walking and talking

dear little sprout,

i am having so much fun with you this week. besides all of the fun outings we've had--to the grocery store, the bank, the park, the beach, luma's house (once for his birthday party and once for a playdate)--just being home with you has been great, too.

you have been very sweet to choose this week to get really interested in walking. we've been walking all over the house together, and i think you just need a little bit of confidence to do it all on your own. sometimes you can walk halfway across the room very steadily, just holding one of my hands. i keep thinking that maybe tomorrow will be your big day, but you are taking your time. and that's just fine.

you're in the middle of a little language explosion. a few nights ago you said "night night" when i was putting you down to sleep. then next morning you fell down and said "uh-oh." later that day when i was changing your diaper you said "star". i didn't see which star you were talking about, so i said, "little bear, did you say star?" you said "yeah." then i noticed that the toy you were holding in your hand was a star.

so you are really communicating with me now. i like it.

luma's 1st birthday

dear baby bear,

today we went to luma's 1st birthday party. you brought him a dinosaur puzzle and he really liked it. i think it was his favorite toy.

everyone at the party thought you were very cute. and m. also said you are loud, which is true. you are loud. always hollering and banging, but with the best of intentions.

you were the most mobile of the four babies there, and just generally the most active. one of the babies your age stayed on his parents' laps for most of the party without complaining. like you would ever do that for more than 10 minutes. ha!

the more i get to know other babies, the more i realize how engaged you are with the world around you. eager to figure things out and get going. the worst thing i can possibly do is to help you when you are trying to do something for yourself. i am learning to intervene only when i think it's a safety issue, like when you put that huge piece of bread in your mouth today and i pulled it out to tear it in half because the crust was so hard i thought you might choke. you got mad, mad, mad--you pushed and pushed on me trying to get away, rejecting every offer i made to give you the bread back. until i distracted you by turning you around to watch the gift opening. then i slipped you some more bread and let you take your chances.

it's nice to see daddy feeling so much better. this week he went to his studio almost every day to do some recording. i admit i sometimes wish he were doing more to lift the burden off of me rather than holing up in his studio, but i know how much this recording means to him. and it's important to me, too. so i keep my trap shut and plod along and remind myself every day how lucky i am.

the momentum of love

dear snuggles,

i want you to know that i write you letters in my head all the time. while i'm cooking, cleaning the kitchen, filling your bottles and packing your food for daycare, brushing my teeth. but it's hard to find the time to sit at the computer long enough to get it down for you to read one day.

daddy started chemo yesterday. i went with him, just for the first time to see how it will be for him. we were at the hospital for seven hours in a small, drab room with no windows and an overly chatty woman in the 2nd chemo chair nosing into our business. daddy is doing okay so far with the folfiri. he only had a half dose of the irinotecan this time--the oncologist is starting cautiously and will increase it each time until he finds the limit of daddy's tolerance for the drug.

you are happy as ever. your favorite foods right now are hard boiled egg yolk, sweet potato (chunks of home cooked), banana chunks, and plain yogurt. you love feeding yourself, and now that you have mastered putting food in your mouth, you have started to put other things in your mouth, too. last week you found a small mystery object on the living room floor and popped it in before i could intervene. i stuck my finger in your mouth to get it out, but came out with nothing. you didn't choke, so the identity of the particle you ate will remain one of life's mysteries. today i had to fish two things out of your mouth: soggy paper from a magazine ad (you tore out the page while playing) and some orange peel (daddy gave it to you to hold, but you decided to eat it). so we're at that stage now. i hope we both live through it.

i have been thinking a lot about what kind of mom i want to be for you. what thoughts and behaviors do i want to model for you as you're growing up? what ways of seeing the world could i help you adopt that would be beneficial to you in your life? how can i help you see yourself as a strong person, a helper, a contributor, a speaker of truth, an upstanding human being?

i don't have a word for my religious beliefs. other people might call me an atheist, but that doesn't feel right and i don't use it as a label for myself. agnostic is wrong, too. i can tell you that i don't believe in "personal" god that thinks like we do and plays us like puppets. what i do believe is that the laws of nature are the ultimate truth. physics, biology, chemistry, mathematics, compassion, empathy, love. i am telling you this because it occurred to me this week as i was standing at the stove that the idea of god that so many people have, a god that listens to and answers the prayers of human beings, though farfetched in my opinion, is no more farfetched than the idea of you being born from nothing but will, biology, and luck. no more farfetched than the experiential arc of a single human life, the bewilderment of existence, the purposelessness of it, the joy of it, the suffering that sits on the sidelines for some and for others dominates the game from the very beginning.

i still don't believe in a personal god.

i do believe in getting up every day and doing the best i can.

i believe in the thrill of small beauty.

in the growth potential of hardship.

and most of all, in the momentum of love.

friendly faces

dear little muffin,

yesterday morning when i dropped you at daycare, you saw a little girl getting out of another car and you waved at her and very brightly said "hi!". that's something i really like about you: you have always been a friendly guy.

