i had a dream the night before last that i was leading a group of friends and my husband up a series of long and winding secret staircases in an old victorian home. the house was dark and saturated with smells of my grandmother and great-grandmother, making it feel recently lived in and loved, though i knew the house was vacant at the time of our own exploration.
i had been there before, many times; i was the only one who knew and therefore could lead the way to the attic, where something wonderful was kept, something i longed to share with the group behind and beside me. it at times felt like a tangible thing, yet at others it was simply a view of the town below under the night sky. the way up was physically daunting. as i led us into more treacherous entries–steep and black and airless, i yelled back to the group, “is the baby okay? is renn okay?” and always someone beloved responded that yes, he was, that he was carried and protected. this gave me momentum each step up. someone–a group of trusted and loved ones–had my baby. though i could not see him, i knew in my bones that he was with us and safe.
today renn turned eight months. it was also the first farmers’ market:
yesterday, just a little over a week after receiving his balance bike, morty decided noam was ready to try the pedal bike (a normal kid’s bike). he immediately took off on it, heading all the way down the sidewalk. i cried and cried. such a fantastic and joyous and scary moment for a mama! we caught it on video:
this morning, he got up, dressed himself, and he was gone. we saw that his bike helmet wasn’t by the door, and sure enough, he sped by the house moments later. seriously, little boy stopped nursing 18 months ago. 18 months ago he would still curl up to me and nurse to sleep. and now he dresses himself, knows enough after a day of riding a bike to wear a helmet, puts helmet on, and goes for a morning ride– all on his own, all without talking to us. i had just written a week ago about how awe-inspiring, terrifying, and oftentimes disorienting it is to have a child so fiercely capable, physical, and driven. the sight of him pedaling away from us…it was very emotional for me.
another noam moment, before the bike incident: morning violin practice
oh! and little renn pulled himself up to a stand last night as i was changing jasper’s diaper! it’s been a huge week over here for the m&m boys. we ended the evening by watching old videos of jasper standing and taking his first steps, not even yet a year ago. he is on his own schedule, that one. and thank god for that because we could not handle having two noams (or two jaspers, for that matter).
jasper learning how to stand (about 13 months ago!):
“…it’s a type of creature. and it walks and walks. and when people see it, it gets scared and it runs away.”
noam’s definition of ‘ghost’ is definitely straight out of Mercer Mayer’s “There’s Something in My Attic,” in which the Nightmare is terrified by the bossy little girl, so much so that he runs away in fear:
renn: six months; jasper: 2.5 years; finn: 3.5 years; noam: 4.5 years
i keep meaning to post but can’t find the time or energy. seven months into renn’s life and four years, seven months into life with children, we are thoroughly accustomed to sleep deprivation. objects appear out of nowhere on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis. i frequently stop mid-sentence, forgetting the second half of what i had wanted to say, only to completely change the subject once i realize it’s gone. the thought, the word, the dream of making and communicating meaning: gone. i suspect–i hope–it will all come back a few years from now when renn is weaned and past two year molars and sleep terrors.
but figuratively, too, these are dreamy days. i love our wakeful nights with a warm and cooing little nursling. i will miss having a baby in our house; i sort of dread the day, even as i look forward to being a very mobile, active family of three boys, all very close in age. understanding so well how finite it is and how fast it passes makes the sleeplessness that much more bearable. not to mention how nightfall-dawn is my only time alone with renn. i so look forward to it, the bonding. because otherwise we are walking, playing, checking out books, doing chalk drawings, trying in vain to pick up the house, cooking dinner, talking, talking, talking. nighttime is quiet and intimate and warm and lovely. i trade sleep for these moments with renn, and i love them and will miss them.
renn is the happiest baby ever. on easter sunday this past week he started really crawling and pulling himself up on chairs and the toy-box. he has no interest in solids yet. he has no fear of strangers (yet?). he still finds his biggest brother, noam, most hilarious. i love his expansive, gummy smile (still no teeth!). noam at this age was coy and apprehensive, and jasper was bright-eyed and so serious. renn is warmth and openness and wonder, always smiling.
renn at seven months:
noam around seven months
jasper around seven months
jasper has been so intense, so funny, so serious. look at this pout at two years, seven months!
he memorizes books and songs quickly and loves to change up a word to make us laugh (like singing the ABC’s perfectly but then, at the last moment, ending in “X, Y, poopy!“). a friend calls him “marlon brando,” and he does have that thick, husky build and voice, and pouty features.
he’s been asking, “guess what? i love you, mama.” or: “did you know i love liliana? did you know i love finn and blue?”
noam is riding a bike! well, a balance bike, that is. it is strange and exciting to have such an athletic, physical child. morty has been playing baseball with him out in the yard, and he’s really good. a neighbor gave him a skateboard, and he just took off on it. no fear. no hesitation. i don’t understand this way of being in the world, but i am hugely supportive of it. i watched both my younger brothers excel in sports at a young age, one playing college football and the other trying out for iowa state’s team, each finding joy in being part of a team, in being strong and fast. it’s exciting to watch this take shape in him even as it boggles my mind, that impulse, that capacity.
in other news, we had a good Easter. normally we head to des moines to be with extended family, but with both of us working full-time and child-rearing full-time without outside care, we decided to stay in iowa city this year and do something at home and then later with friends at hickory hill park.
coloring eggs the night before
eggs!
our table centerpiece for easter breakfast
at hickory hill park for another easter egg hunt with friends–the weather was ridiculously beautiful!
it was a nice day, though i did miss my mom and grandma. we’ll go home for Mother’s Day soon enough.
spring is here. gratitude. lilacs. after-dinner walks at twilight with the boys. open windows at night to hear the trains passing and to feel the spring wind. still nursing renn around the clock. still moving along with wakeful nights up with small children and early mornings with coffee, conversation with morty, and sunrise. andrew bird on the commute to campus. every morning i look forward to passing over the river and seeing its state, whether it’s reflecting the bright spring sun or enshrouded in thick fog.
last night we went on a rare date to see david cross and company. this is the only photo of us we have. dream-like and moving and dizzy. but happy! definitely happy.
we lost miguel the morning of the 28th after two weeks of dramatic weight loss and a week of feeding him wet food and water through a dropper. at 4 a.m. tuesday, he mustered what little strength he had left to hop onto our bed and lie alongside my back. he spent the next two hours there while i cuddled renn against my chest, one arm reaching behind my back to warm and comfort him in what would be his last few hours with us. we still don’t know what made him so sick so fast. the day before his death the vet said his blood work ruled out kidney failure/diabetes or an upper respiratory infection. i declined an xray, though now it seems probable that it was cancer. he was not quite 11 years old, and i was not nearly ready to lose him so young, so quickly, and so dramatically. i think about him most at dawn each morning, especially when pearl, his some time companion pictured beside him in the above photo, cries out the window that overlooks where he is now buried. we put him with renn’s placenta and hope to plant something in memory of him come spring.
it’s been very hard this week in the wake of his absence, though i am deeply grateful for those two hours with him at dawn, when the house was silent. it is as clear now to me as it was then that he was saying good-bye. a rare, significant moment of just the two of us. i love that we had that, though the intentionality behind it makes me so sad. he was as thoughtful, as sensitive, as knowing as a cat could be. i miss him deeply.
