One Year

Nathaniel is one year old.

His birthday was yesterday, so it's official: Natty Lou has entered his second year of life.

We staged a mini-celebration with our little guy after I returned home from work, in what constituted an hour-long blizzard of phone calls from well wishers, a special dinner of cheese and Greek-style pizza, slices of kiwi and a kids-size Kit Kat and the opening of one gift (more on that later) before Nathaniel melted down and needed to be carted off to bed.

What an evening.

I've said this before, but I had long wrestled with conflicting, if not paradoxical emotions about Natty Lou. Often over the last months, I would look at him and wonder what my life had been before he arrived. It's as if that part of my life never existed. Then again, who is this little being that I'm looking at and is he really somebody who I helped create? How did that happen and what were we thinking?

For some reason, I don't have the "where did he come from" and "is he mine" mental thunderbolts too much anymore. But I sure do still have the "what was my life like before you arrived" thoughts constantly.

There's probably some psychological explanation for all this, all wrapped up in a neat jargonistic phrase that only other psychologists can decipher. But I'll just call it the syndrome of living in the here and now.

And I'm loving this syndrome. If it were a drug, I'd buy the whole supply. If it were beer, I'd but the brewery. If it were basketball, I'd buy the team. If it were ... you get the picture.

Point is, while I may have mentally glazed over the last four decades of my life BC (Before Child), I am thoroughly enjoying the AC (After Child) years. Yes, there are many times that suck. Time is not my own, for example. It has been wrested from me as if it were a bed sheet that's been ripped away while I was sleeping. I gripe about this regularly, by the way. But the truth is I'm so glad Natty Lou is a part of my life that I willingly (albeit grudgingly) sacrifice my time.

I'll also readily admit that the first 4-5 months of Nathaniel's life was hellish. This was not entirely his fault; he regularly had ear infections that made him miserable and dragged Michelle and I to the emotional brink. Michelle and I played "baby baton" in which she would work in the morning, hustle home and relieve me, and I'd hurry off to work the afternoon, half days each, so we could preserve our precious allotment of sick time. We were quite stressed.

And poor Natty. All he knew was that his damn ears hurt like hell. Anytime he got a sniffle, the bacteria would migrate to that pool of stagnant fluid behind his ears, and he'd be in for a hurtin'. Then he would begin wheezing, and we'd have him on the Nebulizer for weeks at a time.

In July came the tubes, and if that's not a Hallelujah moment, I don't know what is. Natty Lou's disposition, which, if it were a weather forecast, let's call it mostly cloudy, changed to mostly sunny practically overnight. His appetite (never a slouch there, really) got better, and he started almost immediately mouthing "Ma ma," "Da da" and most recently "Uh oh" and "Ooh eeh," which we think is a stand-in for our dog's nickname "Louie."

So many changes, physically and mentally, in the first year for Nathaniel. And so many changes for Michelle and I – how we live, what we do, what we want to teach and embody for our little role modelee. So much responsibility. So much pride.

So, so much love.

And that's just the first year.

Can't wait for the second.

Phone Obsession

One of Michelle's coworkers told her a story not too long ago.

The coworker's nephew, almost two years old, had found some loose change in the car. The coworker asked him what he would do with the money.

"Buy milk," he told her cheerfully. "And beers."

Somewhat shocked, she finally asked him, "Why are you buying beers?"

"For daddy," he replied without pausing to think.

You hear about how children mimic their parents. Often, it's humorous; sometimes, it's not. Either way, children give you the most unvarnished views into your own life – your actions, your words and how you conduct yourself with others.

The results can be arresting.

In our case, the results would appear to illustrate that Michelle and I must spend a lot of our time on the phone. Truth is, we don't – at least not when I compare to others who I see yammering at all times and in all places. Then again, I work on a college campus, where students can't stand to spend a moment with their attention stuck in neutral. In any event, Nathaniel has picked up on the time we spend on the telephone and has mimicked our behavior almost to a tee. You'd think he had been rehearsing for the role. Watch how he cradles the phone against his ear. Watch him speak. Watch as his eyes veer from side to side as he speaks, just like we adults do when we're talking on the phone and looking around. Watch his reaction when it's time to hang up. Thankfully, he hasn't observed (or learned) looks of exasperation or boredom.

We've been spared that embarrassment so far.

The Chronicle Returns

Well, it's been a while.

The easy thing to say is I took a nice, long break from chronicling developments in my little clan, most notably those involving Nathaniel, our 11-month-old son. Truth is, I write for my job, and I'm trying (haltingly) to research and write a book, and I was just too darn tired of writing to imagine writing some more.