today, i stopped at the grocery store on my way to pick you up and felt myself surrounded by friendly faces. everywhere i looked i saw people who looked like potential friends--kind, fun, and funny souls. i don't feel like that very often, but when i do it's a great feeling, like the world is an open, safe place, rich and welcoming. i hope you will see the world that way as you get older. good things just waiting to happen.

you are changing constantly, transforming right before my eyes.

you now have the beginnings of two teeth. one is about half arrived, and it's neighbor has shown up fashionably late and is just sticking it's foot through the door.

you can stand by yourself now, entirely unsupported, for a surprising number of seconds before you teeter and drop onto your cushiony bottom. but only when you feel like it; never on demand.

you are very chatty. you have mastered mama, dada, nana, baba, and are now working on your g's. gaga and goo goo, etc. you can say ball ("ba"), you try to say diaper ("di"), and one day even tried to repeat after me when i said tylenol ("ty-o"). you say kitty ("ditty"). you say hi. you say yeah. and i'm pretty sure you've started shaking your head no and nodding yes, and that those motions in response to questions are not just coincidence.

you continue to be a wet and sloppy kisser, and when you kiss (sweetly suck/slobber on) my chin (always giggling) you seem to enjoy exercising your new teeth.

so much has happened since i last wrote. it's too much to begin to tell.

yesterday daddy had a liter of fluid drained from around his right lung. he seems to feel better now that he has more breathing room. he said the fluid looked like iced tea, and i'm glad i no longer drink iced tea or i'd probably just have had that pleasure permanently spoiled. we are waiting for the lab report now to find out if the fluid shows signs of infection or cancer.

it has been a long and difficult month for daddy and me. daddy rests when he's tired, but i've discovered a new kind of fatigue, a kind of tiredness that sees no end in sight. the words "no rest for the weary" often come to mind as i go about my days.

even still, i feel a remarkable amount of friendliness in the world much of the time. it leaves me hopeful. and i hope that hopefulness is something i can impart to you. or better, i hope your hopefulness comes from within, like a bubbling spring, requiring no effort from you, for all of your days.

10 months old

dear baby bear,

tomorrow you will be 10 months old.

you don't seems like a baby so much anymore. you're more like a very small boy now.

when i spend a lot of time with you i forget how small you are. then i see you from a distance and i'm surprised.

your first tooth has finally arrived. by arrived i mean that if i rub my finger over your bottom gum, i feel a sharp edge. i still can't see the tooth, but i think it's because you won't open your mouth for me to have a look. all in good time.

i am having more fun with you than ever. i love to play with you on the living room floor. we have all kinds of games: snuggle games and peekaboo games and kissing games and pattycake games and clapping games. you get the picture.

you also really like it when i gallop around the house with you in my arms, whinnying like a horse. the best part, you seem to think, is when i make horse snorting noises and stomp my hooves. you laugh out loud for my snorting and stomping antics.

you're a fast crawler now. when i leave you in the living room for a minute and walk to the kitchen, i can hear the thunk-thunk of your racing crawl on the hardwood floors behind me. you love to pull yourself up to standing by holding on the chair and couch. then you make your way as far as you can before you run out of support. you pull up on the piano bench to play your version of chopsticks (you can just reach the piano keys). you usually play piano in the morning, early, before daddy and the neighbors are up. ;)

you've been saying da da da a lot. i think you miss spending mornings with daddy before going to daycare. you had a lot of fun playing with daddy this morning, though, and i know he can't wait to hold you and play with you more as he starts to feel better and better.

what a rose tells my nose

dear little pumpkin,

happy first halloween. you went to daycare today in a little pumpkin suit with a leafy green hat. your teachers loved your costume.

daddy got home on friday and is doing well. he's been very tired and resting a lot, but every day he feels a little bit better. he has been going for walks every day and is now able to walk for a good distance--i would guess about half a mile or maybe a little bit more.

your auntie elta is gone and uncle jogr is here now. he has been doing lots of cooking for daddy, very nutritious and tasty meals.

i took you for our usual afternoon walk today. on the way home, tired, i stopped to smell a yellow rose. it revived me.

what a rose tells my nose: this moment, right now, is okay.

worn out, tired, dragged down. but elta's here.

dear booey,

daddy had a fever on saturday night. we had to go to the emergency room. i got you out of bed around 12:30 am. kast met us at the hospital, took you home, and put you back to bed.

i stayed up all night with daddy at the hospital. he had a ct scan that showed a large abscess near his liver and another one near his pancreas. he was admitted to the hospital and today he had the abscesses drained. it was a very painful procedure, but he is on the mend.

i have been unbearably tired after staying up all night in the emergency room and then coming home to you just when you woke up. after feeding you and getting your cousin teja to come over and stay with you, i went right back to the hospital.

