The Water Baby

Mikey became a water baby today.

A little background: I love having a pool. When I was a kid in Ohio, I was the one with a pool – it was a rarity among folk in a climate where winters (and most of fall and most of spring) were harsh enough to freeze 20,000 gallons to a solid. When Ian and I bought our first house together, he required a good kitchen and I required a pool. Of course, we also required a quiet neighborhood, extra bedrooms, and all the other requirements for parenthood, and we were lucky enough to get it all. The pool is fenced in, as required by California foster care, and we have an attached hot tub which we never use as such, but which we figured was perfect as a kiddy pool. I live every minute of every summer I can in the pool, and Ian, who grew up in an even less pool-oriented climate than Ohio – England – has gradually gravitated towards it as well. Needless to say, as summer begins in the blast furnace they call the San Fernando Valley, we want our child to be comfortable in the pool because that’s where we will be.

Mikey, on being brought out to the pool at a friend’s house days after we first got him, screeched in horror, and could only be comforted with a snack cup of pretzels. Gradually, we introduced him to our pool, and he came to understand the pleasure of dipping his feet in the water and splashing, with me or Ian by his side. A week ago, he stood up on the highest step in the hot tub/kiddy pool, and then soon, he was comfortable walking along it, collecting some toys we scattered along it.
Today, we brought him out to the pool, as we do every afternoon, and we went through the familiar procession, feet splashing, standing, squirting one another with bath toys, collecting toys on the top step. Ian sat on the top step, and Mikey just suddenly decided to sit down next to him. That lasted for an hour or so of play. I was in the middle of the hot tub, and Ian got out to lie out on the deck, and Mikey went to join him. Mikey handed him his shirt, and Ian put it on, and we thought it was over for the day.

“Should I take his swim suit off here?” Ian asked.

“Might as well, and take his diapers off too,” I said. “They’ve already absorbed half the pool.”

When Ian removed Mikey’s bottom half of clothing, Mikey held up his arms to have his shirt removed as well, and soon the naked little boy was back in the pool, and I was watching warily to make sure he didn’t find the immersion in water too … relaxing. I was so expecting imminent pooping that when he turned around and squatted, I assumed that was it, but Ian called to my attention that he was just trying to get down to the next lower step. I helped him down, and for the next two hours, we played in the water which was up to both of our necks, laughing, splashing, and singing. I only pulled him out because the sun was setting, and I was entirely pruned up.

He may turn out to be a bigger water baby than even me. I wonder if Ms. B, who is giving him swimming lessons in a couple weeks, will mind if he does it nude.

My Trip To The Clouds & Sun Valley

Father’s Day weekend and the out of state wedding we attended were perfect, as of course was I (Littlest Mikey). We drove to Burbank Airport Friday morning, which is nice because it’s close and small, and only had a bit of grumpiness when they took my shoes off and took away my sippy cup at security for thirty seconds, because I look so shifty. We hung around the gate with our friend Stan, Chris, and Robert who were also going to the wedding, and I smiled at all the folk waiting for the plane who were doubtlessly thinking, “Oh, a baby on the plane. I do hope he sits near us!”



The first flight was about two hours from Burbank to Salt Lake City. I cried for a moment as we walked across the runway to the small plane and it roared in a scary way, but that didn’t last long. I am not used to being held on a lap for two hours, so I squirmed between the two laps I had available and ate and ate and ate, and sometimes I played with the food boxes, or the tray table, or the window shade (where I learned two new words “Up” and “Down”). Then we had a short layover in Salt Lake City and moved into a smaller propeller plane. I tried to stay awake for the hour flight to Sun Valley, but much to everyone’s disappointment, I fell asleep.

When I woke up, we were on the shuttle to our hotel, the Sun Valley Lodge. Our room wasn’t ready, so first we were put in a room which could only be reached up a long flight of stairs. When Papa Ian complained that such a room wouldn’t do for a baby in a stroller, they moved us to another room on the ground floor. This room had a lovely view of the lodge ice rink, but when Papa Ian called to ask what time the shows were and whether they were loud, we were moved again and upgraded to the best room in the hotel, the parlor suite with two balconies and a separate living room. Something about a squeaky wheel, which I very seldom am, myself.

That night we went to a pre-wedding dinner at a restaurant, where I had lamb for the first time. Many people said I was cute and well-behaved, so that must be true. We left just before dessert at 9:30, and I fell asleep in the crib the hotel provided without any protesting.

The next morning, we went off in search of a restaurant in the “village” of shops attached to the lodge, but ended up returning back to the hotel where I was a little grumpy and didn’t want to wear my bib and occasionally things were thrown to the floor. The ‘rents need to remember to feed me first, then go exploring, right? After that, I went back to normal angel mode as we found a playground on the property and did swings and slides for an hour or two. We went back to the room for my mid-day nap, but I was too excited about seeing more of the town to sleep, so after a while, they plopped me in my stroller and walked a mile down the road to Ketchum. We’ll have to send you some pics and videos of the walk, because it’s all that snowy mountain, big vista, big clouds, “God country” good stuff. Anyhow, I fall asleep in the stroller apparently, but two hours later, I wake up and they have visited Hemingway’s grave, run into some other wedding guests, and we’re out eating burgers and chowder.

