Rozalia and your mother just took you out for a walk. Your grandparents left a little earlier. We’d gathered for a petit lunch to celebrate your first birthday. In typical grandiose fashion, Rozalia baked a cake fit to Celebrate All Kinds of Events. She also got us gifts. I mean of course she did. She lives for these moments. And she’s excellent at it.
Noah and Luca also sent their birthday wishes, in video format. And it’s hilarious. Luca has evolved into quite the character. He seems so… free and unbound by anyone or anything. They spend their Summer holidays in Finland every year, for about six weeks. I’ve seen pictures from Marc of them jumping into lakes and being outdoorsy. I bet they’re having a blast. They’re so big now. The way I see it, Noah’s the brain and Luca’s the muscle, two halves of a whole that would never be complete apart. You need both.
We thought about how this day could go for you and given you still have fairly severe stranger anxiety, decided not to make a meal out of it. Apparently, you won’t remember anything anyway til about the age of 3 or 4. But here’s to hoping you had fun kiddo. You are surrounded by a lot of love.
When asked what you had for breakfast this morning, that is what your grandad said. LOL.
We refrain from letting you run around in just diapers because you’ve unlocked the great mystery of diaper liberation. This mischievous habit started while trotting around Junior’s place in the good ol’ US of A. Your grandad decided to try it out this morning. Not only did you bid them farewell, but you also embarked on the adventurous quest of sampling your own poop artistic creations. A truly avant-garde exploration of gastronomy!
I wrote that paragraph in part using WordPress’s AI Assistant. I chose a humourous tone and used bits of it. Really impressive. I wonder what you’ll be able to do with it when you’re older. The potential seems boundless and endless.
Valery also made the rookie mistake of looking away for a nanosecond while his coffee was within reach. Tut tut tut! You made sure a bucket and mop were needed after you’d had your fill. I’m sure he’s learned a lesson or two after this behavioural masterclass.
This cheekiness carried on when he dropped you off at ours so it’s any man’s guess what you’re doing to your mum right now. She took you to see her friend Celia. She also has a son you can mingle with.
Before you had to crawl to the closest piece of furniture to stand but you can do that from a sitting position unaided now. I installed all those IKEA doors to control the damage. You get on your tip-toes for even more reach. This means my desk is in danger. So my counteracting action is to barricade land access to my desk. If you haven’t guessed it yet, we’re at war and I’m fighting it with everything I’ve got.
Aaaooouucchh! A bee just stung me on my neck! That fucking hurts!
You can climb chairs too now. I saw it with my own eyes at the Retreat. Your grandad is trying to teach you how to come down safely from them.
You do have a new obsession though, telephones. Everything has an ear and mouthpiece at the moment. So much so that your grandparents had to have a real phone call set up with you, one person in the other room and you in the other blabbing away. Your grandmother is fantastic sport at these sorts of games. She plays right along. I imagine it’s the funniest thing as they try to keep up and hold the conversation.
I’ve also seen you pacing up and down from door to door with my phone on your ear having these “business calls” with God knows who, negotiating contracts and making deals. I’m waiting to see my phone bill come the end of the month. And every time I get my phone back, I have to “wait 15 minutes” because you entered the password incorrectly too many times.
I didn’t find anything to back this up, but your mother says the scrolling gesture was taken from babies. This would explain the way you use my phone, with your index finger pulling up and down the screen.
Liza and I bought a Lovevery subscription. And with that, they send you Montessori toys every four months or so. The idea is to stimulate you mentally and physically. However, between those and the many gifts you’ve received, we quickly realised you constantly had way too many options out all the time. It’s also a faff cleaning up after you and we end up spending way too much time on a frivolous activity.
But then I read one of their articles suggesting we limit and rotate the amount of toys on display in your play station. (Ah! I wonder if that’s how they came up with the name PlayStation i.e. a station or place where your toys are kept for you to play with). Anyway, I followed the instructions and noticed you interacted with the fewer toys for longer and experimented with different ways of playing with them. Just like the article said. Today is rotation day with a couple of new additions. I hope they are fun when you get back to them later this evening.
I’ve also made some language adjustments after reading another article from their blog. So now, instead of saying ‘no’, I opt for a more positive approach, giving you alternatives whenever I want to deter you from something detrimental. But it’s a work in progress.