last night i was hoping for solid sleep, but you woke up crying three times. it was hard for you to be woken up in the middle of the night and go home with kast. all night long you called for mama in your sleep. then when i left the next morning again you took it hard. so you needed some extra mommy time. when you woke up crying last night i was too tired to think or even look at the clock, so i just nursed you each time whether you needed it or night. it only occurred to me afterward that i could have just calmed you and gone back to bed.

you are in the middle of a big growth spurt. pulling yourself up, eating a ton, and sleeping hard. you have started taking some formula each day, which is a good insurance policy amidst all this chaos. now i can stop worrying about making enough milk for you. especially if i can't pump enough some days.

your auntie elta is visiting for the week. she is helpful in every way. she makes you smile and laugh. and she vacuums, too.

a yummy oatmeal recipe

dear snuggie,

daddy is home and doing well and i am terribly relieved. but let's leave it at that. i want to tell you about oatmeal. it's really good for you. here's a recipe you might enjoy making for yourself one day.

no-sugar, super-healthy oatmeal
-1/2 c. rolled oats
-1 c. water
-1/2 jarred peach (chopped) with 1/2 c. liquid (juice sweetened)
-2 T. dried fruit (chopped if needed; apricots or figs are very good)
-2 T. chopped raw unsalted almonds (or other nuts)
-cinnamon to taste
-unsweetened soy or nut milk

put oats and water together in a saucepan. bring to a boil, then cover and simmer until thick. in another small saucepan, heat peach liquid, peach, and dried fruit. add fruit mixture to oats. add cinnamon to taste. top with unsweetened soy or nut milk. enjoy!

daddy did great

dear crawler,

daddy was very brave going into surgery today. the surgeons were able to get all the detectable cancer in his liver. they did not find any other cancer outside the liver. for the first time in months i feel really, truly hopeful.

tonight daddy is in intensive care. i am home with you now and will go back to the hospital tomorrow morning after i drop you at daycare.

your cousin teja took to you and from daycare today, and you had fun with her. i thought you might miss me when you woke up and i wasn't home, but when teja came into your room this morning you just laughed.

rotten

dear baby bear,

we all got really sick this week. last time i wrote i mentioned that you had vomited all over me. remember? you didn't seem to be feeling bad at all, so i wasn't even sure if you were sick, but i got the bug monday night and daddy got it on tuesday. i can't remember the last time we were so sick, and daddy and i have never been this sick at the same time in the 14 years we've been together.

still, thursday morning we showed up at the hospital for daddy's pre-surgery appointment. daddy had his ekg and his xray and his chat with the anesthesiologist, and then we were told that dr. b and dr. w wanted to see him. daddy had called dr. b the day before when he was so sick, to see if there was anything he could take for his bad headache that would be safe before surgery, but he'd never heard back.

we knew that they wanted to see daddy to find out how sick he was, and to see if it would be safe to operate. what we didn't know was that they had looked at one of his scans again--for some reason they missed this one the first time because he had two scans within a couple of weeks--and determined that there are more spots on daddy's liver than they'd thought.

earlier they said there were three or four spots, but now they are saying it looks like about six of them. doctor b. told us that if dr. w opens daddy up and finds there are more than 6 spots, he probably would just close daddy's incision without touching his liver and they would start in with chemo instead in a month or so after daddy has healed. that was some unsettling news. then we saw dr. w, who postponed the operation until tuesday because of the stomach bug. that part was better news, because daddy was in no shape for that kind of trauma to his body.

your auntie maja is her--she was already on the plane before we knew about the delay--staying at a motel for another night or two (just to be on the safe side). she fed you your dinner tonight while i took a very short nap.

daddy is feeling a lot better and gave you your bath tonight. i have a cold now. i still feel pretty rotten and i'm going to bed.

a few things about you

dear monkey bear,

you are growing up right before my eyes, changing every day. last weekend you figured out how to get back into a sitting position from your tummy or your hands and kneew. i noticed it on sunday morning. i had left on your tummy in the living room for a few seconds, and when i came back in you were sitting up. i did a double take, but you were nonchalant about it. no big deal, ma. except that you kept doing in again and again, so i knew you were proud of your accomplishment. i forgot to mention your new skill to your daycare teachers on monday, and when i went to pick you up they went on about how all day you kept demonstrating your fine new skill.

this morning you really put me to the test as i tried to change your diaper. you would not sit still. i finally stood you up and held you in one place as i got the diaper positioned around your bottom, then laid you down to quickly fasten it up before you crawled off again. afterward, i gave you some positive reinforcement with a big smile and a round of clapping. you surprised me by clapping right along, as if you'd always been able to clap your hands. you continued to clap your hands all day just for practice, and also when something pleased you. (you clapped for daddy after he finished playing you a song on his guitar.) you are really going to floor your daycare teachers on monday with that one.

a few more things about you:

-you like apples, pears, spinach, carrots, sweet potatos, winter squash, summer squash, lentils, and various concoctions made from these things--like apple with blueberry, pear and raspberry, spinach and potatoes, etc.