Then we had to spit spot back to the hotel, and get dressed up for the wedding. My dads wore black tie and I wore the seersucker suit my grandma sent me, which was a mite too big when I tried it on a couple weeks ago, but fit as if tailored now. (I learned a new word at this moment, “Ready,” as in “Are we ready?” “Ready!”) The shuttle took us to Lindsley’s stepmother’s ranch. Huge place. The ceremony was in the barn, the reception was at the guest house, and the dinner was in a tent down the hill. Someday when I come back, I might get to see the house itself which apparently down on the river. I was a little shy and frowny around the crowd at first, but by the time dinner was served, I was running across the dance floor, from table to table to tell people “Hi” and be the official greeter. If the bride was miffed that I was getting more attention than she was, she didn’t show it. I hope my life continues to be like that tent, filled with people who love me. I learned the word “moon” after pointing to the night sky. I finally fell asleep in my stroller at about 11:30, just in time for the first shuttle back to the lodge, and a little past the time when I got to see Papa Ian do the Macarena.

I slept in late, but we still had to spit spot to get all packed up and Daddy Ted left his cell phone charger behind and Papa Ian left his Kindle charger behind (they discovered hours later back in El Lay when they unpacked). We took the shuttle to the brunch at a country club where there was a bagpiper who frightened me when he came in and when he left, since I was right near the door, and he sounded like a dozen cats going backwards through a vacuum cleaner. We went back to the lodge, and after another walk around in my stroller, I fell asleep until the shuttle came to take us to the airport.

The security folk in Sun Valley Airport take their jobs very seriously, and were very thorough in searching my diaper bags. They tested all my food to make sure my bananas and hot dogs weren’t bombs, patted Papa Ian down for looking shifty (which is how he looks when he’s annoyed), and then I got annoyed at my Osh-Kosh straps until we unsnapped one, Huckleberry Finn style and I was okay. I loved my window seat which had a view of the propeller, which looks a bit like my ceiling fan at home which makes me go, “Ooooh!” whenever it’s on.

In Salt Lake City again, I didn’t want to be in the stroller as we walked to our connecting flight, so I held Daddy Ted’s hand and ran so we wouldn’t miss it. Daddy Ted was impressed with my speed and it wasn’t until I suddenly began going slowly that he looked down and discovered that I had lowered my second Osh-Kosh strap and was going as fast as I could with my pants around my ankles. I don’t think Salt Lake City had seen the like before.

I didn’t sleep on the plane, but continued to eat and play and play peek-a-boo with fellow passengers, including some of the wedding guests. On the landing to Burbank, I pulled at my ears a bit and whimpered, but that’s the only time the pressure seemed to bother me. We drove back home, said hi to the cat (who I call “Dat”) and went to sleep after a bit of protest.

Today, back to some routine, playing in the park (when I wake up – it’s 8:30, and I’m still asleep), then social workers come at 3, swim class at 5:30.

His Name is Michael

I’m still not going to include any photos of “Baby M” on this website, because a) I’m not sure how I feel about breaching the privacy of a minor like that, and b) it’s against the rules of our foster care agency, and we could lose him as a result. Probably B is more to the point.

Anyhow, Ian and I decided that it was okay to do away with this “Baby M” stuff, and give his name. It’s Michael. Mikey, we call him. Coincidentally, that’s the same as my little brother and occasional writing partner. I can say that I spent the first 20 years of my life saying, “Mikey, do what I say!” and then took 20 years off, and am now prepared to say “Mikey, do what I say!” for another 20 years (at least).

Now what I have to find is the old toy we used to have which played:

My name is Michael
I got a nickel
I got a nickel, shiny and new
I’m gonna buy me all kinds of candy
That’s what I’m gonna do.

I’ve begun looking for a nanny/baby-sitter/au pair at least part time, and it’s funny how many enthusiastic folk blow you off rather than even showing up for the first interview. We’re relying on recommendations first, but we’re also looking at an agency. I signed up on GreatAuPairs.com, and the first response I got was from a man in China who wants to come out and live with us. We’ll have to think about that one.

Check out my partner Ian’s blog about feeding Mikey, the Sprog at http://www.tastebudding.blogspot.com/

My Son's Hair

I haven’t mentioned it before, but Baby M is half African-American and half Latino. Ian and I are both white. Some have said we’re very white. I’ll have to decide as M gets older how much of his personal life it’s appropriate to share on the web, but suffice to say, transracial adoption is a controversial topic for many reasons, some good and some bad. We know there’s a lot of ways we’re going to embarrass him growing up, but we’re going to do what we can on anything we can fix with a little education.

Today, I drove M down to see Althea at Spice Salon on West Pico, just off La Brea. She’s a Jamaican hair dresser who has been running classes for white parents to teach them how to take care of their black babies’ hair. She didn’t have any group classes coming up, so we did a one-on-one consultation.

I wasn’t entirely clueless, it seems. I showed her the brush I was using daily and the olive oil based conditioner, and she recommended a moisturizing shampoo I could use instead of Johnson & Johnsons generic baby shampoo, which would also not hurt his eyes, called hair milk.



