6 months of Bear

Bear is 6 months old today!

Writing fails

I’ve always believed in the power of writing. I’ve always loved to read, always loved to write, largely disagreed with people who think online interaction is shallower than face-to-face interaction, elevated writing somewhat over talking. Spoken words vanish into the air; writing lasts. Conversation is haphazard—the sound an orchestra makes when it’s tuning up at the beginning of a concert. Writing is what happens when the orchestra begins to play: purpose, meaning, melody.
    I’ve always known that writing can move hearts and minds. It can make you see things from another point of view and feel things you’ve never felt before.
    I even love the way the letters of the alphabet look on a page.
    But there’s one subject in which writing fails. Before I became a mother, no writing ever convinced me of how wonderful it would be to have children. And that is so strange to me now, thinking back. How could I not have known? I shouldn’t have needed to read something—I should have just been able to look at a child, for instance—but the thing is, when all else failed, writing also failed. The language that speaks best to my brain still couldn’t convey what happens when you hold your own baby.
    Actually, what happens is not at all complicated. It is this, precisely this:

 

I remember the way people described raising kids. The ups and downs. The exhaustion and the joy. The sacrifices and the rewards. In my mind, child-rearing seemed similar to the way I feel about exercise regimes or mountain climbing—most of the time it’s just a lot of work. Most of the time, you don’t even really enjoy it. It gets in the way of what you really want to do. But then you reach some milestone or some pinnacle and you look back and think, I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I stuck to it. Arguably worth it—but not by a huge margin.
    That’s a completely wrong way of viewing it. It would be more accurate to compare life without kids to a world without color. Maybe it’s a wonderful world (I quite liked my life before kids), but it’s black and white, and life with kids is life with color. And when people talk about ups and downs, the downs in the color world would be, say, that some of the colors aren’t pretty. It’d be crazy to think a few ugly colors would be reason to prefer a colorless world. Or you could say that life without kids is like being in a wheelchair, and life with kids is gaining the ability to walk and run. The downs would be things like pulling a muscle or getting out of breath. Real things to complain about, but not reasons to prefer a wheelchair!
    That’s why it was hard to write after Zuzu was born. I wanted very much to address my pre-motherhood self, explain about motherhood, convince the girl I was to be more eager to take the leap. But if the first billion people to write on this subject couldn’t do it, I didn’t expect to be successful.
    That’s why it is still (curiously) a bit harder to write about Zuzu than about Bear. Because underneath the patty-cake songs and the discussions of pooping on the potty, I still have a trembly sense of awe over the way I feel toward my firstborn.
    I don’t know why Bear made it easier to write again, but he did, and I’m glad.

Stay-at-home baby

I think Bear likes being a stay-at-home baby. For one thing, he gets to watch Zuzu all day long. When I watch him watch her, I actually feel kinda bad for Zuzu that she doesn’t have an older sibling, so she misses out on all this great entertainment. The other day, Zuzu pretended to pour a bucket of soup on Bear’s head, and then began a laborious process of cleaning him by transforming toys into imaginary soap dispensers and then toweling off his head and torso and limbs one by one. The whole thing was fairly invasive and time-consuming, and all the while Bear sat there quietly in wide-eyed fascination.

He likes to examine things. He seems like he wants to take things apart and put them back together. He leans forward—almost constantly, putting steady persistent pressure on the hands that are holding him back, deeply focused on objects before him. He doesn’t cry or act frustrated when he can’t reach something, he just leans and leans and leans. Since he can’t quite sit on his own, when he leans forward he will just fold double if allowed. And I usually have to use two hands when I carry him on my hip, because he leans forward with such determination.

Part of his examination procedure is, of course, to put things in his mouth. That’s typical baby, but Bear looks like he’s taking notes when he does it. New object appears. Begin by staring. Next, examine with fingers. What does it feel like? What happens when you shake it? Next: examine with mouth. What does it taste like?

He’s big and heavy and plump and feels so good to hold. I’m not into co-sleeping but I’m a fan of co-napping, and so is Bear. For the most part he’s at his happiest when he’s being held. In fact, he’s rather insistent about being held most of the day.

Zuzu (2 years, 6 months, 20 days)

These warm humid days, Zuzu has ringlets all around her face, golden curls that come loose from her rubber band and fall beautifully across her forehead and next to her cheeks and float in the air all around her head.

We just went to this summer’s first Thursday night concert in the park, and Zuzu joined the other kids running around and dancing in front of the band. I watched her holding hands with girls she’d just met. I watched her run and run and run in circles, with her brisk little short steps that make her curls bounce. I watched her trip and fall and get up and brush herself off and keep running.

We watered the plants in our yard with a hose. She loved doing it. She held the nozzle and kept the water going for the length of time it took me to sing “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on each of four bushes that Daddy just planted. Then she carried the hose across the yard and watered the garden. She sprayed her feet with water. I kept instructing Zuzu on where to point the hose, and meanwhile Bear was in the shade in his bouncy seat crying. Zuzu got fed up with me hovering and said, “I’ll do it. I’m doing it! You check on Bear!”

The other morning we made scrambled eggs. Zuzu cracked the eggs, added salt and pepper, and whipped them with a fork so well that I didn’t even have to finish the job, I just poured them into a pan and cooked them.

We’ve just started introducing some baby food to Bear. The first time, Zuzu wanted to feed him. I thought that would be a bad idea, but she was persistent so I yielded and let her try. It was entirely successful. She was as gentle and patient as could be. “Keep that in your mouth!” she’d say while scraping the dribblings off his chin with the spoon.

She was recently helping me change Bear’s diaper and suddenly said, “He’s holding my hand!” I looked down to see that this was true. Then she said, “I like him. I’m gonna keep him.” I don’t know if she was quoting us or that line from Frozen.

She loves—loves—talking about our extended family. She likes it when we sing “He’s got the whole world in His hands.” She shouts out names of family members she wants us to insert into the song. “He’s got the Omas and the Opas in His hand …” etc. for both sides of the family.

She talks so much and so well that it sometimes makes her seem older than she is.

Bear thinks she’s a mix between an angel and a superhero. He watches her with so much love and fascination on his sweet little face.