-you only like pureed baby food so far, nothing chunky; you have spit out the banana mush, hard boiled egg yolk, and mashed avocado i've given you.

-you still don't have any teeth.

-you love plain yogurt mixed with pureed fruit, but you've only been eating it for about a week and you've developed a skin rash on your face, so we'll probably need to take a break and try again later.

-last night you ate a good dinner, had your bath as usual, then nursed for a long time and drank a lot of milk. you were out, and when i put you on my shoulder to burp you, you made a funny gurgling noise. then you heaved all that warm milk and baby food all over both of us. you didn't seem to feel sick; right after throwing up you smiled and laughed. i had to call daddy to change you while i changed myself. it was a lot of puke for someone so small. really, it was a lot.

-daddy sent me a message on my cell phone last week. he sent me a picture of you wearing your sunglasses, and this message: "i love him. i love him. i love him."

turning corners

dear snooky,

well, daddy didn't have his surgery. it got rescheduled for october 4 because the cancer is growing again and the doctors decided to do a bigger operation. they are going to take out the whole right side of his liver and a little bit of the left side, too. daddy will be in the hospital for at least a week, and it will take about two months before he feels like himself again. after daddy has recovered, he will start chemo again for six months. so we have some hard times ahead.

i wish i could say that daddy and i have been spending a lot of quality time together, but the truth is that i have been working very hard on a project for work and i haven't had much time for anyone but you. as soon as i've put you to bed and have had a bite to eat, i've been going upstairs to the office and working until late at night while daddy watches tv and falls asleep on the couch. but now my project is done and i am going to spend as much time with the two of you as i can. the day before daddy's surgery, we'll drop you at daycare in the morning and then spend the whole day together, just the two of us, for the first time since you were born.

you are sleeping right now, very peacefully. oblivious to what is going on.

you have your own agenda. today you managed to move yourself all the way from the living room to the kitchen. you don't crawl, exactly. a little bit of crawling in reverse, maybe. mostly you scoot and roll, but it seems to be working for you. it seems to be a lot of fun for you to be able to get places on your own now.

this morning it rained. there's been a little nip of fall in the air. we are turning corners, little one. we'll find out together what's around the bend.

snapshots

1) you are on the floor--doing pushups, creeping backwards until you run into something, looking up at daddy and me with your big smile. all happiness.

2) you fling yourself at me, put your open mouth on my arm, my elbow, my shoulder, laughing and sucking wetly. is this how you kiss?

3) two swollen ridges on top. your gums portend teeth.

a brief history of you, part 2

dear small fry,

as soon as we learned that daddy had cancer, we flew into action. it was a wednesday. we arranged to have daddy seen at the mayo clinic the following week and we bought plane tickets for that saturday. daddy found subs for some jobs he hadcoming up. we asked friends to watch the cats. i saw the doctor to be sure it was okay for me (and you) to fly. i found someone to fill in for me at work and trained her as best i could over the phone while i packed.

one of the things i packed for our trip was a plastic figurine of an elephant. (i kept a bunch of plastic animals on my dresser just for fun.) that elephant seemed to have great strength and wisdom. i knew i would have to be strong for daddy and for you, and i needed someone or something to be strong for me. it may sound silly to you, but i was counting on the elephant.

the first week we stayed with your auntie maja in wisconsin. daddy had to have a lot of tests, and maja drove us back and forth to the clinic every day. she knew that we both needed a peaceful place to be while going through the turmoil of that first week, and her house is out in the country and very relaxed. daddy and i were both in shock, but i was also exhausted from being pregnant with you. maja knew how hard it was for me and she went of her way to take care of me and let me rest.

at mayo, we first met with a doctor who explained about daddy's cancer. he said it was a stage 3b cancer. that meant that the cancer had grown through the rectum wall and was in some of daddy's lymph nodes as well. then he said they were going to do some testing to find the exact location of the tumor. the treatment plan would depend on that detail. the colonoscopy report didn't clearly identify the location, and the difference of a centimeter in one direction or the other would be the difference between daddy having surgery right away (and going home in a couple of weeks) or having to go through radiation and chemo first.

that week daddy had bloodwork and a CT scan and an ultrasound and a chest xray and several other tests. we met with the surgeon, dr. p, on the friday before labor day weekend, almost exactly a year ago. he came into the room and told us that despite all the high tech testing they still weren't 100% sure about the location of the tumor and he wanted to do a manual exam. daddy left with him, and about fifteen minutes later maja and i met with daddy and dr. p and some of his associates.

dr. p told us that the tumor was too low in daddy's gi tract for them to operate right away. daddy would have to have two months of radiation and chemo to shrink the tumor enough for the operation to be successful. i thought i might finally cry in front of daddy and the doctors at that point, but i was determined not to. i felt my face get hot from holding back the tears. dr. p could see the change in me. he softened a bit and said how hard he knew it was to hear what he was telling us. i looked over at daddy and he was sitting with his legs and arms crossed. his face was very pale.

