The Simple Plan: Revisited.

I woke this morning, less than an hour after having finally fallen back to sleep close to 5:00am, from a dream where Opal was home with a babysitter and I wasn't able, for the life of me, to make my way back to her. It was an epic journey through the minutes of this obstacle-ridden day, and hours passed by as I was in a holding pattern, unable even to call and make sure the sitter could stay until I got there. At one point, after hours of this, I stopped of at a diner to take a breather and figure out my plan of action, when I spotted the babysitter eating in an adjacent booth. You are supposed to be watching my daughter! I yelled. And promptly woke to the sounds of my real-life daughter gently calling for me from the other room.

Morning, mama, she said. Time to get up. Time for some boob.

And as I nursed her after having gone nearly 12 hours without seeing her, smelling her, touching her, another night of restless, dream-ridden sleep, I collapsed into our rocking chair, arms wrapped like twine around her and her bunny, and fell into a deeply blissful sleep as she nursed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I recently looked back over a blog entry entitled "The Simple Plan," written nearly three months ago about my (fleeting) efforts to get Opal to sleep through the night by not rescuing her with breast-milk every time she made a peep. I wont go into a detailed recapping, but let's just say that I quickly discovered it was harder for me to let go of the night-time feedings than it was for her.

Much has happened since that fateful, inspired evening I reported back on June 1st. We spent much of June traveling, being in different time zones and foreign beds, we attended to many out of town guests and joined many occasions worth keeping Opal out a little later then usual. These things all mess with sleep patterns. Not to mention the fact that she spent much of July learning to crawl, using her body and her mind in ways she was entirely unaccustomed to, thus making it more challenging to settle into sleep at night.

For those reasons, we let the sleeping thing go. And because I sought comfort in the fact that if I got up to feed her, I'd be up for a bit but at least I'd eventually be able to go to sleep, knowing that my daughter was tucked backed into bed with a full belly and warm body. And I always had my morning nap to supplement what sleep was lost during the night.

But lately, this has simply not been the case. Even when I was getting up to feed her, which had increased to two or three times per night, I was unable to get back to sleep. And in spite of a morning nap, I was feeling recked during the day.

Time for a change.

The plan this time around was for Jesse to be the one to go in when she fussed for more than 10 minutes, speak softly and lie her back down nestled between her favorite stuffed animals. The idea here being that if I went in and didn't feed her, it would be even more puzzling and upsetting. This plan was to take action on a weekend, but never wound up being necessary.

A few nights prior to the weekend-in-mention, when Opal called out as usual, I felt like I was unable to play out the habit of feeding her for comfort, when she had just eaten a few hours earlier. What was fine and ordinary the night before simply ceased to be so. So I decided to see what would happen if I went in and comforted her without getting her out of her crib, without milk. I sang softly, lied my hands on her chest and said "time for sleep, honey" and left. A thunderous explosion of sobs ensued as I closed the door behind me and then, within moments, total silence.

She slept until 6:30am.

I only needed to go in for one more night to comfort her . Beyond that, her night-time peeps have been short (under 10 minutes) and un-agitated.

Piece of cake on her end. I even got the sense that she was a bit relieved at the prospect of no longer having her little sleep-abyss be disturbed to commute all the way to the rocking chair to nurse.

It seems, as with the last attempt at all-night sleeping, that it's me who requires the re-adjustment period. I still sleep with an ear-to-the-monitor, as if it's a piece of medical equipment I'm hooked up to. Not to mention that fact that my boobs require some adjustment time, as well. Having been used to feeding her in the night all these months, I've woken up on in a milk-puddle more than once and am required to get up and pump. Then I'm left lying awake for hours after the rigamarole of bottles and tubes. Also, 12 hours is a long time to go without checking on Opal—because checking on her inevitably wakes her up— and there have been a few mornings when she's kicked off her blanket and has popsicle-toes.

But the state of the (sleeping) union is good. Excellent. Border-line remarkable.

With the tiniest bit of effort, Opal has adapted swiftly and without resistance to sleeping through the night, from 7pm to, roughly, 6am without relying on milk to do so.