But I realize that the writing I do here is the most important of all. Not because I'm writing for an audience per se; this is no vainglorious pursuit. Rather, it's writing as a chronicler of Nathaniel's life, at least the beginning of it, and the satisfaction that I hope will come when he reads these postings, these musings, these joys, these tirades, these frustrations, these little raptures that come from watching him grow.

So, I'm back to trying to tell some of those stories.

A little recap: Last you knew, Nathaniel was all of three months old, a being with few emotions (beyond crying and brief rays of sunny happiness). Since then, he has morphed into a little boy, with wants and needs, a robust appetite (add pizza and cupcakes to the list – albeit on special occasions only), personality tics (he likes to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, making a soft, popping sound), an obsession with climbing stairs and splashing the water in Hviezda's dog dish. So many changes in such a short time. I could go on and on.

As parents, we struggled a lot with Natty's frequent bouts of sickness. Last winter, any time he picked up a cold or a sniffle, the bacteria would migrate into his ear canal and park there. He got ear infections, he got fevers, he got deep coughs. He was miserable, and so were we. Finally, in July, Natty Lou got tubes. These tubes look like tiny lug nuts and are placed in the membrane of the ear drum. They let air in and help keep eustachian tubes ventilated, and thus, dry. After the surgery (a scant, ten-minute outpatient procedure), Natty's shroud of sickness had been removed – just like that, as if a magician snapped his fingers. The fluid that had pooled behind his ears, a reservoir just waiting to be infected, could finally drain.

What a revelation. What a change. It was as if we could see the relief etched on Nathaniel's face. He was happy all the time. He was giggly, bubbly, sparkling. He immediately began to communicate with us, using all sorts of different sounds, and, later in the summer, began saying "Da da" and "Ma ma." A few weekends ago, we visited the Vyases, our good friends in the Boston area, and they swore he said "dude" and "ball." Hmmm.

In any event, he is constantly interacting with Michelle and me. He's exploring his surroundings, crawling at baby Mach 4 and lifting, dropping, turning, twisting, throwing about anything he can get his hands on. He went to the beach for the first time and got dipped in the cold New England surf. He didn't care for that too much (video below), but he loved the surf and the beach (picture above).

That trip was our one big trip of the summer. Michelle's brothers (and one sister-in-law) and sister visited from Iowa and Nebraska, and we spent a week at a rented house soaking up the surf and the sun. We biked, we hiked, we grilled, we played games, and we watched as Nathaniel took stock of it all. Truly, vacations with family are so special. Granted, they're different from the trips I used to take when living in Eastern Europe. Those trips were about seeing new places, appreciating the diversity and the vibrancy of other countries and cultures, an attempt to appreciate the differences and the commonalities that is the human race. Vacations with family, I would argue, are less about seeing new places and experiencing different cultures than about appreciating the closeness that others who share your blood, or your values, can bring. They're about cherishing those ties and creating memories that invariably will be the ones we will cling to most vividly later in life.

Nathaniel, though he won't recall it, got plenty of those groovy times with his uncles and aunts. Then, he got to visit with his other aunt and uncle, and his only cousins so far, later in the summer. These were important, and special, times, and we are fortunate to have families who are as keen to do them as are we.

When it comes down to it, there is no substitute for family. None.

Baby, Meet the Needle

I've already written, and shown in pictures, about how Nathaniel is growing – in height and in girth.

He's getting fat rolls all over his body. He's got "thunder thighs" and is growing a double chin. His ankles look swollen and his cheeks resemble those of a squirrel stuffed full of nuts.

In other words, he has all the features that mark a baby as healthy but an adult as unhealthy.

On Monday, he was back at the doctor for his monthly checkup. He was happy and playful even as the doctor poked and prodded him. He rolled over and banged his head against the wall, which briefly soured his mood. Then, he resumed cooing and smiling as the pediatrician checked him all over.

Now, the latest measurements: He's 23 1/2 inches tall. Weight: 11 lbs. 6.5 oz.

At some point during the exam, the doctor got out a syringe and stuck it in his thigh. I wasn't there, but according to Michelle, our boy's expression changed the instant the syringe met his skin. His smile vanished, his playfulness halted. For a moment, he looked shell shocked as he experienced a sensation previously unknown to him. Then, a frown, followed quickly – very quickly – by a gaping opening of his mouth and a piercing scream.

More screams followed.

The doctor plunged a second needle into Nathaniel's other thigh, and the boy acted as if the end of the world had truly come. He wailed in agony, pain, disgust, shock and whatever other feelings he may have had. He was truly pissed at this turn of events.

So, Nathaniel got his first shots, vaccines to protect him against seven types of diseases.

He may not remember the injections, but we sure will.

Little Drummer Boy

One fun thing about having a baby is it gives you an excuse to be a child again.

For someone who lapses into immaturity from time to time, this is golden. 