we asked dr. p if daddy could do the treatments at home, and he told us that daddy could do the chemo anywhere, but that they were extremely skilled with the radiation treatments at mayo so we should do the treatments there. daddy said yes right away. i knew i would stay, too, but i didn't know how we would manage.

we knew we could stay with your auntie teca and uncle greca, but staying so long would be a hardship for us. we had left in such a rush, thinking we would be back in two or three weeks, that we had only packed a few summer outfits. now it was fall and the weather was turning. we also had to work out a catsitting plan. our friends jero and kaste had agreed to look after them for a couple of weeks, but we didn't have a backup plan for a longer stay. i would also have to work if we were staying so long. between the physical exhaustion i felt from being pregnant and the emotional exhaustion i felt from daddy's cancer diagnosis, the idea of working seemed impossible.

somehow we would get through it.

that holiday weekend seemed to last forever. daddy started radiation and chemo the tuesday after labor day. i had a laptop sent from work and set up an office space in the basement where we were staying. i would cook daddy breakfast in the morning, drive him to and from his treatments every day, make him a healthy lunch, and then do a half day's work in the afternoon and evening. at least once or twice a week i would also make dinner for teca and greca and your cousin maca. this was partly because i wanted to contribute to the household as long as they were generous enough to let us stay, and partly because i wanted to be sure daddy ate as many organic, plant-based meals as possible.

as all this was happening, you grew bigger and bigger in my belly. day and night i could feel you turning and squirming.

when we walked into the radiation waiting room each day, i could people's pity (most of the other patients getting radiation treatments were much, much older than daddy). poor young guy with cancer. his poor pregnant wife. it was the same when we went for his chemo treatments. the nurses were the exception--they just asked when the baby was due and congratulated us and acted like it was all the most normal thing in the world. i loved that about the nurses.

at the end of october, after what seemed like forever, we got to go home. the very same morning that daddy finished his chemo, we got on a plane and flew home. daddy and i had SO much to do to get ready for you, and only one month until we had to go back to mayo for his surgery. after his surgery he wouldn't be able to lift anything for six weeks, so we had to get everything done before we went back to minnesota.

we were SO busy that month, going back to our jobs and also preparing for your arrival. but we were happy. for a little while life seemed normal.

we moved the desk and computer to the guest room so you could have the bedroom next to ours. we got you a crib and daddy put it together for you. packages started arriving in the mail. one, two, three a day. so many things! i used to stand in your room surrounded by your clothes and toys, trying to imagine what it would be like when you were there with us. what your room would feel like with you in it. hard as i tried, i couldn't imagine it. i couldn't imagine you.

thinking back to those times, it's hard to remember what it was like before i knew you. haven't your giggle and cries and your big personality always been part of my life?

this giant love

dear smoochie,

after a month of waiting, daddy's surgery date is finally scheduled: september 19. two doctors will operate on daddy. one will work on fixing up daddy's lower parts, and the other will look at daddy's liver with a little camera he'll put through a small opening in daddy's tummy. another doctor will use ultrasound to take pictures of daddy's liver just in case there is any cancer there too small for the camera to see. if the doctors find anything, and if it's just in a few small spots, the doctor operating on the liver will remove the parts of the liver where the cancer is growing.

while this is happening, i will be at the hospital in the waiting room. daddy's operation isn't until the afternoon, so we'll take you to daycare in the morning and your cousin teja will pick you up and take you home for your walk, dinner, and bed. i can already feel how much i will miss you that day, but i will be home not too long after you go to sleep, and we will see each other when you wake up again.

little smoochie, i don't know what to expect. right now is a happy time. even though the doctors gave us bad news in june, daddy has been feeling very well lately, and he looks good, too. he has been taking really good care of himself, going for long walks every day, eating lots of fruits and vegetables, drinking fresh organic juices, avoiding sugar, and learning to RELAX. he has actually started to meditate. it is easy to think that daddy is fine and we will all live happily ever after.

september 19 might smash that happy picture into a million little bits.

every day we love you more and you love us more. it doesn't seem possible, but somehow this giant love is always able to grow just a little bit bigger. when you first see your daddy in the morning you laugh with delight. if you can get near enough to touch his scruffy cheeks, you like to pat and pat them.

my heart feels warm and brave, and also still and frozen. it sounds like a contradiction, but in life's logic it makes sense. you will see.

ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma

dear snuggle pie,

you have started calling me by name: ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma

three times today:

at 4am you woke up wanting to eat. at first you just cried, but when i tried to wait it out and see if you'd go back to sleep, you started calling my name. i got up and gave you the milk you wanted while we rocked together in the dark.

this afternoon i picked you up from daycare. you were hanging tough until i got there, sitting on the floor and playing with some toys. as soon as you saw me, though, you started to cry. ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma you said, until i picked you up and kissed your face all over like a thousand stars kissing the moon.

tonight, after your bath. you were lying on your changing table, almost snapped into your jammies. you started getting antsy, rubbing your face, letting me know you were ready to go to bed. you looked at me with your galactic eyes and pleaded, ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma.

baby bear, baby bear. keep calling to me, baby bear. i will feed you, love you, and put you to bed again and again. tomorrow and the next day and the next. that's what ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-mas are for.

tomorrow, next week, next month

dear little bear,

i have not forgotten about you. you know that, of course. we spend lots of time together. but these letters--i haven't forgotten. there is just so much to do, and i am so tired.

i keep thinking tomorrow, next week, next month will be better. sometimes it is, often it isn't. we will just keep waking up each day together, and the telling will happen when the time is right.

the good life

dear mr. chubs,

before you were born, before you were even a single cell in my womb, i wondered if bringing you into the world was the right thing to do. humans have created a lot of problems, and we don't seem to know how to solve them. you were born, though, and with your birth the question of your inheritance was laid to rest. you have inherited the shortsightedness of many generations along with the responsibility for a continuing future of living things on a living planet.

now that you are here, i wish you these things:

may your weather patterns be stable
may you find a place for yourself among the crowd
may you have access to wild places to renew your spirit
may you share the land, water, and sky with organisms of every kind in copious abundance
may the world around you get cleaner, purer, more radiant
may your forests grow in abundance
may your oceans, lakes, and rivers teem with fat fish
may your necessary engines continue to run
may your essential roads remain navigable
may your waters run freely
may your lands remain fertile
may you feel connected to you friends, your family, your neighbors, your countryfolk, and all citizens of the world
may you live peacefully and lovingly amidst difference
may you have less desire to possess goods, and more desire to be good

my sweet little bear, i wish you a long life and i wish you a good life and i hope those two wishes are compatible.

snapshots

1) you finish nursing and fling your head back. way, way back. now you sigh. now you sleep.

2) i such my cheeks in to make a fish face. you are sitting in your high chair. you laugh out loud.

3) you are in your exersaucer (or your jumperoo, or sitting on the floor, or on my lap) watching your daddy. you watch and watch him. when will he look at you? when will he finally look?

snuffles and chuffles and drips

dear cookie face,

finally today you were feeling better. you had an awful cold this weekend, all snuffles and chuffles and drips and sploofs. lots of drool-soaked shirts to be changed, snot eruptions to be wiped, juicy sneezes to endure. on sunday, your face wouldn't stop leaking. even your eyes. poor little guy.

you are usually pretty easygoing, but this cold got the best of you. all weekend you clung to me like a little monkey. i could entertain you for short periods, but after a couple of minutes of a novel activity you would start to whine. we'd move on to whichever next thing mommy could think up and muster the energy to do.

we went on a lot of walks. long ones. you fussed some and slept some. you did the best in your baby bjorn, rocking against my body as we walked and walked. in the baby bjorn you mostly slept.

on sunday night you were too full of snot to be able to sleep in your crib. first you cried and then you screamed for me, so i put your car seat in the bedroom and strapped you in to sleep. you still woke up crying every hour, but by 2am i finally finished what i needed to do for work for monday and was able to go to bed. i brought you into the bed to sleep leaning up against me the way you used to when you were just a teeny sprout. you were able to nurse more often that way, which you needed, and you slept well until the morning with your cheek against my belly and my arms wrapped around you.

yesterday i stayed home from work with you. you were too sick for daycare, and daddy was on his way home from a job in l.a., so there was no other option. we don't have babysitters or sick care lined up for you yet. even if daddy had been home, though, i would have stayed with you. you needed your soft mama, and i was glad be that comfort for you.

last night daddy came home just in time for your walk. you couldn't stop looking at him when he first got home--you were so glad to see him. we walked all the way to fifth street and back while you napped in your baby bjorn. after dinner and your bath you were still feeling pretty rotten, so later you slept against me in the big bed, again.

today you woke up fussy, but once you had your pears and cereal for breakfast you were on the mend. i went to work. daddy took you to daycare. our rhythm returned.

when you were at your most miserable, i kept thinking: welcome to the world. this is part of it. sickness. suffering.

my little cookie face. this is life, and we are in it together.

important!

dear sweet potato,

sometimes it's hard to know what's important and what's not important, so i thought i'd share some things i've learned during my 40 years on earth:

ONE

important!: love yourself. everything else starts here.

not important: self-consciousness about what self-love means. if you don't already love yourself--and know it--i'm sorry. i've let you down.

TWO

important!: eat for health. it's much easier to maintain good health than to reclaim your health, and healthy food tastes good, too. (learn to cook.)

not important: being the odd man out when everyone else is eating deep fried food or sugary food or over-processed food...

THREE

important!: use your body. walk when you can. find a vigorous form of exercise you enjoy and do it regularly.

not important: how you exercise. run, do martial arts, play team sports, dance...