Mama (along with mama's boobs) is still— happily, willingly—in the process of adapting.

Tantrums.

It was one of those perfectly gorgeous summer days.

The sun gently toasted any exposed and vulnerable bits, arms and cheeks, dangling legs, the sky was perfectly polished and pockets of confetti-flowers bloomed on every corner.

We had just left the Shambhala Center where we'd gathered for a Children's Blessing, having mingled with kids of all ages, dispositions, demeanors.

My mother-in-law and I crossed the street, with Opal strapped to my belly, facing out, when I noticed what was happening behind the windshield of the car that'd stopped for us.

The driver was throwing a tantrum.

He shook his head fitfully and threw his upper-body against the steering wheel while grunting audibly through the open window. By the time we reached the other side, clearly at a pace not to his liking, he sped forward like a drunken drag-racer.

Watching a grown man throw a fit like that is quite a sight to behold. Very different from watching my almost-ten month old daughter, who is currently embarking on her own phase of tantrum-throwing, do the same.

When things don't go as she anticipates, or when she'd just plain rather be doing something else, —which is much of the time, frankly— she lets us know her opinion by intensely protesting. Getting in the carseat, for example, when she had it in her mind to stay on the floor and play with the farm-animal puzzle is met with arched-back squirming and wailing. Removing something from her little hands that she was interested in or moving her away from something of intrigue are actions that are met with the same response.

Clearly, her little mind it able to hold on to ideas and mental pictures like it hadn't before. Life is expanding from the exclusivity of simply here and now. She recognizes her little friends when we have play-dates. She shrieks when the dog-leash comes out with the expectancy of going out for a walk. (The leash renders a pavlovian response in both the baby and the dog, as a matter of fact.) She identifies her Ohio-family on the computer screen when we Skype and smiles a silly, tooth-flaunting grin when their 2-dimensional faces appear before her.

This new capacity for recognition and remembering is astounding.

Diaper changing is currently the most upsetting of all the daily rituals and the opposition begins before her booty even hits the table. The endearing squirms of a newly-mobile baby have recently shifted to animated distress; screaming, kicking, red-faced scowling, thigh-smacking and pushing herself over. Using every ounce of her baby-power to resist. A few rounds of this—ahem, especially when poop is involved— and I was beginning to wonder just how long I could put off the next diaper change.

Clearly something needed to change or else mommy would promptly commence to losing her mind.

Aside from occasionally needing to re-direct her from putting shoes in her mouth and pulling on electrical chords, discipline has simply not been a needed skill until now. But surmounting new territory—and making it up on the spot according to what a situation calls for—is nothing new.

In the case of diapering, a firm hand on the chest accompanied by a deep no with a head-shake seems to get the point across. She may continue to cry and throw anything she can grab against the wall, but she stops the wild swiveling, at least for long enough to accomplish the mission-at-hand. She may even settle completely, seeming relieved and even grateful, to let go of the depleting struggle.

Then we're all done.

We move on to the next thing and she sees the dog and screeches with glee and crawls towards her as fast as her little legs and arms will proceed, breathing heavily and preciously through her two front teeth..

Again, the world is wonderful, simple, accommodating place to be and there is no residue.

Baby-Proofing the World, In Real Time.

There she goes, crawls right passed me and, oops, she finds the basket of dog leashes and collars, tips it into a heap on the ground and waves a jingly handful in the air like a success story. I move her to a different spot which is met—predictably— with kicks, squirms and screams; her way of unmistakably letting me know how insulting the ordinary, already-plaid-with toys seem when juxtaposed against the myriad of forbidden fruit and untouched items. Like dog leashes. Dirty shoes. Keys. Love those keys.

Moments later she finds my basket of magazines and has the cover ripped from a current issue of the New Yorker before I am able to reach for it.

Then on to an area of upmost intrigue: an electrical outlet.

Electrical outlets are seductive in and of themselves, with their tiny nostril-holes that lead to seemingly nowhere, and the fact that they are often coupled with a chord only makes matters more appealing.

