Tuesday, March 15, 2005
A scene
The first few weeks of a baby's life are hectic by definition, a non-stop whirlwind of three-hour segments marked by nursing, diaper changes, crying (sometimes) and sleep (occassionally). Repeat. And repeat again. The memories I have of this time with Ella are at the same time specific and vague...as in, I recall rocking with her in a chair in our Portland house with the moonlight streaming in through the blinds...but was she 3 days old or 3 months old? I fed her with a drip feeder off my finger until Michelle's milk came in, but was that just for a day? Or was it a week? The timing is what gets fuzzy, mostly, and that is happening even now with Lindsay. You say, oh, she slept from 1 to 3:30 last night, but then was up again at 5:15. No, wait that was two nights ago, or was it?
So, here in black and white, is a specific memory of Lindsay's 19th day on the planet: it was a quiet evening, as the Bean slumbered in the arms of "Auntie" Daphne, over for a visit. The feeding/diapering/wailing cycle commenced around 8:30 p.m., and here we are at 10:15, still waiting for her to go back to sleep. Not exactly waiting -- more like actively pursuing the goal of having Lindsay go back to sleep, using all available means, up to and including (but not only): swaddling, rocking, massaging, shushing, music, low lights, efforts to extract gas, rocking, bouncing, swaying, reswaddling, double-teaming, single-teaming, topping off with breast milk and then rocking again. I somewhat failed in my efforts, but I blame not my ham-handed fathering but the gas pains, which had poor Lindsay alternately doubled up and stretched out in discomfort.
Here's what I want to remember, specifically: me sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, lullaby-type music playing softly on the stereo, a low-light lamp on a table on my left. Nicola is sitting on the floor, legs apart, with Lindsay lying between them on her back on the flower-shaped carpet. The mommy...this beautiful, dazzling woman who's brought so much to my life...is rubbing Lindsay's stomach and chest and talking softly to her, giving her daughter love and nurturing and patience and a little bit of her soul. And it's just perfect, and I want to remember this.
I want this memory to take a permanent place in my brain. It could replace, say, the dorky memory I have of eagerly telling John Pamplin in seventh grade that I went to South of the Border, the cheesiest roadside hotel/entertainment complex in all of the greater southern U.S. I didn't just tell him...I shouted it across a crowded hallway, like he would give a shit. We weren't even particularly good friends, really. Why do I remember that?
I want to remember how it felt to be in the nursery, today, March 15, 2005, and watch Nicola blossom as a mother before my eyes. I don't want to remember...took a 45 minute break there to help out with Lindsay. She was fussy and then totally passed out in my arms in 2 seconds after I took her from Nicola, and then the Bean proceeded to fight sleep for the next three-quarters of an hour as I fought to stay awake. This "challenge" in no way diminishes the special quality of this memory...no, really!
My point is, I'd like to be able to recall what it felt like to have a newborn, because they grow up so fast and the state/age you're in becomes the dominant memory...they seem like they were always that age. Looking at pictures of Ella when was two years old...it's like a completely different kid, and yet she seems the same to me in so many ways.
So, remember tonight...and forget that Jay Berwanger from the University of Chicago once won the Heisman Trophy (maybe the first?).
So, here in black and white, is a specific memory of Lindsay's 19th day on the planet: it was a quiet evening, as the Bean slumbered in the arms of "Auntie" Daphne, over for a visit. The feeding/diapering/wailing cycle commenced around 8:30 p.m., and here we are at 10:15, still waiting for her to go back to sleep. Not exactly waiting -- more like actively pursuing the goal of having Lindsay go back to sleep, using all available means, up to and including (but not only): swaddling, rocking, massaging, shushing, music, low lights, efforts to extract gas, rocking, bouncing, swaying, reswaddling, double-teaming, single-teaming, topping off with breast milk and then rocking again. I somewhat failed in my efforts, but I blame not my ham-handed fathering but the gas pains, which had poor Lindsay alternately doubled up and stretched out in discomfort.
Here's what I want to remember, specifically: me sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, lullaby-type music playing softly on the stereo, a low-light lamp on a table on my left. Nicola is sitting on the floor, legs apart, with Lindsay lying between them on her back on the flower-shaped carpet. The mommy...this beautiful, dazzling woman who's brought so much to my life...is rubbing Lindsay's stomach and chest and talking softly to her, giving her daughter love and nurturing and patience and a little bit of her soul. And it's just perfect, and I want to remember this.
I want this memory to take a permanent place in my brain. It could replace, say, the dorky memory I have of eagerly telling John Pamplin in seventh grade that I went to South of the Border, the cheesiest roadside hotel/entertainment complex in all of the greater southern U.S. I didn't just tell him...I shouted it across a crowded hallway, like he would give a shit. We weren't even particularly good friends, really. Why do I remember that?
I want to remember how it felt to be in the nursery, today, March 15, 2005, and watch Nicola blossom as a mother before my eyes. I don't want to remember...took a 45 minute break there to help out with Lindsay. She was fussy and then totally passed out in my arms in 2 seconds after I took her from Nicola, and then the Bean proceeded to fight sleep for the next three-quarters of an hour as I fought to stay awake. This "challenge" in no way diminishes the special quality of this memory...no, really!
My point is, I'd like to be able to recall what it felt like to have a newborn, because they grow up so fast and the state/age you're in becomes the dominant memory...they seem like they were always that age. Looking at pictures of Ella when was two years old...it's like a completely different kid, and yet she seems the same to me in so many ways.
So, remember tonight...and forget that Jay Berwanger from the University of Chicago once won the Heisman Trophy (maybe the first?).
// posted by Bill @ 10:10 PM 
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He won the first Heisman trophy and didn't go pro.
Now I need to have a child so I can forget that.
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Now I need to have a child so I can forget that.
# posted by 
: 1:13 PM
: 1:13 PM << Home