For someone who is flaky, this is golden.

For someone who likes to have fun  – and poke fun at others – this is golden.

For someone who likes to dip into the waters of irreverence, this is golden.

For someone who tries not to take himself too seriously, this is golden.

 

For someone who can use a periodic injection of zaniness, this is golden.

Am I talking about myself? Maybe.

Watch the video, and you be the judge.

Growing Boy

We pretty much knew that baby Nathaniel is growing. Growing taller. Growing fatter. Growing stronger. Growing more obstinate? Hmmm, depends whom you ask.

Anyway, we've noticed the development, in a micro sort of way. We knew he was taller, because the pediatrician measured him and told us so. We knew he was heavier, because the pediatrician weighed him and told us so.

We also had anecdotal clues: My muscles would tire more quickly when I held him. My arm hurt after I cradled him like a football as we dashed through the airport in Chicago to catch our connection at Christmas. Nowadays, my arm falls asleep from the wrist down when I plop him in the crook created by bending my arm in a "L" shape. It's that tingly sensation, followed by numbness and then a dull pain. That comes more quickly now.

In the stronger category, baby N. can escape with ease from the original swaddling outfit we had for him. It has two, cuddly bear-shaped velcro flaps as the main instrument of restraint, which worked just fine for about a month and a half. Give him a minute now, and he's out.

We've graduated to an elaborate infant-wrapping mechanism called the "Miracle Blanket," which involves numerous flaps for arms, legs and torso and several wrapping techniques to swaddle. Still works, but its days are numbered: Baby N. usually has fought his feet out of it when he wakes in the morning.

But lost in the day to day shuffles are the macro developmental signs, the visual, physical clues and cues. These two photos really bring that to life. Michelle's mother took the first picture, when Nathaniel was two weeks old. Michelle, ever vigilant, snapped the second when baby N. turned two months earlier this week.




See the difference?
Wow!

Operation Grandma Surprise

We called it Operation Grandma Surprise.

Michelle and I didn't expect to travel anywhere for the Christmas break. We thought how nice it would be to spend the holidays alone – just us and that boy, Nathaniel, who invaded our lives and turned it upside down more than a month prior.

But Michelle had an inch she couldn't scratch, and that itch was Christmas time with her family. For a few years running, we've packed Hviezda the dog and ourselves into the car and driven to Iowa, to eat and be merry with Michelle's family. It had become a de facto tradition, and an enjoyable one at that, and I think she was reluctant to break it.

More to the point, she misses her family around the holidays, when her brothers (and a sister-in-law) come from Nebraska and they, her sister, mother and other relatives gather to swap stories and swig concoctions ranging from spiked Egg Nog to Lover's Wine.

I understood all this completely, and the fact is I enjoy these visits nearly as much as she does. That's a testament to the welcoming nature of my wife's family. But this year, with a newborn, it seemed too much. A two-day drive with a baby not even two months old? Too daunting. Travel on a plane? Too risky. So, we mentally shelved the idea of going anywhere, comforting ourselves with a stress-free (baby not included in that thought) break.

But, as I said, Michelle got itchy.

She checked airline flights and fares periodically. Once I got wind of what she was doing, I did, too. The week before Christmas, Michelle found fares that were reasonable: We'd leave Christmas Day and come back before New Year's Eve, our anniversary.

"What do you think?" she asked.

I thought about it. I liked the idea of not traveling. I also liked the idea of seeing Michelle's family, including her brothers and our sister-in-law, who had yet to meet Nathaniel.

What really clinched it was Grandma.

Grandma Finck, or Virginette as I probably should call her, is a stout woman who shows zero sign of slowing down at the age of 80. The woman is maniacal about cleanliness and tidiness. The floor in the unfinished basement of her century farmhouse is so immaculate you can eat off it. I'm not kidding. I have never, ever seen anything out of place in that house.

Grandma, too, had not been part of the waves of family to meet and greet Nathaniel chez nous. And it was important to Michelle that it happen. This was the best time, she emphasized.

I agreed.

So, away we went, on Christmas Day, courtesy of United and hassled, frazzled connections, to Iowa. Nathaniel met his uncles and aunt and saw his grandmother and other aunt again. He met a new friend, one whose mother is already plotting to pair in marriage in, say, two decades hence. He met and babbled to Pooh Bear, who hovered over his crib dressed in an oversized gardening hat. He got his first breath of bone-rattling cold that it seems only the plains can produce.

And the day after Christmas, he met Grandma, or great-Grandma to him, when we showed up unannounced at her door – Operation Grandma Surprise.

As soon as she opened her door and looked at him, she smiled. And as soon as Nathaniel looked at her, he smiled.

I smiled. Michelle smiled.

We're so glad we made the trip.