FOUR

important! be true to yourself

not important: "friends" who don't support you. ditch the fake friends and seek out the ones who enrich your life.

FIVE

important!: recognize that life is change, that everything is impermanent. appreciate the people and things you love, fresh air, clean water, trees, animals, blue skies.

not important: the mystery of life. no one knows why and no one will ever know why (despite what they tell you).

SIX

important!: express yourself. let your love be known. love drives all good in the world.

not important: feeling foolish. you'll get over it.

SEVEN

important!: your mind can be your friend or your enemy. make friends with it through meditation.

not important: meditation is boring. you can't sit still. you'll do it later. that's your enemy mind talking.

EIGHT

important!: believe it is possible. whatever it is that matters to you, no matter how long the odds or how bleak the landscape, believe it is possible. then act.

not important: being dismissed as a dreamer. dreamers invent the world.

a brief history of you, part 1

dear little bear,

long before you were born, daddy and i started talking about you.

should we have a baby? one of us said.

yes, let's have a baby. the other one said.

okay, it didn't happen just exactly like that, but that's the gist of it. i think i was the one who started it. i knew at least seven years before you were born that i wanted to be a mom, but it wasn't until a couple of years later that i felt really ready.

i don't know why it was so hard to get pregnant. we tried and tried. we went to specialists. it was an odyssey. i was constantly peeing on sticks--ovulation tests, pregnancy tests. no matter how well we timed things, the pregnancy tests always showed one line only. when almost four years had passed and still no baby, daddy and i talked about adopting. but daddy wanted to try a little bit longer.

one day i felt like i might be pregnant. at first i didn't trust the feeling, but by the time i got home from work i was pretty sure. it's hard to put the reasons into words. i took a pregnancy test that night and both lines showed up right away, good and strong. i went right in to the bedroom to tell daddy. he was lying in bed reading. he didn't seem surprised, just kept on reading his book. i started thinking about you and how our lives were going to change.

the first time i saw you you were just a flickering heartbeat. you were six weeks into your journey into this world. seeing your little heart beating there inside me, i felt protective of you. i was learning what it meant to be your mom. i would be your shelter.

the second time i saw you was at your eleven week ultrasound. even then you were already beautiful. you were busy busy busy, twisting and turning inside me. i took home some pictures of you and i looked at them every night before i went to bed, admiring you and wondering what you would be like.

it was eight weeks later that we found out daddy had cancer. his diagnosis was like a drive by shooting. when a 37 year old's butt bleeds, you expect hemorrhoids, not cancer.

i remember the last few minutes of our normal, pre-cancer life. i was in the waiting room while daddy was having his colonoscopy. i was reading crib reviews, trying to figure out what kind of crib to get you. i wanted one that was very safe and easy to get you in and out of and modern looking and not too expensive. the test was over very quickly and the nurse came to get me. the doctor came in and told daddy and me that he had a growth and would have to have an operation. he didn't say "cancer," but his tone was serious and he told us to expect the biopsy results in a few days. the very next day while i was at work, he called to tell daddy he had cancer.

in one instant the whole future changed from something stable and predictable to murky and tumultuous. or so it seemed. but of course, what really happened was that one fantasy was replaced with another fantasy. that's all the future is: fantasy. either fantasy or a comlete blank, and a complete blank is something we just can't live with.

daddy believes you came to us for a reason. he believes that your arrival right around his diagnosis, after we waited for you for so long, was not an accident. before you were born, during some of our hardest times, he used to say that you were going to come and cheer us up.

you have cheered us up. cheered us up to spectacular heights. what a view! daddy was so right.

snapshot

the little "o" you used to make with your newborn mouth, especially when you were tired

you are getting sleepy

dear funny boy,

after a full day of daycare, a bear gets sleepy. often at night you are so tired you can't wait for me to put you to bed.

most of the time i pick you up around 4:30 so you have time for a nap, a walk, dinner in your high chair, and a bath. you really want to be in bed by 7:00 and don't like it when i keep you up later than that. there have been many times that you would have walked yourself right upstairs and climbed into your crib if you were able.

at the same time, if we skip any steps in the routine, that seems to throw you. so instead of skipping steps, i just shorten them: we go for a walk just around the block instead of for half an hour, you eat just half a jar of carrots instead of a whole one, i dip you in the warm bathwater for a minute or two instead of soaping you up and letting you play.

last night you had a great sleep. you slept all the way through the night for the second night in a row, and the third time ever. you went to bed at 7:00, and when you woke up 11 hours later you had a nice long drink of warm breast milk. you were happy. i was happy.

tonight you went to sleep easily. you nursed a little bit after your bath, then decided you'd had enough. i put you in your crib with your eyes very open, turned on your turtle light, and left the room. you talked to yourself for a few minutes and then not a peep.

simple: soothe, sleep.