There are some vaccines you have to take as a one-year-old, most of which are simply boosters from the previous round with a single new addition. They are scheduled for next week. Liza and I won’t be here for them. We’ll be in Croatia for a few days. So your grandparents will get to witness that cry. I don’t think they’re ready.
I wasn’t aware of this but it turns out your grandparents seldom give you a pacifier dummy. They believe it slows down speech development. Now I know why you won’t STFU. To be fair, we only give it to you at night when you wake up looking for one of us and needing comfort. Besides that, I don’t even know where they’ve all disappeared to. We used to have a few. Good riddance though.
You act like a bitch on her period (or me when I’m in one of those moods) whenever we have to clean you at the end of your meal. We use a wet wipe and you act like we’re wiping you down with acid. Well, Liza found a solution to this. I think she read it somewhere. We’ve adopted a warm towel. There’s a lot less shouting and kicking and it’s rather peaceful and amicable.
Your mother and I are in Rovinj, Croatia, a stone’s throw away from the esteemed Monte Mulini, where we stayed almost exactly two years ago. Indelible memories forged back then resurface as we walk familiar streets. There are worse places to be.
This time we’re staying at The Grand Park Hotel. And the ‘grand’ is there for a reason. The poolside view is nothing short of a painting and we feel the same joie de vivre we felt back then. Amazing then, amazing still. We fly back tonight (Saturday, Sept 2).
I have to pause for a bit to go collect our luggage from reception. We’re expecting a lift to the airport so I’ll pick this up when we get past security.
Riveting as this all is, being away from you the last three days has been unexpectedly difficult. I didn’t think I’d feel the separation anxiety I felt. Your mother too. Bless your grandparents for the regular updates, pictures and videos. If technology is any bright, it shines at times like these.
Your grandparents also think you missed us quite a bit. You kept saying, “Mama, papa” repeatedly. They wouldn’t take you to Alpha Road in case it amplified our absence.
They also report you dealt with the vaccination unexpectedly well. It’s usually down to how good the nurse is. You didn’t cry as much though you were completely out of action later that day – weak, inconsolable and mostly carried for comfort. That’s completely normal though. They advise to allow five or so days of recovery. The days that followed were better. You couldn’t walk as much and fatigued easily. Your grandparents being the darlings that they are, let you play from your high chair posted next to the window where you love to be, fiddling with keys and a telephone (which I saw for the first time in a video of you they sent).
We took you to Wez’s BBQ the weekend leading up to that marking your first close contact exposure to other kids. And man did they come in all shapes, sounds and sizes. There were no tears this time (except when you almost fell from a shove and I caught you mid-fall). As sceptical as always, you went from hand to hand with the same “whatever you want, I don’t have it” expression. It took some settling but it was great to see you mingle. Unfortunately though (and unsurprisingly), you caught a bug and had a runny nose. Great for your immune system but poor timing dealing with that and multiple vaccines. You were on a steady dose of Calpol.
On the upside, good folks Charlie and his girlfriend Victoria gifted you an inflatable car as a happy belated birthday. However, the instability makes you nervous, so in fear of a fall, you now drive it from outside, pushing slamming the buttons on the steering and gesturing to the sounds it makes. It’s not long before it all gets too jarring though, so it’s only a matter of time before it loses air and meets the storage closet.
I feel like it’s been a while since my last update. That’s been playing on my mind. So I got up a bit early to ‘pen’ this down.
I dropped you off at your grandparent’s last night. So unless something wild happened, you should still be there and asleep. Your sleep has improved dramatically. You won’t sleep in your bed but do snooze through the night and have almost wholly ridden yourself of milk and midnight feeds. You don’t even have the bottle when you wake up at times. But you are also a big boy. My word you’ve grown! We look at you and go, “Gosh he’s big”. I don’t know where the time went.
You’re big on books, like massive on books. That is your mother all the way. She’s the bookworm. But that has really pushed your development on the literacy front. Well, that and the fact that your grandmother Julia spends most of her time teaching you (everything from table manners, how to come down safely from high chairs to mimicking animal sounds).
