby and keeping a jittery Flea out of trouble with other canine and miniature humans alike. A couple with a young baby about half the size of Kael were sitting outside on the patio enjoying a coffee in the spring-like warmth. The Dad, noticing my load, struck up a conversation. We agreed on the miraculous nature of parenthood and learned that our respective offspring were born just four days apart.

- “How is he?” I inquired, expecting to hear of a string of long sleepless nights and intense battles to put him to bed.
- “He's an absolute joy”, the jolly man in the Montreal Canadians cap responded as his boy smiled from ear to ear, “he's been like this from the very beginning.
- “Yeah, fine, but what about the lack of sleep?, I probed, beginning to become suspicious of this new dad's relaxed and much too well-rested vibe.
- “11 hours a night, from the day he was born”, he answered proudly, with a touch of nonchalance – as if it were standard behaviour.
- “Pardon? As in1-1 eleven? As in 7-11? Here's a free a piece of advice that could save you from an evil glare, don’t tell Michele what you just told me when she comes out!” I warned.

Kael does not sleep eleven hours a night. Not even close. In fact, he continues to wake up two or three times a night, out of habit rather than necessity at this stage of the game. Michele faithfully stammers out of bed to take care of his mammary needs. He only wants one thing, and daddy is not equipped to supply it. But that will all change, we hope, when I take my parental leave from work in July. Not the booby part, but him not needing the booby... hey, come to think of it, I could get that contraption De Niro was wearing in Meet the Fockers. Anyways, while I'm on leave it will be my turn to wake up every three or fours - something I haven't done since his colicky days - to soothe him back to sleep and, with any luck, out of the night-time feeding habit.


If you're wondering why it took so long for me to write, it's because I've been busier than a colony of ants that just had their mound knocked over by a clumsy child. In an attempt to make up for the half of the salary I will be lacking, I took an extra part-time job as a soccer coach to make up the amount I won't be getting. In order to pull it off however, it also required me to work the 6-2 shift at my main job for the 2 ½ months I coached. That's a 6 am start incidentally. And a dog to walk before work. And the Vancouver Whitecaps to cover on weekends. And a travel writing course to take. And spending as much time as I can with my son. And hey, why not sprinkle a few dj gigs in there to really ensure maximum busy-ness. One day I did all three: work, coaching then djing. I kept thinking of the In Living Colour skit with the hardest working West Indian family. What? Only 3 job!? Oh, and there's Michele, my bride to be, my spiritual partner, waiting in the wings, wondering when I'd make some time for her. A jack of all trades and master of none, it's long been my vice. I want to do it all NOW. Unfortunately, Michele is often the one who gets put on the backburner and I don't thank her enough for being so patient with me and for being the best thing that ever happened on planet earth.

The thing is: the corporate environment is getting to me. Don't get me wrong, as far as financial company's go, my work is decent. The people are very nice, my bosses are supportive and not in the least bit overbearing, and the company's benefits are excellent. For that I am grateful. It's just that, I don't care for what I'm doing. I go through the motions. I accept my situation, but I can’t bring myself to be enthusiastic about it. They (the royal they) will try to spread the word that you can’t be doing what you love and make money, but there are those who ignore them and do it anyway. I believe I can be one of those, too. Why not? What I do need to bear in mind is that it probably won't happen overnight and that I will have to be more patient. As relaxed and tolerant as I am with most things, I'm not a patient person at all when it comes to me not having things go as I deem they should.

Overall, everything is wonderful as we celebrate one year in Vancouver. Summer took its sweet ass time arriving, but now that its here, it has put the whole city in a good mood. The other day I took Flea out to Mt Seymour to do some hiking while Michele and Kael were away visiting grandma and grandpa on the island. From the time we left our apartment to the time we were frolicking among the giant, moss covered cedars was twenty minutes max. Later this afternoon, we'll be bbqing at the beach. You just can't beat this city – when it's nice.

Coming home after work is still the best part of my day. Flea and her oversized ears, having heard the distinct sound of my bicycle from 2 km away, is there to greet me at the gate. Amazingly, she hasn't lost one ounce of enthusiasm in all the years I've known her. And when I walk in the door, Kael, who is as elated to see me as I am him, never fails to break out into that beautiful smile, showing off his single bottom tooth. And then I get a soft kiss from Michele to top it all off. At this point, all is perfect in the universe, even if for just one fleeting moment, every single day. And while we may not live in the biggest apartment, or have a fancy car, I sure am thankful for what we've got.

Viva espana! Viva Torres!

oj

* This was started a few months back, before things got a bit crazy, which is pretty much ancient history as fast as the Kman's developments go. He has now joined the realm of regulars since he began eating solids.

Final word: George Carlin passed away recently. The man was not only funny and witty, he was able to break down social behaviour with the intelligence of of a Phd. Case and point, check this video out: http://www.jibjab.com/view/87283