"I don't mean to brag or anything ..."
Jenn waited patiently for me to complete my sentence. She had heard it before.
"... I mean, I wouldn't say we have THE cutest baby in the world, but I would say she's probably in the top three." Pause. "Maybe the top two. Tell me, are the other mothers in the group jealous of Zinnia's beauty and overall talent? If she's going to be the Savior of the World, she's going to have to get used to being the center of attention, maybe learn how to drool a little less as she gets older."
Jenn put down her Baby Bag--a canvas tote with a floral design stuffed with diapers, wipes, a change of clothes for both mother and child, a bottle of water as well as two or three bottles of formula, a fuzzy blanket, socks, a little knit hat, some energy bars, an apple, and some plastic toys for Zinnia to gum--and began to tell me about her group. The mama/babies meet every- other-week for support and to socialize, and so the babies have a chance to demonstrate their skill, talent, and overall beauty.
Zinnia was cradled in Jenn's arms as we spoke. When Jenn started to head toward the back to use the bathroom, Zinnia leaned toward me and reached her little arm out in my direction. The gesture surprised both of us. Zinnia had never so obviously indicated her desire to be transferred from one parent to the other before. I felt a little awe, and the shutters of my heart--as is so often the case these days--once again shot open.
Parenthood, of course, is one long litany of one first after the next. Indeed, last Sunday was my first full day alone with Zinnia. By myself. Me. Zinnia. Alone.
Jenn had gone off to peddle her wares at a craft show--a fundraiser for a birthing center--leaving me with the Herculean-task of spending six-and-a-half, unabated hours with our daughter. Gasp! the reader might well exclaim, but I swear it's true. And I don't mean to brag or anything ... but ... well, her is a retro-diary of the day:
11:00--Jenn prepares to leave while Zinnia sleeps in the rear bedroom. I speak to her in semi-hushed tone so as to honor my often cited credo: "Always let sleeping babies lie." Jenn is speaking in normal tones and telling me what she wants loaded up in the truck.
11:07--She leaves. A brave thing for a new mother to do--to "abandon" her baby daughter like this for the first real stretch of time. I imagine there is an primal, Oh-My-God-I-Hope-My Child-Is-Still-Alive-When-I-Get-Home anxiety that accompanies this first outing for many mothers.
(Jenn told me later that a wave of fathers-with-babies made their appearance at around the 2-3 hour mark. Whether this was at the request of the various mothers working the event or the men had simply hit their collective babysitting walls, we'll never know. When I heard this, I will own to having a feeling of smug pride at having survived the entire day with my own daughter. Alone. By myself. Me.)
11:23--It's Aliiivve! Zinnia stirs. I go back to the rear bedroom where my daughter is flailing and thrashing about in her blanket, as if to say, "Enough! It is time for me explore the mysteries of the universe. But first, slave, bring me a bottle, and change this soiled diaper! Chop, chop!"
Let it be written, let it be done.
11:35--With a full belly and loins freshly girded, we emerge to ... do what exactly? We decide to mill about for a bit.
"I know," I say, "lets go pet Duma the kitty .... Okay, now lets go say hi to Honey."
Elapsed time: One minute, thirty seconds.
11:37--I strap Zinnia into the Baby Ka'tan and check the football scores. The K'tan is a sling comprised of two loops of fabric bound together by a sturdy ring of cotton. One of the loops--well, lets find a picture online:
Looks like a sumo loincloth, doesn't it? When occupied by a baby, it looks like this:
Or this
It even comes in a camo design in case one happens to find oneself, you know, in the underbrush with one's baby while stalking a 12 point buck:
Not to put too fine a point on it, but the K'tan is a lifesaver-and-a-half. It frees up a parents hands to do other things like ... like ...
11:43 I pace back-and-forth with Zinnia, Raffi blasting over quad Blaupunkts in the background. She stays calm for a good 35 minutes before she starts to get squirmy.
12:18: She gets a little squrmier.
12:19: Z. lips curl into a pout.