Your favourite books currently are the ones with music. The Noisy Books as they are called. We got you Mes musiques de Mozart and what is now the go-to, Listen to the Dance Music. When the tunes come on, your hands and knees go up and down repeatedly to match the bright smile on your face. Last night you even threw in a few twirls. Without a care in the world, you’re doing this independently and uninfluenced.
Well, you’re influenced in the sense that we always have music playing in the house and we dance a lot when we carry you. So you’ve attributed sound and sonics to gesture, movement and dancing. It makes us happy to see you so free and joyous. I bought some musical instruments to enhance the habit and expand the experience. The wooden percussion set includes a tambourine, two castanets, two handbells, a wooden block with a stick, a Xylophone, a triangle, a Maracas, and a hand drum (which you won’t get all at once).
The highlight in all this however is that you gravitate to books naturally without push or shove. You have a section in one of your cupboards full of them. That’s always your first pitstop, even before any toys. You rally a few of them, log them to the floor or chair and sooner than later we’ll hear you go, “rarrrrr” when you come across a lion. Independently exploring books supposedly isn’t till the age of three. You are thirteen months. Long may it continue. I hope we (as parents) don’t fuck things up.
Another thing you’re doing prematurely is walking backwards. I didn’t even think this was a thing. But apparently, it is and comes with a host of benefits. I can definitely speak to the spatial awareness side of things because many a time, I’ve seen you adjust your body position and reduce your speed approaching tight corners. Watching you turn sideways to go in between a bucket and a table is unexpectedly satisfying. You have bumped your head on that table a few times though so I’m not surprised the wiring in your brain is holding up strong. Of course, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier if you didn’t remove all the corner protectors I put in place.
I nearly had a heart attack the other day. Your mother was out for a massage and it was just the two of us. I was in the kitchen, and when I turned around to check on you, you were belly-flat on the floor.
I’m pretty sure I died in that nanosecond moment. I rushed round to meet a smile on your face, blabbing with a toy in your hand. You did it again, and again and my reaction was the same every time.
I told Liza about it and she said the same way you take a book, climb a chair and sit with it, is the same way you lay on the floor for a few moments (probably because it’s comfortable and you’re beat from all that running).
Remember the vaccines you had last month? Silly question I know. You definitely don’t. I thought I’d ask anyway. Yeah, those did a number on you. The first few days were blissful, like nothing happened. But by day four, you had some type of rash on your cheeks, a strain of measles of sorts and a fever that put you beside yourself and generally under the weather. I think that’s how you developed the habit of being carried. We did a lot of that to comfort you. Now you swing your arms in the air to be carried though I think that’s because you want to see what’s cooking and love stirring into pots – a game I’ve watched you play with your granddad.
Speaking of illnesses, your friend Nico isn’t doing so well. Since starting nursery, it seems he’s down with something week in, week out. This time he has conjunctivitis. Your mother is good friends with her mum so we’re wishing them well on your behalf. We bumped into them a few weeks ago walking the river. He’s always so mellow. I gather he stood up for the first time last week (meanwhile Mr. Show-off over here is racing across the house at Tesla speeds).
Our biggest concern right now is addressing your stranger anxiety. This showcased itself again last week when your grandmother fell ill and Valery had to take care of her. We got Valentina to babysit and boy-oh-boy. It was as if you were mourning the death of your entire family all at once. There was nothing else she could do that she didn’t try to console you.
So that got me thinking, what if we had to deal with another emergency? What would that scenario look like? Near impossible to deal with at the moment is the answer. So to start mitigating that, we’re going to have Valentina babysit you once a week for about a month. I think she should be around today. There needs to be someone else who can care for you besides your immediate family. Otherwise, we’ll inevitably end up in a bind someday trying to deal with a situation that requires outside help.
While we’re showing our age, you’ve been busy flaunting your youth. So much so that I’ve had to install child locks on just about anything with a door on it. We just can’t keep up with your ultra-fast reflexes. You only need five minutes in a room to make it look like a tornado went through it, unearthing only the things that could cause serious bodily harm. I still don’t have a solution to the toilet though. I guess we’ll just carry on letting you keep creating waves in it with your hands. As you were sir, as you were.
O’And the playpen we bought to keep you in? Yeah, I’m using that now to keep you out and away from my desk and its belongings. I have completely dismantled it into what is now a ringed fence around my station. No trespassers thank you very much.