But let's back up a bit.

Opal flipped from back-to-front for the first time back in early June. Right away, I pulled out my Dr. Sear's bible, read through and dog-eared the pages on baby-proofing and commenced dutifully to Target to buy the largest combo-pack of baby-proofing items they sold (plug inserts, cabinet locks and door-knob covers). Though it took her nearly another two months to be able to travel on hands-and-knees with any sort of fervor, we were ready with our tiny arsenal of supplies—which, incidentally, helps to stave off at least some of the anxiety in anticipating the unknown.

Flash forward to Thursday, five days ago, when she executed her first real hands-and-knees crawl to Grammy, clunky and uncertain and so exciting that Grammy called me on the spot ( I was getting my hair cut). In the weeks leading up to that, she'd walk her arms forward and leave the knees behind until she wound up flat on her belly, where she'd stay for only moments before pushing herself back up to seated, scooting backwards for a while—because that's what worked—and trying again.

In the five days since her maiden shuffle, she's gone from tentative and wobbly to semi-confident power-crawler. Miraculously no longer unsure of her body's capabilities, she's able to pour her attention into targets and missions and how exactly to get there and complete the task at hand (read: examine and destroy).

Back to the electrical outlets. During breakfast with some friends, the day before yesterday, Opal crawled right up to the outlet, as all of us watched, and plucked out the outlet safety-cover as effortlessly as a golf tee from soft ground, holding it in the air with baby-pride as I swooped over to pick her up and re-locate.

Everyone gasped.

"New puzzle." Said Toby, good friend and baby-whisperer, in his usual unvarnished frankness and driveway-gravel voice. "We give them all these toys to play with that are essentially figure-it-out puzzles and then they find puzzles in the world around them and we say 'no way.'"

Too true.

Jesse and I had been playing a wonderful little game with her where we put something light on her head and then when she knocked it off, we'd tickle her. So eventually she anticipated the tickle and laughed just as, and then even before, she knocked the thing off her head. A totally adorable game, until she began pulling off her sun-hats, expecting a chuckle.

Ahem... no sweetie, you want to knock this thing off your head but not that thing. I reckon that might be a bit confusing for a little bambino.

I ran out that afternoon and bought a different brand of outlet-plugs, which she also had absolutely no trouble removing.

So the electrical plugs didn't get us very far.

(On the back of Outlet Plug #2 packaging, it says the following, and I quote: Children are curious and tempted to play with anything within their reach. These outlet covers are to be used only as a deterrent. These covers are not a substitute for proper adult supervision. Makes one wonder exactly what had to occur to compel a company to print such a thing directly on their packaging.)

Our dog's vet was just telling me how she paid some guy $100/hour to come and baby-proof her house for her daughter, who is 6 weeks younger than Opal. And that didn't include materials. She thought it was a worthwhile investment.

So...the report from Babyland is that everything has changed yet again.

Gone are the days of making breakfast while Opal sits on the floor with her basket of books, playing contentedly in one spot while I peek around the corner every minute simply to reassure her that I'm there. Gone are the days of setting her on the middle of the bed, where I can still see her from the bathroom, while I brush my teeth or do my business.

Sleeping has also become a very different beast since her newly blossomed skills have emerged. She paces the length of her crib like a tiny jailbird regardless of how exhausted she is. Last night at 2am, after a half hour of audible shuffling, I found her sobbing while sitting cross-legged in the corner of her crib as if she just couldn't quite figure out how to get back to being horizontal. I laid her back down between her bunny and gorilla and she was back to sleep in moments.

The unfamiliarity of it all and the knew level of required focus has me feeling a bit like I'm training for an athletic event that is totally out of my league.

But our little marvel is a sight worth saluting, her wide-fingered, boxy shuffle with the focus of a bird of prey inspires me to keep the video camera within arm's reach at all times. Just as it seemed as if she was born into a new-baby body when she went from a lying-down baby to a sitting-up baby, she now has hatched afresh as a quad-pedal being with the wits and curiosity of a feline with opposable thumbs.

