For the joy

Joy was not an experience that had much room to flourish in my childhood.  The sense of being connected to what amounts to the good graces of god was always just out of reach.  Salvation was touted as free but we ought not forget that we were wretched sinners without it.  Grace, it seemed was something to speak of, but never indulge in for more than the fleetest of moments.  It might make you proud.  It could cause cockiness that could lead to being deceived by the wickedly clever, ever vigilant, satan.  And just because it was free, didn't mean it was for keeps. You could always loose salvation if you weren't One Step Ahead Of Temptation.

As a result of this rather contradictory and might I suggest, stressful, ideology, relaxing and just resting in the alrightness of being is something I actively strive to heal towards to this day.  Fear and anxiety are the underpinnings of my foundational values and they are ones I do not want to pass on to my child(ren).

When I look at Espen's face, enraptured with some texture, taste, or simply looking at me, I want to protect and nourish that more than anything.  I can tell that he believes he is loved and ok with every fiber of his limitless spirit, and it gives me hope.  It also raises the anxiety levels that I will, at some point, imprint on him some of the residual edginess that I inherited from a long line of worriers and soul-searchers.  In the meantime, I am continuing my work of releasing the fear and anxiety that was infused into my cells and sending it into the earth to be cleansed and returned to its pure, undefined, unjudgemental state so it can be used to heal instead of harm.

It is my greatest wish to simply and completely rest in the is-ness of life. Even if just for moments at a time, I believe in my heart of hearts that the look on my son's face is how we are all meant to feel about our place and our safety in being incarnated, regardless of what we experience physically or are told.  So, Espen, when you get old enough to read this, I want you to ask yourself if I helped you continue to feel safe in the world as you.  I hope that the answer is yes, and if it is not, that we both have the grace and courage to continue learning and growing towards it.

What To Do In Case of A Parent Crisis-(not for the faint of stomach)

I'm gonna level with you. Most of the time being the parent of a baby involves making snap decisions when you're out and about on how to meet the needs of a tired, hungry (insert more needs here) baby.

For example, it's two hours since Espen's last nap and we're at least another 45 minutes away from bed. He's showing great signs of being ready for his nap NOW.  Keep in mind that this window of Nap Necessity Now is anywhere from 1.5-4 hours after waking from last nap.

Do you:
(a) Stop everything you're doing, throw everyone in the car and race for home.
(b) Strap on the baby carrier and quickly come up with something you can do in that exact area that will take about an hour so he can nap on the fly.
(c) Try to coax him into a second wind by dangling toys, other babies, blueberries or pieces of paper in front of him.
(d) None of the above. He is a baby and you have stuff to do.

I never end up choosing d, which, while I may congratulate myself on being a good parent for eschewing, often makes outings an engrossing game of "Guess what will work THIS time!"

Mostly, the Unknown Solution is the biggest thing I have to contend with getting right aside from any post-partum or seasonal symptoms that demand scraps of attention now and again.  Rarely do my physical needs trump the baby's.  Except for today.

I was feeling pretty great despite having missed the memo that baby sign language class was cancelled and driving across town.  I bought a pair of Babylegs instead (no, not on the black market along with a new kidney) and headed to Harlow for a nurturing smoothie of kale, cucumber, cilantro and many other green things I'd not normally eat one at a time.  Can you guess where this is going? I couldn't.

Now, magically, another mom had shown up at the cancelled class at the same time I did and she had news. The Biggest Baby Stuff Sale of the Year was happening TODAY on my route home. Alright. There's the plan. Feed Espen his bottle, feed mom her smoothie, hit the baby sale and home...all within the window of Appropriate Awake Time.

Normally, I get the Tempest smoothie which is creamy with avocados and dates and nice things like that. Today however, since I am trying to sort out my allergy like symptoms of the last month and a half, I opted for the Rita, comprised of the vegetables listed above. It was not delicious and creamy like my usual, but it tasted damn healthy so I carefully sipped it down as we headed to the sale.

You know those Spirit halloween stores that take over vacant strip mall storefronts during the Fall? This sale was like that.  It was a pop-up, four-day only take over of some non-descript shop on King Road that just happened to be Filled to Bursting with moms sporting Ergo babies, tattoos, and kids dressed like retro pumpkins and pageant princesses. Espen and I did not stand out.