Last Sunday was Rozalia’s birthday. She wanted breakfast for it so we went to Hide (which she frequents with your mother). Fasting aside, I never was a breakfast person. My dad isn’t either. My mum was so-so. I mean how many ways can you make an omelette interesting enough to have it every morning, or cereal, porridge even? Right? Wrong. This was a creative and pretty damn good breakfast. We barely ate anything else that day. I ate that much. My body was like, “Why are you doing this? We don’t do this”, revolting the whole time. I enjoyed the eating but not the aftermath.
In this picture, I think you’d just woken up. We tried to feed you what was quite possibly the best porridge ever made and you were like, “Naaaah, I’m good thanks”, shaking your head side-to-side in refusal as you do now when you don’t want something.
We’ve run out of floor space on the fridge door for pictures. I got a photo album (from Etsy) to carry on the print tradition. It’s still bare at the moment but that won’t last long.
Right, I better go. Talk soon, son. Love you much and remain you.
How many times have you heard this before? “I just dropped you off at your grandparents“. Well, I just did. But this time, I picked up some meds for your mother, from her mother. Liza’s currently stretched out on the sofa with what seems to be stomach flu. It’s been ongoing since last night. We’re unsure of the cause. She says her entire body aches, much like I feel after playing football this morning.
Speaking of football, there were quite a few injuries today. One of my teammates, Marcus – I call him Aurelius – had to go to A&E with what seems to be a fractured shoulder blade from a challenge and heavy landing. It was a fair 50/50 challenge. But that’s just football. It’s a contact sport. And injuries are part of the game, sadly. The rains this time of year and the resulting poor grounds don’t help though, not with tackles flying in like they typically do. I still get flashbacks from my injury and play with so much care slightly differently now. I have to be sensible now. It’s just not worth it.
A few weeks ago, we took you to Schuh (I believe) for new sneaks. I don’t know why these brands have different sizes for the same foot. It’s so bizarre. We had to get your foot measured in the end. Then an assistant had to recommend a size for Nike and another for Adidas. Why? How did we get to this?
Nevertheless, you were so happy in your Gazelles doing squats and running about the shop, posing in front of mirrors. You’re not as vein, but still quite vein. You think quite highly of yourself.
Yesterday made you fifteen months old. In typical fashion, my dad sent his best wishes to you and Liza. To mark the occasion, we didn’t just get the customary Crosstown doughnuts, but we got you to try a few flavours this time.
Gosh! Time is flying by, and you with it. It’s been a pleasure raising and watching you grow, discovering yourself, and the world. And the joy for us is, we get to see and reimagine things from your perspective. You’re learning so much (mostly thanks to your grandparents grandmother) and your personality is evolving at the speed of new-age tech and AI. You’re currently pointing at things you want (including the ones that could kill you) and saying, ‘Naie’ to those you don’t.
When it’s the latter, I try as much as possible to respect your wishes, especially if it’s food. But I learned that the hard way because when forced, you just throw it on the floor anyway. For the former, I try to find substitutes. It doesn’t always work because you throw a tantrum when things get taken away from you. So my efforts lie in not letting you reach them in the first place. But there are more things than there are places to stow them away. So it doesn’t always work and sometimes we get the deep waterworks and screams, like an African mother mourning her child.
There was a phase when you seemed to have discovered you had a tongue. You wouldn’t put it away. It was out for about a week. I’ve learned with kids you, impossible is nothing. I fully get that now (and where Adidas are coming from).
Seemingly out of nowhere, you’ve cultivated the habit of closing every door, cabinet or drawer. Nothing can be left open or ajar. No, no, no sir. Not in this house. Not around here. If it swings, it’ll swing shut. It doesn’t matter who’s trying to pull out plates or get things out of the washing machine. It feels like you’re saying, “Sorry but you should’ve done this way sooner. Perhaps when I was asleep. Too bad I have to slam this door in your face now. Remember, you made me do this. This is your fault”. We try not to take offence.
I don’t know what it is with switches, plugs and sockets. Maybe you’ll tell me when you’re older. But that’s your thing now. Every floor heater has been switched off. The upside is we’re saving on energy bills. It’s not all gloom.
Earlier today, you pulled the Dyson plug from the wall socket, fiddling with it like you normally do. Except today was the day you managed to get it back into the socket. When you did, you took a moment to look up at me and applaud yourself. I applauded with you. Molodets!