worth it

dear munchkin pants,

i just spent the last two hours glazed over in front of the t.v. trying to pretend that i could avoid my responsibilities. eventually, though, i had to lumber into the kitchen to do a load of wash, scrub your bottles for loading into the dishwasher, and clean the accessories i need to pump breast milk for you, which i am doing right now as you sleep.

today daddy and i saw dr. b. we got to her office just in time for daddy's 10:30 appointment, and then we waited until almost noon to see her. i actually fell asleep with my head on the exam table while we waited, and groggily believed i was in your room (as i so often am, half asleep, in the middle of the night), and that the sound of daddy's book pages rustling was the sound of your window blinds rippling in the wind. waking up in the doctors' office was a bit of a shock.

everything dr. b. told us should be considered good news. she confirmed that daddy's most recent pet scan showed no signs of cancer, and said that neither she nor any of the other members of the tumor board that met to discuss daddy's case could explain this fact. since daddy only had two folfox treatments and three of the cetuximab, she hypothesized that daddy might just be exquisitely sensitive to the cetuximab. "exquisitely" was her word, I am just repeating.

the next step, dr. b. said, is surgery. daddy will have his ostomy reversed by dr. v., and at the same time dr. w. will do an exploratory surgery on daddy's liver. if he finds any cancer there, he can remove it right then as long as it is not extensive. she said that the surgery would probably start out laparoscopic, but could be switched to a bigger incision if their findings indicate a need. so that part is kind of scary. we asked for a consultation with dr. w. so we can get our questions answered. but we will probably have a surgery date scheduled within the week.

one thing i should emphasize is that dr. b. told us that daddy is in the best possible place he could be, in terms of his current status. two months ago he had a large portal vein thrombosis in his liver and a pet/ct scan showing cancer spread to his liver and a possible recurrence in the pelvis. his more recent pet/ct scan shows no portal vein thrombosis and no cancer. and daddy is feeling really good. so there are lots of reasons to feel positive.

truth be told, though, tonight i feel kind of sad. daddy and i have had a month of relative normalcy and it's hard to go back to thinking of him as a cancer patient. i am worrying already about how i will be able to do more around the house while he recovers. he won't be able to lift you for a while after the surgery, so i'll need to take you to and from daycare, bathe and diaper you, etc. of course most of this i do already anyway, but daddy will need extra help, too. just thinking about that makes me tired.

after the doctor today i had to work. i worked from home and picked you up from daycare about an hour later than usual. you were so tired you napped almost until bedtime, then you fussed through your carrots and your bath (which i ended after about 3 minutes). while i put on your pajamas, you cried harder than i've heard you cry in a long time. i felt bad. but then you nursed and went to sleep easily, and in the morning you'll be chipper as ever.

i love going into your room in the morning and seeing you smile at me from your crib. it makes getting up worth it.

fate or luck or god or karma

dear little bear,

it wasn't long ago that you were purely hypothetical. now you are six months old. there is so much i want to remember about this time, so much i want to tell you. i've decided to just start writing it down.

i'd like to start at the beginning, but i don't know what counts as the beginning. i'll just start with today and eventually we’ll get to it all, i'm sure.

a little story i heard from big miss d when i picked you up from daycare tonight: you were sucking away on your binky earlier in the day, very happy, when another baby decided he wanted it and pulled it out of your mouth. instead of complaining, you just grabbed your binky right back, popped it into your mouth for a minute, and then held it up and circled your wrist around as if to say, "see, i have it now." your personality is starting to reveal itself, and you already have a good sense of humor.

tomorrow after we drop you off at daycare, daddy and i are going to see daddy's oncologist. for you it will be like any other day, but for us it will change things in some way. we will hear about some plan for the future, something that the doctors think is the best course of action for keeping daddy alive. not long ago we thought it would be liver surgery, but daddy's last pet/ct scan threw all that into question. now it could be that they want to go straight to chemo, or maybe first they'll do his ostomy takedown. (when you're old enough to read this, i'll explain about that.)

whatever it is, it will probably not be nothing. it will be one more thing we have to adjust to. daddy and i have both gotten pretty good at adjusting to whatever it is that the doctors tell us. we’ve had a lot of practice these last 11 months since the doctors told us daddy had colorectal cancer. the hardest part for me is not speculating: will my little bear grow up with his dad, or without his dad? if you grow up with your dad, will you always be as great together as you are now? if you grow up without your dad, will i be able to give you everything you need?

i hope you know i am not talking about material things. but no matter how many other people love you, and no matter how much, there is no substitute for a father who loves you. and your daddy really loves you. he is gentle with you. he plays guitar for you and sings to you and changes your diaper and gives you baths. he takes you for walks in your stroller so you can nap. he feeds you your bottle and spoons mushy baby food into your mouth and burps you and soothes you when you cry.

that is the love you deserve, and that is the father you deserve, and i hope that fate or luck or god or karma (or whatever you want to call the force that moves the world) gives it to you for keeps.