Seeking Samadhi

Apparently I didn't avoid Tai's cold after all.  I'm sore-throat, mucus girl this evening.  And I'm tired - though that could be from the rough sleep night last night.  I need to remember to give Tai tylenol before bed since he's still working on his bottom molars.  So, instead of working on my novel pages that are due tomorrow, I'm posting the bits and pieces I've been thinking about for the past few days.

Tai has started saying two words together once in a while.  The other day Tom slept in the guest room (he'd been out drinking and if he comes home late and beer-full he tends to wake me up with insane levels of snoring).  When Tai woke up he wondered where Tom was.  I said we should go find him and called 'Where are you?'  After a minute, Tai echoed me - 'Are you?  Are you?'  Complete with sing-song tone and shrug.  I thought he just copied me, but today he was looking for me and he said, "Mama?  Are you?"  And then I died of the kyute.

He's singing more, and the other day when he started to play with his Little People farm he sang 'e-i-e-i-o' (of Old MacDonald) all of his own volition.

We've been going to Story Time at Red Hill books pretty regularly.  It helps to push his one nap to around midafternoon so neither of us loses our mind before Tom gets home.  And it's fun for him to hang out with other kids and sing songs.  It's hard though - he's so exuberant.  He likes to go right up to the person who is doing the story time and touch their legs or just be close.  He tends to vocalize his excitement and to race back to me, sometimes barreling right through other kids.  On the one hand, I want to teach him appropriate behavior (whatever that is) but I don't want to stifle his enthusiasm or make him feel like he can't be himself.  I want him to have fun, to express his enjoyment.  It is a story hour for kids his age, and usually the people who are leading seem to enjoy his pleasure.  I've spent so much of my life worrying about doing the right thing, acting the right way, fitting in... I don't want him to be stuck with all of that fear.  But I also don't want people to dislike being around him.  I know this push/pull is only going to get more obvious as he gets older and goes to preschool.   

I've also been reading a book about being fat in America, and one of the short essays is about the author who was told she was fat ever since she was three and four.  It stuck with her, the memory of being considered fat and therefore inferior, even from such a young age.  I am not saying Tai is fat - I don't believe he is.  But people often comment about how big he is.  Sure, he's sturdy.  I never worry about him getting run over when he's in a crowd of toddlers.  I do, however, want to avoid too much body commentary, even in ways that seem harmless now.  For example - so many people say 'he's so big!  He's going to be a football player!'  This sounds good enough - but what if he grows up to be average, or smaller than average?  Will he feel like he's not as good because he doesn't have that build?

I want to be aware as I bring Tai up.  I want to help him to feel comfortable in his skin.  It's not a feeling that's easy to come by in our culture.  

This Saturday, when Tom and I were out for date night, we were briefly listening to "A Prairie Home Companion" on NPR.  (Not one of my favorite shows; I find Garrison Keillor's voice annoying.)  Keillor read a poem by John Updike and it struck me as something I wanted to remember, though I'm not usually much of a poetry person.  I looked it up online and want to keep it here so I can find it again.


Perfection Wasted

And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market --
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories
packed in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That's it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren't the same.

John Updike


In other news - Tai is definitely on the mend.  His whining was confined only to the hours we were at home - while we were out to lunch with Anat, Karen and Talya and while we were walking with Mom he was totally fine and charming (though still snotty).  I'm glad he's feeling better - when he's sick he's so pathetic, with his big, staring eyes and his little bottom lip tucked under.  

Oddly, he's been refusing the bottle the past couple of nights.  Not sure what that's about - it's a bummer because Tom likes to hold him and rock him to sleep sometimes.  And because I like to have a bit of time to myself.  I think he might be teething - or it could be that he just wants his Momma because he's still not feeling quite right.  Either way, I'm telling myself that this too shall pass, and trying to enjoy the quiet time while we rock.

At 2:30am on Thursday, it will be exactly a year since I went into labor with Tai.  I've been thinking a lot about his birth lately, needless to say.  More on that soon.  Also - I wonder if he has any sort of memory of the experience - our labor and his birth?  A physical memory, maybe.  I wonder if that could be contributing to his restlessness?  
 

I'm not sure what exactly contributes to the anxiety, it seems to pop up out of nowhere.  I know what triggers it - mentions of stomach flu or throwing up - but it doesn't happen every time.  Some days I can come across people talking about it and while I might get a momentary sinking feeling, but it passes through me.  Other days, like today, it sends me into a spin anyd I have a hell of a time pulling myself out of it.  I can be playing with Tai or surfing the web and my brain is yammering on about 'what ifs' and general feelings of impending doom.

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