They Just Want to Know Her

Opal's grandparents have much to say about the way she affects the people in her midst.

Ama and Papa (my mom and dad) flew out for a visit last weekend to celebrate Papa's birthday by visiting the kith and kin and spending a little time in the mountains.

We convened at Panera bread for lunch on the first day of their trip. Ama (author's note: how interesting is it that I am now beginning to refer to my parents by their grandparent-names.) fed baby Opal cereal and mashed green beans, gleeful to be doing so, and they immediately commenced to that precious little inside-connection that babies share with loving grandparents. Opal delightedly practiced her most recent moves on her new audience. She threw her head back and crunched her little face into an ornery grin, exposing two (front-bottom) little emerging Stonehenge-teeth, giggling. She banged the edge of the table like a Djembe. She waved at every single person who passed using a variety of wave-styles from the royal-rotating-wrist to finger-flicking. She babbled endlessly as if the table-top were a podium and the lunch-eating patrons her congregation.

At one point a woman walked up to our table—gently middle-aged, with a full head of feathered-waves and a peace sign on her shirt—and drew a tentative breath before stating the following:

I know this is weird but I've been watching your baby from behind and I just had to look at her face. I had to come over and talk to her. Do you mind? Is that weird?

We smiled and welcomed her to say hello and she kneeled down in front of Opal as if she were honoring royalty. She then launched into a one-sided conversation in a baby-voice, as if the rest of us weren't even there. Opal watched, intrigued and grinning, before reaching to pull off the woman's glasses and tossing them onto the floor. The rest of us sat there in our amusement.

The woman completed the spontaneous bonding session by pulling out her camera and asking if she could take a photo. She said she had a child of her own who was in elementary school, a child we all noticed to be sitting just a few feet away, observing the actions of her mother as she picked through a bag of potato chips.

I couldn't help but to wonder if this woman, her mother, did this kind of thing often. And if so, is there a collection of random-baby photos in a desk drawer somewhere, tossed with dated holiday cards and hotel matchbooks?

With our approval, she took a quick photo, sans flash, and was on her way, leaving us a bit speechless in the wake of her flurry.

Papa said I've never seen people respond to a baby like they do to Opal. People don't just want to just smile and wave, they want to know her.

Later in the weekend, a similar situation happened in Estes Park after Jesse, Opal and I and all four grandparents had gone out to dinner. An older man scurried up to us and asked if he could take a picture of Opal as she sat cross-legged and facing out, slung against my belly, appearing as dressed marsupial peeking out from her pouch. Her hat was slightly askew. Judging from the man's red-faced elation, he was pleased with the photo he snapped as he practically skipped away like a schoolboy.

Grammy Zeb said, We charge for those, you know, as the man's fuzzy grey hair vanished into the crowd. The stop light that held us temporarily hostage at the curb finally changed, stopping the cars and setting us free to cross, chirping perkily for those among us who were blind.

The adults spent the walk back to their respective cars waxing about the affect this child has on people.

Earlier, while standing in the parking lot of our Estes Park lodging, Grammy Zeb studied Opal for a moment while collecting her thoughts. Opal's got that IT thing, she said. That, even at nine-months, she takes the time to investigate people, pay attention to them, connect with them in a way that most babies don't.

Ama shook her head in a gesture of positive agreement.

My dad referred to her as an old soul numerous times during the weekend.

During a long-table dinner, surrounded by a dozen Colorado family members who gathered over a feast of Chinese food, he said I think she's been here before. I'm pretty sure she's someone we know, and gave me a wink over his plate of sesame chicken.

Meanwhile, Opal clapped wide-fingered at Auntie Alex while wearing a sloppy goatee of pureed pees. As per usual, she was immune to anything cerebral and oblivious to anything but the Absolute Present.

Baby Opal Eight and Nine Month Letter

Sweetest Doodle Noodle!