We cook a lot at both houses. And it fascinates you. People huddling in the kitchen, the sound of chopping or sizzling pans get you to drop everything and stomp towards the kitchen. At the first adult, you’d raise your sad face and hands, requesting to be picked up and shown the action. I even let you stir the pot now. You’re happy to play a part in making your own food.
It’s either that or you’re happy to play chef in a corner stirring your pot. We’d walk by and pretend to taste the food you feed us. I think your grandad started this game. It’s still ongoing.
O’by the way, your mother has a video of you hoovering. It’s hilarious. You should ask to see it one day. You managed to keep a “finger on the trigger” and move the Dyson forwards and backwards, repeatedly. It’s really the funniest thing.
We’ve had to give you the much dreaded Calpol the last couple of nights so I wonder how well you sleep tonight. We checked your gums and it’s literally full of teeth bursting through your gums, bleeding at times. Julia and Liza took you to the dentist the other day. The feedback was that brushing is no longer a joke. You have great dentition and so to ensure things stay that way, we have to brush them. You my friend have more than four toothbrushes between both houses. We need at least a couple per session, one for you to play around with while we do the actual cleaning.
As you can imagine, it’s not the easiest thing to do at your age. I’ve seen Liza try successfully in front of a mirror. I’ll stick to the changing mat. I have no clue how your grandparents are managing this. You’re not weak. Au contraire, you have Obelix-like strength.
Remember you had a tongue-tie? Well, the dentist also found something similar between your two front upper teeth. They said it could lead to speech impediments, a gap between your teeth etc etc. But Liza had a second opinion and her dentist said doing anything about now is premature and unnecessarily invasive. It’s not a straightforward procedure and one that requires anaesthetics and aftercare, unlike the tongue tie which was over in seconds. In short, we’re doing nothing, for now.
Manu is calling me… I’ll message him later. I’m going to check on your mum to see how she’s doing. She’s in bed now.
The house is asleep. I bet The Retreat where you are is too. Merry Christmas son. We love you today more than we did yesterday.
This time last year we were packing to Riga and bracing ourselves for the plane journey. O’My you’ve grown! I get all that “they grow up so quick” sentiment now. The other day you said “Ateh”, tapping your chest as you said it. We can’t figure out how you made that connection. Neither house can. So yeah, you’re growing up lightning quick. And we’re here for it.
PS – I’m hoping you’re piecing together that Christmas is no big deal in our family. Not by conventional standards i.e. tree, lights, gifts etc. NY’s is though. It’s a Russian thing. I couldn’t care less for either.
At sixteen months, you’re also getting better and better at repeating words. It’s funny when you do it unexpectedly. The other day, I was changing your nappy upstairs and cracked open the door to yell downstairs. “Yo! Can you please take my eggs off the fire?”. I turned back to you and you were going “Yo, yo, yo…” And we were both pissing ourselves laughing. The takeaway is that it won’t be long before you’re swearing at people, not long now.
You have a better grasp of Russian than English too. It’s currently a three-to-one ratio at the moment so that makes sense. I’ve made a point to only speak to you in English so you’re not lost in translation in an all-English setting. I’m trying to save you from that nightmare.
Nevertheless, that’s currently all down the road stuff. You’re still in mumbo-jumbo territory, pointing at things and audibly spewing complete gibberish. Or as your mother calls it, Lianish. We’re learning it and getting better too. For example, “mana” means “banana”. “Mama” is “mama” or depending on the context, it’s anything good. Mama is God. She’s everywhere, all the time and all-encompassing.
Yesterday evening, Liza said to me, “Can you please help me with his attitude? I don’t understand all the smacking and biting”. She’d texted me earlier from the park saying you’d thrown a massive fit and tantrum. This has been happening for some time now and she’d sent me this article that morning on how to deal with baby aggression. I think the biggest issue is you seem to be selective with whom you have this behaviour, very rarely with me. You’re using different strokes for different folks. So this is the other side of you growing up.
Frankly speaking, your mother is quite upset about it. It was clear to see when we hashed it over dinner. She thinks it’s abnormal, I think it’s part of growing up. Regardless, this is one thing to apologise for when you come of age. It’ll buy you a lot of currency. You’re welcome. You owe me punk.