What did stand out was the rumble that hit me somewhere below the belly button and above my knees as I poked around plastic tubs with a variety of reclining options for baby.  Espen looked at me, his cheeks pink with excitement and sleepiness.  He cooed.  My guts roared back.  This was not the kind of place that has restrooms. The line wrapped around the store. Children screamed. I made a decision of pure panic.

We fled.

I've never gotten that kid in his car seat so fast in his life. He's never submitted that easily either.  Some part of him must have known that now it was Mom's Time.

Normally he'll cry and squawk when he is tired.  Normally, I drive like a sane person.

Today there was no speed limit I would not ignore, no old lady I would not swerve around.  There was no multiple choice to contend with, only Pure Action. I contemplated trying to fit one of Espen's diapers on in case Something Unstoppable Happened.

The gas gauge light flipped on.

I wasn't about to stop.  In times like this, you just figure that if you run out of gas or get pulled over, only blinding honesty will do. I had to make a run for home or a tree for all I was worth.

Meanwhile, Espen was being quiet as a mouse.  I thanked him during a moment of intestinal reprieve. I knew it wouldn't last long and in that fifteen seconds of peace, I was feeling guilty. He took it gracefully and silently. I didn't have the mental or physical space to REALLY appreciate this.

Hunched over the wheel, breathing a silent curse, I somehow managed to careen into the driveway, throw on the emergency brake, shift into neutral and race to the loo just in the nick of time.

When I returned to the still running vehicle with my baby inside, hoping that Espen hadn't been crying, I could only gape.  There he was, sleeping like an angel.

This never happens in his car seat without extreme protest.  Except, it would seem, when mom is about to loose her cookies, and every other healthy thing she's ingested in the last hour. Perhaps I'm on to something here...

The sly little scoundrel and the evolution of the complete human

Well, the last month has been full of growth for both baby and parent, so much so, that getting to a computer to write about it has been an impossibility.  

I was telling Tobias my theory yesterday that becoming a new parent is essentially the equivalent of going through special forces training.  You brave an intense regimen of sleep deprivation, emotional and physical breakdown and reassembly and if you can find a way to psychologically readjust your expectations for what is humanly possible, you'll come out a superhuman.  

That said, Espen is also in the process of achieving remarkable things, such as getting his first two teeth, sitting up unassisted, and moving from an effective army crawl to teetering on the brink of an evolved, big-boy crawl.  He  has also moved into his own room, started making pre-verbal "Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba!" sounds and eating from his own little bowl. He loves hummus and finds pear skin distasteful.

I also, have been personally stretching.  The last month+ has been a whirlwind of soul searching around family of origin topics which, on some level, contributed to a whopping case of allergic reactions such as my body has never seen.  Sneezing! Itching face! Plugged ears! Overall fuzziness!  It wasn't the nifedipine I was taking for breastfeeding, nor was it the chinese herbs I started taking to boost my immune system, because I quit them all to give myself a clean slate to work from and I was STILL yarking and feeling like the walking dead.  This is no good when you have a baby who is ready to take on world domination no later than 6.30am every morning.

By that point, I was crawling up the walls with the dripping down my throat. Then I remembered that I hadn't looked up the metaphysical/energetic root/cause of allergies.  What I found. -Denying your own power...what or who are you allergic to?  It was obvious to me there was/is a tie between the family work I'd been doing and the symptoms my body was producing so I did some close examination around things I needed clarification on and had some very illuminating conversations with my parents.  My symptoms have been less severe since then and I am hopeful that as I continue to speak my truth and stand in my power and heal the wounds from the past, my amazing body will continue to get stronger.

All this to say, we are progressing in leaps and bounds here at the the Eld-Mathis household.  Coming up on the horizon next week, Tobias leaves for a work trip for ONE WHOLE WEEK, which will be the first time he's been away from us that long.  We will see how things go and I am pretty sure The Bear and I will have some fantastic stories to tell him when he returns. Perhaps some new tongue tricks since Espen has started sticking his tongue out at EVERYTHING and EVERYONE as a new was to taste the world and say, "Hello!" (lick).  Hello indeed.

Five months and counting...

Clearly babies like putting things in their mouths.  The world is a tasty place.  Espen has gotten to the point now that the final resting place of anything he gets his hands on is predetermined. It doesn't matter how big or small or stone or plastic the object may be. It's goin' in the gob.

Plastic spoon? Sure. Car payment? Yum.  Hairy cat toy? Yes Please. This is how the requisite pound of dirt eaten in a lifetime begins.