I had the idea to combine your monthly letter into two months this time around (not sure why, probably because we were away so much in June) and now that I sit down to write, I feel like I’ve got a veritable novella ahead of me!
Two adult months converts to at least a year in baby-time.

And these happened to be especially charged months because they contain a baby who is learning to crawl!

You are just a few days from nine months old, at this point.

And a simple descriptive snapshot of this morning depicts just how far you’ve come. You played on your own on the floor, fully entertained while I made us breakfast, putting blocks into and taking them out of a large plastic bowl. Occasionally, you’d shake your hands in the air to exhibit pride, or an idea, or a thought, or just calling for a witness, but you were totally content on your own.

You can work the floor beautifully now: reaching, getting up on all-fours and then scooting and sitting back, twisting while sitting, scootching and even frog-hopping a little, but the pieces have not yet combined to make for a forward-crawling baby. At the beginning of June, you were not even able to roll from back to front and now look at you! Your floor-skills have exploded in a six-week span of time! I have no doubt that by next month’s letter, I will be describing a baby who is speeding around the living room like an adolescent puppy! But for now, I savor the ability to be able to sit on the floor and play while staying relatively put. Though I’m sure the next phase will have it’s own certain charm as they all do.

There’s been a recent development with napping and bedtime. You now have longer gaps between naps, somewhere around three hours when it used to be two. You also go to bed closer to 7pm, when it used to be 6pm, much to daddy’s pleasure! He is so happy to be able to spend more time with you after work. We even have time to take the dog for a walk (if the temperature isn’t too ghastly hot) and go for an evening swing at the park. It feels like these extra awake-hours allow for many more possibilities.

The way you play and relate to other babies has matured so much even in the last few months. Back in May at a play-date, I remember you and your baby-friends all playing individually in the same space, occasionally reaching for the same toy or rolling onto one another. Yesterday at the park, you and Zane continuously reached for each other, wanted what the other one had, talked, and totally interacted with one another. You had us in stitches with your dramatic dynamic, it was very sibling-esque. And in the pool a few days ago, I could tell you were loving having other babies, and some bigger kids, splashing around you. Social time is so much fun for you. You love to be where the action is.

You threw your first tantrum last week. Full-blown and impressive. Yet, you still managed to maintain incredible adorability, with your too-big diapers and the pants overtop pulled almost to your armpits. You were way too scrumptious to take seriously. But this is a good example of how very expressive you are about your likes and dislikes. And often, as expected, your “likes” consist of things that are not on the allowed-toy list. Some examples of favorites: the phone, car keys, tube of sunblock, papers.

You have a tooth! Late in June when we were in Vermont for a wedding, a little toofer peeked its way through on the bottom right (your right). You are a teething fool, drooling and often snotty, sometimes having diarrhea, gnawing on everything and anything like a little beaver. We use the homeopathic teething tablets and they seem to help.

You were a first class traveler in the month of June! We flew to Hilton Head early in the month to meet the wonderful Campbell clan: Ama, Papa, Uncle Chris and Cousin Stella.

The flight was lengthy and a bit arduous, but fully worth it for the fun that was had in-between. It was just so difficult for you to sit still on our laps for that many hours, understandably! You also weren’t too interested in napping or eating while on the plane, so our arsenal of distractions and comfort-tricks were slim. I found that lay-overs helped, we could at least squeeze a feeding and a nap-in-the-sling in then. But you were incredibly interactional with the people on the plane and in the airport.

At the beach, you got to play in the ocean for the very first time and boy, did we have fun! You pawed at the sand and giggled as the waves lapped at your chubby little knees and thighs. You squealed as daddy and I lifted you over the waves while they crashed beneath you. You loved making drip-castles with your cousin Stella and spending time in the shade playing with your Ama. You also had a blast floating around in the swimming pool in your fancy little baby boat. Back at the condo, you loved dancing and clapping to the music Uncle Chris and Papa played for you. You enjoyed being with family so so much.

