Isaiah
The Evolution of the Grandson
My brother Fran has four kids, 3 of them are boys. Nick and I try to visit their family in North Canton as often as we can. Now that the weather is turning, it’s easier to get down there and let all the kids run around. (Well, Isaiah, for now, just kind of lays there.) It’s amazing to me to know they will all grow up together and are so close in age. Cousins are an invaluable part of our lives and I know it’s true for Nick and I that we love spending time with our cousins. So, it’s important for us to see Isaiah grow familiar with his.
When we see our niece and nephews, we get a glimpse of what’s in store for us down the road. A lot of it looks wonderful. Some of it looks a bit intimidating…
Right after this picture was taken, Zach started hiding in the living room. He finally admitted to Suzi (my sister-in-law and Zach’s mom) that he had swallowed a nickel. Specifically, it was Jesse’s nickel.
Apparently this wasn’t the first time one of the kids swallowed a coin. So after a scolding and punishment, Zach was sent to his room. Jesse, looking adorably confused as to why Zach was in trouble asked what happened. When he realized his beloved little $.05 was missing he screamed at the top of his lungs, “MY NICKEL!!!!!!”
As sad as he was, I couldn’t help but laugh my butt off — he was just so darned cute and the situation was so ridiculous. He left the table with his head down in utter sorrow.
I looked at Isaiah, munching away on tongue and watching angels float around him, and wondered what was in store for him. If he was going to swallow any precious heirlooms or coveted trinkets in the future.
God, I hope not. I still need to learn know how to do the heimlich maneuver.
Sweet Sixteen Ready
The Difference Between Baseball Players and Isaiah
Me: Isaiah needs new clothes. His legs are getting too long. Thank God my mom bought some new clothes for him because I hate cutting the feet off of those pajamas.
Nick: I saw that baseball outfit though. That fit him well.
Me: For now, but it’s starting to get tight. That’s the first time he wore that, too!
Nick: Well, baseball uniforms are actually supposed to fit like that, slightly form-fitting.
Me: You realize, though, that it’s a BABY OUTFIT that supposed to mimic a baseball uniform. He’s not really supposed to be an actual baseball player.
Bottom line – he needs bigger clothes.
The Irony
Writing, for me, serves many purposes. Not only is it my passion, my center, my lifelong dream and goal, writing is also cathartic. When I write, it always relieves something. It helps me share the good. It also helps me release the aggravation.
Today, I am writing for the latter.
It is my first taste in understanding how parents can simultaneously love their child and also want to run away to Bora Bora alone and get lost in the beauty of the ocean, away from screaming cries and milk stains and the smell of diapers and the sight of bad eczema.
Today Isaiah was a complete paradox. After sleeping through the night consistently for over a month (I know, I know – we’re incredibly blessed and I shouldn’t be complaining), he didn’t last night. He WAH!ed and AIGH!ed for an hour while I tried everything to calm him down, but…to no avail.
He woke at 8am and was just as fussy. So I stripped him down to his diaper to look for any signs of…anything – rashes, bumps, bruises – signs of discomfort or hurt. Nada.
While he laid on our big bed squirming like a fish out of water with nothing but his diaper on, I couldn’t help but laugh at how adorable he looked. His pure smooth skin (except his face where he has eczema, poor guy) and fat rolls…he looked like an enormous human cinnabon, just ready to be eaten. So I leaned over and teased him, calling him my favorite pumpkin and gave him a friendly zerbert on his stomach.
And thus came Isaiah’s first laugh.
3 hearty, adorable chuckles erupted from his tiny little mouth and I squealed in delight.
That was the highlight of the day.
The rest of the day he was either fussing, crying, yelping, or sadfacing. I was at my wit’s end and contemplated what Bora Bora looked like this time of year. I could hear it calling my name. Liiiiiisssssaaaaaa…LLLLLLLiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssaaaaaa
I was brought back to reality when Isaiah spit up on me for the fifth time.
It was a toss-up between me and his burp cloth for WORST SMELL IN THE LIVING ROOM. We both were covered in Isaiah’s regurgitation.