She told me to get a wide-pronged comb and every morning, do the leave-in conditioner, work out the knots with the comb, and then brush, and she showed me how to do it gently but firmly.

“I’m not the only black person who hates to see a white couple with a black baby whose hair is so untidy, he looks like a wild child from the Congo,” Althea says. “Hair is part of our culture. Do something with it, so he’ll be proud.”

I can’t teach M how to be black in America, but hopefully I can give him some tools so he can figure it out for himself.

Slightly Down & Very Up

Today we had a meltdown at CVS. It’s the second time I’ve taken M there, and each time, there’s been an issue. The first time, I put him in a cart without checking to see that it pushed alright – and when I discovered that it didn’t, I lifted him up to put him in a properly working cart and he freaked out at being lifted up, only calming down when placed in position again. Then, when we were leaving, he lost it again after I let him roam in the aisles and then picked him up to leave. This time, I checked out the cart to make sure it was working correctly, put M in it, and we were having a great time, until he reached for some medicine and I said no, and he lost his mind. Arms up, tears exploding. I had dealt with him crying before, of course, and obeying the dictums issued from Dr. Kaplan’s “The Happiest Toddler on the Block,” I began empathizing (“You’re mad! Mad!”) and speaking Toddlerese, telling him what he was feeling. He didn’t go into my arms as he usually does, he thrashed on the floor.

Five minutes went by of hysteria.

Ten.

These are very long minutes, but I wasn’t irritated with him, more confused that my usual tricks weren’t working, and a little embarrassed, to tell the truth. Finally, I swept him up and took him out of the store, our errands unfinished. Afterwards, I thought I should have left him in the aisle, finished my shopping, and collected him afterwards. Oh well. Thirty seconds into the car seat on the way home, and he was calm as a cucumber.

The rest of the day was fabulous. He’s been nervous about the pool, crying when he first was brought close to one, and then tentatively trying more and more, putting his feet in the water, splashing, sitting down on the highest step and walking on it. Today, no progress off the highest step, but he still enjoys it. I figured we do it every day and he'll get more and more comfortable ... and meanwhile, I get to soak in the pool.

Then, there’s bathing. He loved the bath on Day 1 we got him, and has hated it every day since. We’ve done everything. The temperature is tepid. The bath is full of suds and toys. Ian or I have gotten in the tub first. We’ve tried bringing him over to the shower. Everything turns to suspicion and then tears. Finally we brought out Baby J’s old baby tub, and M liked to play in it with the bath toys. Today, I filled it with warm/tepid water and carried it out to the back patio and filled it with suds. M played with his toys in the suds and then asked for help taking his shirt and his diapers off, and then got in. Turns out the little bugger likes bathing al fresco.

Then, there’s feeding. He’s got an appetite, but not for green stuff. We’ve played around with texture, trying to puree broccoli and green beans down to a mush, and still, it ends up down his chin when he tastes it. Today, I slipped spirulina in his banana yogurt. Now, if you haven’t had spirulina, also known as blue-green algae before, it’s full of beta-karotene and other vitamins and intensely green. That yogurt looked like acid guacamole. But he lapped it up and wanted more.
Not an up-and-down day. A slightly down and very up day.

Thursday, we’ll get more word from the social worker about the process of adopting this challenging and wonderful toddler.

Getting To Know “M”

When we had Baby “J,” I titled all the posts about him, “Week One With Baby J,” “Week Two With Baby J,” et cetera. In part, it made titling these posts easier; but it also betrayed our suspicion that it would ultimately be a temporary placement. Since we fully intend and believe Baby M to be a permanent placement, cumulating in an adoption in about six months’ time, that tradition has to change.

That said, it will be a week tomorrow since we took in Baby M.

Here are the words he says pretty consistently: Ball, More, Dada, No, Yes, Yeah, Hello, Hi, Goodbye, Thank You (“Di doo,” after receiving something), Please (when prompted “Saying please”), Blue (when looking at a picture book about colors, he is only interested in the one with the ocean and saying “Blue,” the other colors are merely in the way of getting to blue), Cheese, Nana, Cat (occasionally, when the presence of Floyd is enough to get any reaction at all), and Poo Poo.

He’s very independent. He wants to put his pants and shoes on by himself and sometimes succeeds. I can’t rush him, or he’ll give a reproachful, “Ah!” Any new situations can likewise only be approached by M at his own pace and comfort level. Playgrounds, bath, bed, all are met with hostility if he’s pushed, but if he’s allowed to approach them himself, he’ll get into it. He’ll go get diapers or a ball or whatever you send him for that’s out of the room, and once in a while, when his diaper is full, he’ll go ahead and get the diaper and bring it to you as a gentle hint.

The trick we’ve been told over and over again is establishing a routine. We have a routine in the process of being established, but it’s not easy. We have to be ruthless about enforcing the right times for meals and naps because mere minutes after the proper moment, we’ve got tears. Otherwise, there’s a little “Eh!” before he settles down.

He can sleep by himself in his crib (or “cot” as Ian still calls it) but he prefers to fall asleep against my chest, and then be transferred over. I like it too.