Later in the month we flew to Vermont for the wedding of wonderful Mitchell’s daughter, Chandali. Five hours in the plane straight to 3 hours in the car made for a long travel day! But it also made us realize that we could all handle stress pretty darn well. Wouldn’t want to do it often, but these kind of discomforts are a good reminder of your adaptability and resiliency.(And they make us all appreciate the comforts of our normal routine!) But, as with Hilton Head, the epic journey was well worth it for what awaited us on the other end. We got to see family and dear friends we rarely get to see. You got to meet Sadie and Dechen, who are close to your age, and loved watching Lungta, Satori and Drahla run around. I also think you enjoyed getting all dressed up and having somewhere to go. You absolutely gobbled up with attention.

Other bits and pieces:

~You love to dance with mom around the room to anything with rhythm and a good groove.

~You love the tags on toys often more than the toys themselves.

~Tons of drool so you often wear a bib around the house to keep from drenching your shirt.

~When music comes on, you dance in your seat, bang the drum, clap and often look for something to shake. Me thinks I see a percussionist in our midst.

~You are great in the water. Love to kick and tolerate floating on your back. You absolutely loved hanging out with Eva and Zane in the baby pool at the rec. center. You splashed and squealed and played with water toys. Oh boy!

~Bath time is currently a new beast. You climb over and out of your baby tub with little effort and reach for the shampoo bottles that sit on the edge of the big tub. You hate lying back to wash your hair, only want to sit up. You love bath toys and splashing, and bath time is now also playtime, which is wonderful, we just need some new equipment.

~This brings us to the concept of baby-safety. We are right in the cross-roads at this point, learning as we go along. Some plug-covers and table-edge-bumpers. We removed the coffee table entirely from the living room. But we still have LOTS more to do.

~You are very adept with the Da sound. You can engage in an entire conversation using this one sound in a variety of volumes and cadences with hand-gestures. It really is a sight to behold. You also do the sound “bif”, usually when you are tired, and you do the “p” sound very well.

You seem to understand SO MUCH of what we are saying, especially the phrases we repeat: say bye bye! (you say, dada! And wave), say hi doggie! (you say hi dada! And wave at the dog.) say all done! (you say, dada! And do the sign language for ‘all done’ the best you can.) where’s daddy? (you say dada! Dada! Dada!)

I have no doubt that you understand a vast amount more than we realize.

~All the bumpers are now on the crib. I found you one night a few weeks ago, having rotated your body 180 degrees, scooted all the way to the other end, having drug your big gorilla with you the entire length of the crib. I also find you sleeping on your belly often, which is such a big-girl thing to do. Xo.

~You lean back into daddy and I when we read you your books now. You seem to really relax and enjoy them.

~You are eating well, three meals a day. You seem to be getting bored with the simple foods I’m feeding you and I look forward to getting more creative with recipes and things. You still prefer the sweet stuff, fruits and such. You like oats and sweet potatoes with a dash of cinnamon, green beans and peas, but fruit is your favorite, hands down.

~You love giving high fives and playing peek-a-boo and mommy/daddy’s-gonna-get you!

~Now, when we Skype Ama and Papa and Chris and Stella, you recognize them immediately and seem to play up the “Opal show” in order to persuade them to come out of the screen and play.

~For only the second time ever, you laughed WITH me as opposed to as a result of me trying to get you to laugh. While sitting in your high chair one morning, you made a funny noise and gesture that cracked me up, so I began to laugh and you began to laugh right along with me! So there we were, Mama and Opal just cracking up, hysterical.

And last on the list,

~You now like to be “tucked in” at night with a little massage and a song after we read her books.

What a crazy-amazing little person you are!

You boggle my mind with your ability and willingness to spread basic goodness and make people smile, no matter where you are. You are a determined little genius with your intensive body-on-the-floor studies. I see you growing stronger, more confident and more agile as a direct result continuously trying new things, even when you fall flat on your cute little face. Ask any adult to attempt a fraction of what you do every day and many would scoff at the idea of stepping out of their comfort zones like that.

Way to go, little mama. You continue to light up every single nook and corner.

Your daddy and I are mad about you.

Xoxo, Mommy.