Of course it had to be a night when Nick worked late until 9pm. He walked in to find me on the floor, lightly bouncing Isaiah in his bouncer while his eyelids drooped closer and closer to a close. My other hand was stuffing dinner in my face because I hadn’t eaten in hours. Taking care of Isaiah required both hands all day. Food was secondary. By 9pm, I was so ravenous, I felt like I was going to eat a piece of old firewood laying in the fireplace. It looked like a hotdog at the time.
Luckily, I was able to scarf down dinner while Isaiah bounced around for a few minutes. Nick had barely entered the house when I announced that I needed to go upstairs and get my sanity back. “I’m going to take a shower. If you need me, I’m NOT available.”
It’s ironic that Isaiah’s first laugh came today when I spent most of the day near tears with Bora Bora dreams. Nothing, not even the promise of spring in three weeks could alleviate the stress of a restless baby.
And so, I write.
Isaiah 9 Weeks
Isaiah and Love
I am listening to Isaiah gulp down his milk.
He is in the other room with Nick. The strains of the television are loud, but they still cannot drown out the long sighs and squirms and squeaks of our little one. As I write this, though I cannot see him, I know he is draining his bottle, staring at the intricate patterns of the ceiling, and kicking his legs into the air.
Isaiah is 9 weeks old. Nick and I can scarcely believe it. I cannot imagine the level of disbelief I will be in when he is 9 months, 9 years or 19 years old. Those days will come, but for now, I just watch and observe my big little guy, chasing the winter blues away – which are so common for Clevelanders – with his rainbow wide smile and fat rolls on his wrists and ankles.
My father recently commented that from the photos I have taken of him, it’s obvious that Isaiah is the love of my life. And I couldn’t agree more. He’s the love of OUR lives – Nick and mine. Every little thing he does evokes a reaction from us that reminds me how I was when I was falling in love with Nick. All the tiny details of your beloved’s existence seem to burn into your memory. Nothing seems as interesting or intriguing as what is happening in their world. Life seems more exciting when you know you are going to see this person and when you see their smile…ahhhh, it’s like the world was just reborn, everything’s new and beautiful again.
Isaiah has moved the furniture in our hearts and has promptly and decidedly plopped his round little bottom into the middle of it. He takes up every inch we have of energy and attention, laughter and frustration, sleep and concern. This is the transition of parenthood, I assume. You begin to learn to live outside yourself. Love of self still continues, obviously (and necessarily), but the center of well-being shifts. It’s no longer contained in my life, it exists in this chubby 22 inch body who cannot do anything but need, cry, and wiggle. And somehow, incredibly, this person also delivers immeasurable joy.
Sweet Isaiah, these 9 weeks have been life-changing. Your father and I will never be able to adequately explain how nuts we are about you. I hope you know that you have introduced us to a new and deeper kind of love that we never knew before. Not only have you brought this love out of us for you, but it has also further deepened our love for one another.
Gluttony, Maybe
So, the little Gerber Face received ashes today. I mean, THANK GOD, because it’s been a little over 3 weeks since his baptism and he really needed to be straightened out before things got too out of hand. You saw his Valentine’s Day picture, right? Flipping the camera off like he’s a deranged teenager already? My sweet boy is getting a little too edgy for me. So, hopefully the ashes will set him straight. “Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel,” are mighty good words to live by.
But what sin (other than the Valentine birdy he gave me) can this sweet cherub commit? Vanity? No. Rage? Hardly. Greed? Nope. Envy? Never. Sloth, pride, lust? NO.
Gluttony?
Mhm, weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllll….
What do you call one’s inability to stop drinking milk? Borderline gluttonous behavior?
He’s too new to sin, but it’s good to have received ashes nonetheless.
He behaved like an angel, of course, throughout all of mass, and even for the soup and faith discussion we attended after mass. Nick was leading a discussion about Lent and prayer. Isaiah was like a little Lenten prayer all on his own – so quiet, holy, pure, and awesome.
So begins 40 days of meditation and fish Fridays. Nick and I decided that although we think he would try to participate as a devout Catholic, we’re not going to let him fast this year.