12:19.30: I remove Zinnia from the sling and put her in the bouncy chair. She squawks in protest.
"Papa, why are you placing me in this apparatus? Do you not understand by now how I like to be mobile? The intractable call of my soul dictates that I explore the world; I must saturate my senses, express my vocal range, use my physical body to become one with space and time while ... "
To the outside observer it sounds like this: "Waaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!
12:20 Z. settles down and sucks on her bottle. She polishes it off like an alcoholic at last-call.
12:22--I scoop her out of the chair and we head back to the bedroom where I prop her up on her own feet before letting her free fall into the down comforter. It evokes a giggle. Repeat.
12:30--Tummy time. Z. rolls over with regularity, but can't quite free her bottom arm which she often finds pinned under her body. Duma the Cat comes in to explore the ruckus. She looks at Zinnia and gives her foot a perfunctory sniff. Oh, it's you. Duma saunters out as quickly as she appeared.
12:40--Time to go for a walk. On these occasions, I ask myself, "How would mommy dress you?" then dial it back a layer. I change Zinnie's diaper, put on an extra pair of socks, her pink fuzzy bunny jacket, pack two bottles (formula and water), put her in the stroller, and off we go.
She cranes her neck over the small, brown comforter I've crammed around her legs and upper body so she can see over the blanket's puffiness. She looks for all intent and purpose as if she's going out for a one-horse open sleigh ride.*
We strike out for the outback (i.e. the bike trail behind our housing complex), and walk a loop that--best approximation--is roughly 1.66 miles. Zinnia likes movement--loves movement--and she starts to babble as we make the turn northward to head back to the house. Her babbling suddenly stops, and I peak inside the stroller. Z is snoring.
1:30--Back home. I roll Zinnia into the house, pull her out of the stroller, and place her on the bed. Big mistake. She wakes-up within minutes. Mental note to self: ALWAYS let Sleeping Babies lie.
1:31-2:15 A blur of time, noteworthy in that kick-off for the Packer game was at 2:15. I sing the praises of Aaron Rodgers to Zinnia who appears disturbingly neutral.
2:30--I put her back in the K'tan, and we dance around a bit. Zinnia is a little dancing queen.
2:45--Diaper change.
3:07--I look at the clock. Is it broken or what?
3:21--The Packers are up, but time has slowed to the consistency of molasses. I notice that babies are, well, quite dull to be around. I plug in a sports podcast.
3:30--Halftime. I give Jenn a call to see how things are going. She hasn't sold anything yet.
"So are you coming home early?" I say, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.
"Nope. I'm going to stay to the bitter end," she says cheerfully.
"Excellent." Me 50% meaning it.
3:35--We start cleaning house and tidying up. Zinnia is quite philosophical about this, and is happy with whatever, just so we stay in constant motion. I like the challenge of dusting with a baby strapped to my belly and consider whether I should clean the windows and sliding glass doors before deciding against it. The risk of a sudden breeze blowing Windex back into her face is simply not worth the risk. I give myself a mental pat on the back for making a sound fatherly decision. By myself. Me.
3:55--Time for another walk, This time Zinnia is squirmy and whinier then before. Her nose turns pale red, and I project she is confused and a little irritated: Wait--what? Didn't we just do this?
Yes, child. Yes we did.
4:20--Heading down the home stretch--a little over an hour to go. I don't care how cute and brilliant she is, I'm tired, hungry, and bored from hanging out with a four month-old all afternoon. I also feel a deep appreciation for the job that Jenn does on a daily basis. She loves spending time with Zinnia more than anything else. Being with a baby is the most concentrated mindfulness practice I have ever participated in.
4:45--Tick-tock, Tick-tock ...
5:10--Jenn calls to tell me she is at the grocery store--a five minute drive from our house.
"Do you want anything?" she asks.
Yeah, fucking come home as soon as possible. "Animal crackers," I say at last. (I like to crush them up and mix them with my yogurt.)
"You got it. Anything else?"
"No. See you soon."
