Birthday Boy
He's One! Outside Amsterdam dozes under the same blanket of snow that covered the city this time last year. There's that same hush, the muffling of everyday noise that made the clamour and roar in my head even louder. He's here. He's here and I'm a mother. And we're parents. We have a son.
His first 356 days. So many of them spent right here in this living room, the first hundred trying to simulate something womb-like. Quiet, warm and protected from the noisy welcome the world wanted to give him. And then opening the door a crack and letting life in bit by bit. A lot of the time with a new baby you're just wandering around stressing about whether they're ok or not. Is he too hot or cold, hungry or uncomfortable? There's a constant undercurrent of shit, I hope I don't kill him. And then there are moments of pure ecstasy, when you see him really see something for the first time. When he erupts with excitement at a dog on a leash or a splash in a swimming pool and you forget for a second that it's totally within your power to accidentally drop him on his head and break him. And the brilliant thing is that there are more and more of these baby-a-ha moments as each week passes. And there seems to be less worry that I personally will break him, but still a great sense that the world is full of things that might hurt him - I'm looking at you, canal outside and everyone driving a car. I suppose that never goes away. They say that humans, like cats, are so successful because we're paranoid. Makes sense I guess.
Twelve months. He's physically so different but still our 'rustig kind' as the Dutch nurses labelled him within hours of his birth. A calm one. An easy baby if such a thing exists. He's quick to smile. Resilient after a bump. Friendly and always happy to meet new people. His only major moments of complaint are first thing in the morning - still zipped into his sleep-sac he whimpers and tries to crane his neck around corners to see into the kitchen where David has gone, distraught that the milk is taking so long. And then he whines when he wants to be pulled to his feet and walked around. Such strain on his face that breaks and gives way to a grin when he's up and stomping forward. There's also the putting on of snowsuits, but that's completely understandable. Layers are a bummer.
10.7kg, 75cms tall. The kid's going to be huge. Probably taller than David. But at the moment he's still a mini-me. Those bossy Irish genes have had their way. His skin is pale and his eyes are sky blue like his Anne-ma's. I hope he has freckles. His hair is light brown like mine, but those curls that cluster behind his ears must be Cohen de Lara's. I can't wait to see what transformations will take place over the coming 12 months. On this day last year they pulled a tiny 2300 gram boy from me, a quiet thing seemingly ready to stretch his legs, or who at least needed a change of scenery. One year later we have the most robust of babies who is a wee bit behind with gross motor skills, crawling, walking etc, but his fine motor skills are right on track. The ball goes in and out of the train's funnel, lights go on and off, he points, waves and claps. And there's a lot to clap about today. He's ours and he's One! Hooray!
His first 356 days. So many of them spent right here in this living room, the first hundred trying to simulate something womb-like. Quiet, warm and protected from the noisy welcome the world wanted to give him. And then opening the door a crack and letting life in bit by bit. A lot of the time with a new baby you're just wandering around stressing about whether they're ok or not. Is he too hot or cold, hungry or uncomfortable? There's a constant undercurrent of shit, I hope I don't kill him. And then there are moments of pure ecstasy, when you see him really see something for the first time. When he erupts with excitement at a dog on a leash or a splash in a swimming pool and you forget for a second that it's totally within your power to accidentally drop him on his head and break him. And the brilliant thing is that there are more and more of these baby-a-ha moments as each week passes. And there seems to be less worry that I personally will break him, but still a great sense that the world is full of things that might hurt him - I'm looking at you, canal outside and everyone driving a car. I suppose that never goes away. They say that humans, like cats, are so successful because we're paranoid. Makes sense I guess.
Twelve months. He's physically so different but still our 'rustig kind' as the Dutch nurses labelled him within hours of his birth. A calm one. An easy baby if such a thing exists. He's quick to smile. Resilient after a bump. Friendly and always happy to meet new people. His only major moments of complaint are first thing in the morning - still zipped into his sleep-sac he whimpers and tries to crane his neck around corners to see into the kitchen where David has gone, distraught that the milk is taking so long. And then he whines when he wants to be pulled to his feet and walked around. Such strain on his face that breaks and gives way to a grin when he's up and stomping forward. There's also the putting on of snowsuits, but that's completely understandable. Layers are a bummer.
10.7kg, 75cms tall. The kid's going to be huge. Probably taller than David. But at the moment he's still a mini-me. Those bossy Irish genes have had their way. His skin is pale and his eyes are sky blue like his Anne-ma's. I hope he has freckles. His hair is light brown like mine, but those curls that cluster behind his ears must be Cohen de Lara's. I can't wait to see what transformations will take place over the coming 12 months. On this day last year they pulled a tiny 2300 gram boy from me, a quiet thing seemingly ready to stretch his legs, or who at least needed a change of scenery. One year later we have the most robust of babies who is a wee bit behind with gross motor skills, crawling, walking etc, but his fine motor skills are right on track. The ball goes in and out of the train's funnel, lights go on and off, he points, waves and claps. And there's a lot to clap about today. He's ours and he's One! Hooray!
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| Cal, January 22nd 2013 |
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