All Smiles

We used to use the word inscrutable to describe Opal.

For many months, until just recently, she has taken her sweet time getting used to the people in her surroundings. She would examine her environment with an expression of unwavering concentration. It was never a frown, simply the look of someone gathering the available information to make a proper and thorough assessment of how to best proceed.

The earnestness of this initial bout of baby-seriousness was heart-breaking, though she always eventually relaxed. Eventually.

We often talked about how she never seemed to easily give away what most adults so eagerly vie for from a baby: a smile, a giggle, a snuggle, a reach. And, during that time, we appreciated her tendency towards acting as more of a mirror to those who were nearby rather than showing off or people-pleasing. (And, if I recall correctly, Jesse and I also went through our own process in lightening up from caring so much about how people interpreted Opal, doing our best not to succumb to generic phrases like "she's tired" or "she's hungry" or "she's going through a phase where she wants her mommy.")

Today, inscrutability is no longer the case.
It didn't happen overnight, but Opal has successfully transitioned away from her phase of baby-austerity for reasons that were self-inspired and unbeknownst to me.

We journeyed to Vermont for a wedding a few weekends ago. We spent upwards of five hours in a full airplane, window-seat, not enough room to bend forward for something without knocking up against the tray table. We blitzed through the arsenal of toys we packed long before the plane reached cruising altitude and resorted to entertaining our daughter using the germ-laden safety card and Sky Mall magazine pages (may they rest in peace). My metal water bottle, the shade of custom gold jewelry, was a life-saver. We were able to squeeze out a couple of fifteen minute naps, induced by even shorter nursing sessions. Our girl was exhausted and desperately requesting to be put down on the ground so she could practice her new floor skills and stretch out the baby-muscles.

And yet, in spite of each and every uncomfortable nuance and detail of it, Opal was constantly offering up a smile to anyone who was willing to look up. And not the tentative, what-a-cute-baby-is-it-a-girl? kind of smiles, but full-on, no holding back grins. As she sat on my lap, or faced outward in the sling when we were still in the terminal, I could judge her expressions without being able to see them, solely based on the reactions they induced from others, which were sudden and immediate, like a flashlight in the eye.

The woman who sat in front of us on the place couldn't help but to turn around a number of times. Well hello again!she said as if Opal were a neighbor she continued to greet over the fence.
The teenage boy across the isle with a tuft of lopsided red hair waved and giggled in spite of himself.
The flight attendant cooed and asked how old she was and where we were headed.

As we waited for our flight to leave to come home, I walked Opal around the terminal in her sling, facing out, again unable to see her face. (I often wish for an invention, something of a tiny review mirror to wear on the wrist, to help me see her face when she's facing forward in the sling so I know if she's smiling, has spit up or has circles of dried snot under her nose.) And every time we walked through a bit of a crowd or high traffic area, people not only stepped aside to make room for us, they engaged with her. Waving, beaming, looking up from conversations and cell phones, whispering to their friends and pointing.

I would have probably remained relatively anonymous had I been traveling solo. Now, it's no secret that I am the first person to strike up a conversation with my seat-mate on the plane or bus, but I've never been inspired to work a crowd. Opal was absolutely working the crowd, and bringing me along for the ride, making it pretty challenging to get too wrapped up in myself or take the whole thing too seriously. Each moment my mind sunk into over-thinking about the hours we had ahead of us, or how to get Opal her much needed sleep, or how hungry she must be, poor thing, I'd look up to find that she was holding another completely non-verbal conversation with a stranger. Oh, hello there. Yes, she is a happy baby. Oh, you have grandkids of your own? How old? Of course I'd love to see a photo.

It was as if I was constantly being handed the phone without knowing who was on the other end: Here. My Mom wants to talk to you.

I'm not sure how to articulate this without cueing up the cheesy after-school-special music, but here we are again with this precious almost-nine month old kiddo getting me into a place of self-reflection. By watching her throughout these travels, it occurred to me just how much I pick and choose who to open myself up to, especially while traveling, depending on a laundry list of variables. (And I would even venture to say that I'm someone my friends would describe as relatively friendly.)