5:25--Zinnia and I take a ride on the glider chair in our bedroom while I bounce her on the saddle of my knees and sing the Bonanza theme song. This always makes her smile.
5:35--I resist the urge to call Jenn. Where the hell is she? No, no, no--happy thoughts, happy thoughts. I re-focus on Zinnie. She sucks down a bottle like I've been starving her all afternoon. With any luck Z. will be in her happy place by the time mama comes home. I scoop her up and we go outside to greet Jenn. Nothing. Crickets. We go back inside.
5:45--At last! Headlights in the driveway, the garage door opening, an engine turned off, and silence. The front door opens, and mother and daughter have an ecstatic reunion. If our daughter had a tail, she would have thumped it with delight. Both Jenn and Zinnia are enraptured, completely enchanted to see each other again. Z. lets out a series of squeals and giggles while Jenn laughs and rains kisses down upon her head and holds her close.
With Jenn's little excursion, it feels like all of us crossed some sort of threshold. Jenn, now knows she can leave for a period of time and come back to a living, breathing baby. Her world has suddenly expanded, and as an added bonus her trust in her husband has increased as well.
For my part, I knew I would do okay with Zinnia, but didn't really know what to expect. "Doing okay" seems to have a wide range, from "Well, we survived" to "I want to be a stay at home dad for the rest of my life.
I needed to get that initial experience under my belt to feel fully confident as a father. I realized afterward that I had been subtly preparing myself for this very day, not just for the previous couple of weeks (which was certainly true), but for most of my adult life.
It was a good day.
*The comforter has a special meaning to me. It was my father's who, as he sat dying in his favorite recliner seven years ago, kept it on his lap pretty much night-and-day. I'm emotionally attached to very few material possessions in my life, but that blanket has some weight to it.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but the K'tan is a lifesaver-and-a-half. It frees up a parents hands to do other things like ... like ...
11:43 I pace back-and-forth with Zinnia, Raffi blasting over quad Blaupunkts in the background. She stays calm for a good 35 minutes before she starts to get squirmy.
12:18: She gets a little squrmier.
12:19: Z. lips curl into a pout.
12:19.30: I remove Zinnia from the sling and put her in the bouncy chair. She squawks in protest.
"Papa, why are you placing me in this apparatus? Do you not understand by now how I like to be mobile? The intractable call of my soul dictates that I explore the world; I must saturate my senses, express my vocal range, use my physical body to become one with space and time while ... "
To the outside observer it sounds like this: "Waaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!
12:20 Z. settles down and sucks on her bottle. She polishes it off like an alcoholic at last-call.
12:22--I scoop her out of the chair and we head back to the bedroom where I prop her up on her own feet before letting her free fall into the down comforter. It evokes a giggle. Repeat.
12:30--Tummy time. Z. rolls over with regularity, but can't quite free her bottom arm which she often finds pinned under her body. Duma the Cat comes in to explore the ruckus. She looks at Zinnia and gives her foot a perfunctory sniff. Oh, it's you. Duma saunters out as quickly as she appeared.
12:40--Time to go for a walk. On these occasions, I ask myself, "How would mommy dress you?" then dial it back a layer. I change Zinnie's diaper, put on an extra pair of socks, her pink fuzzy bunny jacket, pack two bottles (formula and water), put her in the stroller, and off we go.
She cranes her neck over the small, brown comforter I've crammed around her legs and upper body so she can see over the blanket's puffiness. She looks for all intent and purpose as if she's going out for a one-horse open sleigh ride.*
We strike out for the outback (i.e. the bike trail behind our housing complex), and walk a loop that--best approximation--is roughly 1.66 miles. Zinnia likes movement--loves movement--and she starts to babble as we make the turn northward to head back to the house. Her babbling suddenly stops, and I peak inside the stroller. Z is snoring.
1:30--Back home. I roll Zinnia into the house, pull her out of the stroller, and place her on the bed. Big mistake. She wakes-up within minutes. Mental note to self: ALWAYS let Sleeping Babies lie.
