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?