The Little Bear has also discovered that he WANTS and does not appreciate being held out on, taken away from, or otherwise redirected.  That zucchini the size of him is what he's interested and darn you to heck if you try to pry his lips off of it and give him a teething ring instead. I know how he feels.  After all, who doesn't like gumming an elephant squash.

Making sure he doesn't ingest biohazards and/or colonies of wasps is pretty much a full time job and I can only wonder how I'll develop the necessary cunning to keep up with him when he starts crawling.  Rolling over and scooting about on his tummy is tricky enough. Somehow, I do believe he will live to see twenty in spite of his grandiose oral aspirations...call it ignorant optimism, but that's what you need to think that things like "Discovering a New World" and "Raising A Baby" are a cinch.

Tasting, tasting, 1, 2, 3...

On Saturday, August 24, year of our lord 2013, Espen Camino Eld Mathis tasted his first carrot, cucumber and kale.

It was a day of hard "K" and easy gumming at the fine organic/vegan/gluten free cafe' Harlow on 36th and Hawthorne.

After reaching, pawing, and grabbing for edibles with great conviction for the last two months, we placed the Holy Kale in his paws to see what would happen.



The carrot and cucumber were equally magical, though when I had to fish out a piece of his carrot shaving from his mouth, he was less than euphoric.

I'm pretty certain he doesn't know how to chew or swallow yet, but he's ready to give it a whirl.

Behold, Espen, on the cusp of solid food. Majesty. Glory. Magic.

He grabs his toes and hates naps

I am writing this now listening to my astrological profile while listening to The Bear protest against his nap which he very clearly needs.

Yesterday he learned how to grab his toes and has been obsessively kicking his feet, grabbing them, and looking very pleased with himself.  There are so many things changing these days, so many new skills and milestones that it's no wonder sleep seems like the last thing he would want to do.

On top of that, he's also rearing and bucking around alot with nursing throughout the day...and forgetting to let go of my boob.  This is sort of like having a chinese torture chamber on your nipple that refuses to let go.  When the gravity of his head finally pulls him off, I swear you can hear the 'pop'. True.

Days like today remind me that sometimes the line between pleasure and pain is very fine indeed.  It is good to remind myself that I am in a situation entirely because of my actions so whether I enjoy the result or not, it is up to me to make more of the same or try something different.

The traction we had gained in easier bedtimes has been lost in the trauma of naptime and nothing really seems to be working consistently. I have tried to stick to an "Every two hours from when he wakes" schedule, but unless I want to let him cry for an hour straight, that philosophy doesn't always work.  Then we end up in an endless spiral of waiting an hour and trying again to see if he'll go for it this time.  Add that on top of a distractible eater and well, it could make the days abit, ahem, challenging.

Oh, The Bear loves being awake and playing, it's just the going down for naps and eating that he's not too keen on.  So right now, it looks like the sleepless starvation philosophy is what The Bear prefers. Unfortunately, I've got the dubious task of helping him discover the art of compromise. So far what we have landed on is 10-20 minutes of crying unless he miraculously passes out on the boob at one of the lucky feeding sessions that last longer than ten minutes.

As all good parents know, and to be honest, I'm starting to think that anyone who doesn't swear and cry  at their children are good parents, we just want our kids to have as gentle an experience of life as possible.  Some days this seems much closer than others.  Still, when Espen flashes his "MOM, you RESCUED me!" smile, I just want to keep him awake and feed him on sunshine as long as he wants. Lordy Lord.

My baby is awesome (er than all the rest)

Ok, moms out there know what I'm talking about. Dads too. We're all pretty sure our baby is the Supreme Incarnation of All That Is Amazing and Good.

But mine really is.  He has so much hair he makes boy bands look sad.  He giggles at four am when I pick him up in a dead cry and then chuckles contentedly to himself as I hold him.

He has dance moves that Michael Jackson would be jealous of.
He hates hats and isn't afraid to let you know.

He can lift whole baskets of toys BY HIMSELF.

He is cute with and without clothes on.

His poop even smells sweet.

So come on other parents out there. Let's see what your baby has.  I don't want to be elitist and sit on this Mt. My Babe Is FUCKING RAD alone. Do your worst. Or best.

But don't say I didn't warn you about the steep competition.

The Bear is on the Adwarable Path and he's taking names.