1:31-2:15 A blur of time, noteworthy in that kick-off for the Packer game was at 2:15. I sing the praises of Aaron Rodgers to Zinnia who appears disturbingly neutral.
2:30--I put her back in the K'tan, and we dance around a bit. Zinnia is a little dancing queen.
2:45--Diaper change.
3:07--I look at the clock. Is it broken or what?
3:21--The Packers are up, but time has slowed to the consistency of molasses. I notice that babies are, well, quite dull to be around. I plug in a sports podcast.
3:30--Halftime. I give Jenn a call to see how things are going. She hasn't sold anything yet.
"So are you coming home early?" I say, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.
"Nope. I'm going to stay to the bitter end," she says cheerfully.
"Excellent." Me 50% meaning it.
3:35--We start cleaning house and tidying up. Zinnia is quite philosophical about this, and is happy with whatever, just so we stay in constant motion. I like the challenge of dusting with a baby strapped to my belly and consider whether I should clean the windows and sliding glass doors before deciding against it. The risk of a sudden breeze blowing Windex back into her face is simply not worth the risk. I give myself a mental pat on the back for making a sound fatherly decision. By myself. Me.
3:55--Time for another walk, This time Zinnia is squirmy and whinier then before. Her nose turns pale red, and I project she is confused and a little irritated: Wait--what? Didn't we just do this?
Yes, child. Yes we did.
4:20--Heading down the home stretch--a little over an hour to go. I don't care how cute and brilliant she is, I'm tired, hungry, and bored from hanging out with a four month-old all afternoon. I also feel a deep appreciation for the job that Jenn does on a daily basis. She loves spending time with Zinnia more than anything else. Being with a baby is the most concentrated mindfulness practice I have ever participated in.
4:45--Tick-tock, Tick-tock ...
5:10--Jenn calls to tell me she is at the grocery store--a five minute drive from our house.
"Do you want anything?" she asks.
Yeah, fucking come home as soon as possible. "Animal crackers," I say at last. (I like to crush them up and mix them with my yogurt.)
"You got it. Anything else?"
"No. See you soon."
5:25--Zinnia and I take a ride on the glider chair in our bedroom while I bounce her on the saddle of my knees and sing the Bonanza theme song. This always makes her smile.
5:35--I resist the urge to call Jenn. Where the hell is she? No, no, no--happy thoughts, happy thoughts. I re-focus on Zinnie. She sucks down a bottle like I've been starving her all afternoon. With any luck Z. will be in her happy place by the time mama comes home. I scoop her up and we go outside to greet Jenn. Nothing. Crickets. We go back inside.
5:45--At last! Headlights in the driveway, the garage door opening, an engine turned off, and silence. The front door opens, and mother and daughter have an ecstatic reunion. If our daughter had a tail, she would have thumped it with delight. Both Jenn and Zinnia are enraptured, completely enchanted to see each other again. Z. lets out a series of squeals and giggles while Jenn laughs and rains kisses down upon her head and holds her close.
With Jenn's little excursion, it feels like all of us crossed some sort of threshold. Jenn, now knows she can leave for a period of time and come back to a living, breathing baby. Her world has suddenly expanded, and as an added bonus her trust in her husband has increased as well.
For my part, I knew I would do okay with Zinnia, but didn't really know what to expect. "Doing okay" seems to have a wide range, from "Well, we survived" to "I want to be a stay at home dad for the rest of my life.
I needed to get that initial experience under my belt to feel fully confident as a father. I realized afterward that I had been subtly preparing myself for this very day, not just for the previous couple of weeks (which was certainly true), but for most of my adult life.
It was a good day.
*The comforter has a special meaning to me. It was my father's who, as he sat dying in his favorite recliner seven years ago, kept it on his lap pretty much night-and-day. I'm emotionally attached to very few material possessions in my life, but that blanket has some weight to it.
1 comment:
This is wonderful, to read about her development and so enjoy your stories. missing you in OregonÜ
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