Opal held nothing back, even when she was undoubtedly hungry and it was the middle of the night and we were still wandering around some strange airport terminal when she should have been at home asleep and sandwiched between her bunny and doggie. She even smiled at the militant airport security guards and a maybe-homeless man with skin of leather and his life in a duffle on his back. One security guard said he'd never seen a baby who was nearly as cute as his granddaughter and pulled a creased wallet-photo from his pocket of a gorgeous baby, close to Opal's age, with onyx eyes and black curls gathered in a bow. The dusty nomad's face changed completely when he looked down at Opal. His eyes went from half-mast to wide open and his crooked-tooth smile was doubtless and absolute and shaved decades from his face.

These men transformed before my very eyes. Had I been without Opal, they may very well have been invisible to me. I may have spent a much larger section of the day forgetting how colossal the world is when when you keep looking up.

Lawn Games

Fourth of July weekend brings to mind some very specific childhood recollections: the creamy sweetness and impressive saffron hue of store-bought potato salad, the pungent scent of Deep-Woods Off bug spray, the sea of inharmonious classic rock songs from various boom-boxes in the good-view field where we stretched out our blankets to watch the fireworks. And, not to be forgotten, the lawn games.

The lawn games from my childhood were not for the weary or faint of heart. We played with water balloons that left marks and squirt guns that stung the skin. We dove belly-first onto our Slip-N-Slide, a stretch of yellow plastic that was suited up with various hoses to create a horizontal water slide effect, with no fear of the inevitable rocks that would snag us from underneath. I remember playing horseshoe at an elementary-school age.

But the piece de resistance of all lawn games was lawn jarts.

Lawn jarts were essentially oversized darts with the purpose of being propelled vertically into the air while aiming to hit a bull’s-eye on the ground. And, like most of these sort of adult games, canned libations in beer-coozies were often part of the mix. I remember running around in very close proximity to these games as a kid, skipping and dancing with friends or being chased in a game of freeze-tag, totally oblivious to what was flying through the air around me. There is no doubt the adults were keeping an eye on things because no calamities occurred during the many summers where lawn jarts were a ubiquitous part of picnicking. But accidents do happen, and unavoidably lawn jarts were taken off the shelves (in the United States and Canada, at least) years ago.

My parents, who are now grandparents, have long since replaced the horseshoes and lawn jarts with a kinder, gentler game called Cornhole, for the next generation. Cornhole involves tossing beanbags through holes. No sharp points or blunt edges.

I am intrigued with how what is regarded as appropriate for one generation often changes so drastically by the time the next generation rolls around. My parents were just telling me how they never wore sunscreen as children, played for hours in the mid-day swelter without giving it a second thought. I wore Coppertone and Banana Boat when I was a kid, which were the popular brands that were available. Since then, there have been many studies stating that the parabens in these kinds of products are absorbed into the bloodstream and mess with estrogen levels. Opal wears all natural, paraben-free sunscreen that is safe enough to serve on toast.

My mother-in-law often talks, amazed, about how her son (my husband) never used a car seat when he was young. She put him in a little plastic bucket seat on the passenger side when he was a tiny baby and he remembers standing up in the back when he was old enough to do so. What a colossal leap to the present; not only does Opal’s car seat have a base and an intricate sent of installation and strapping instructions, it also comes with a built-in level. Not to mention the fact that in some states it’s law for children to sit in a booster seat until they weigh 80 pounds.

So there you have it. Fourth of July will continue to happen when Opal’s having kids and her kids are having kids. The decisions I’m making as a parent this Fourth of July with my 8-month old daughter may very well be deemed as unsavory a decade or two into the future, not because I’ve done anything wrong but because, to grossly oversimplify, things will change, and what is applicable and befitting will change. The level of understanding and wisdom will change. I can count on that. And at the moment, I’m feeling relatively at ease with the Not Knowing as long as I’m armed with some basic sensibilities and a good dose of humor to accompany the deviled eggs and cole slaw.