We don’t have a clear path to take towards conflict resolution. I advised implementing some of the techniques from the article but more importantly, being stern when confronting that behaviour. I think her strong face is way too subtle. It’s easy to confuse (as a child) for another expression. For example, you know my “STOP IT” face. When you hear “Aie” with the face to match, you know exactly what I’m on about. I also asked Liza to give some room between discipline and love so you can process the difference. Currently, you might be mashing both together. I think it’s perfectly normal to let you cry a little and come to terms with your actions and their consequences. Your mother may be too quick to hug you. It’s a work in progress and the needle must push forward.
Some weeks ago, Google hosted a kid’s Christmas party at their offices. Looking at the pictures and videos, you had a blast. I think it’s how well-behaved you are in public that makes it for your mother. The education is there (and instilled by your GMama) but a small part of me wonders whether it’s also due to the lack of social skills. Perhaps you’re simply to yourself because you don’t want to engage with humans. I mean, I get it, I don’t like people either, especially in groups. However, this isn’t something that requires an action. I don’t even have enough information to make a call. So just be yourself. Also, your social skills are way better (and we didn’t have to go overboard to get there). We only did a month of babysitting and Valentina is only a call to make for emergencies now.
It was GMama’s birthday December 4 I believe. So your mother made you sign her card. We had (some very good Latvian) honey cake on Alpha Road.
Speaking of emergencies, guess who made their first trip to A&E? Yeah, you won that shitty price. As a precursor to all this, COVID has been dancing between the houses for the past weeks. I’ve been gradually coughing out my lungs this entire time. Your grandparents are still recovering and last night was the first time in a week they could take you for the night. It’s been messy managing the symptoms. There’s a ziplock on the countertop with all imaginable meds in it.
To be honest, we (or at least I knew) this was coming, subconsciously. In the buildup, I wouldn’t shut up about what it would be like and hopefully, your first trip to A&E isn’t serious. Your mother thinks I jinxed your good health. But the night GPops picked you up for The Retreat, Liza had been poorly for days and tested positive. She was very unwell. You were completely fine though and your usual self.
We woke up to several missed calls, on both phones. I sleep with earplugs and every incoming call after 10 pm gets automatically silenced. It was also a school night for me… So yeah, no chance I would’ve heard or noticed them. I’ve however just updated their profile settings on my phone to let their calls and messages through in case something like this happens again. Liza’s up now so I’ve just instructed her on how to do the same.
But it turns out, your temperature had been fluctuating all night, skyrocketing up and down. Your folks had been fighting it with Calpol. Good ol’ Calpol to the rescue. I was thinking about what we would do if we were them and they did the right thing for sure not coming over. Not that late, risking the safety of one and leaving the other with a sick baby.
When we called back in the morning, you were finally sleeping. You got weaker throughout the day but still managed to throw in the odd smile here and there. You’re a hero like that. Just after two, I had to curtail a work meeting (which was near ending anyway) to take you to A&E as your temperature was back seesawing. We also didn’t want to leave it till evil hours at night. Rather deal with this now.
The wait at the hospital was as you’d expect, forever long and painful. Your mother and I discussed whether making that drive into the city to a paid medical facility is a wiser option. Food for thought, for next time.
A nurse eventually came to take some vitals – temperature, blood saturation and the like. Not long after, we were taken into a room away from the general waiting area where the other sickened kids were.
The doctor eventually confirmed my suspicions that we’d been bumped up the queue after the rudimentary test results.
Some more tests, crying and a bottle of milk later, we were given some electrolytes and told we could leave. The Dr said to control the fever and temperature with Calpol and Ibuprofen. Word around town is Ibuprofen is poison. I wasn’t going to argue with your mother. She says most mums (including Maria) agree. So we’re back to Calpol (which gives rashy red cheeks every single time). The next day you tested positive for COVID. Surprise surprise. You were back running around after only two days though. That was the real shocker.
In brighter news, on November 23, your mother and I got court married. She loves my cooking and I need those EU papers. So it works out superbly. I didn’t think I’d be so emotional and so happy. Manu came down from LA and we entertained a small group at the house. He brought you a spaceman who projects the galaxy onto the walls to remarkable effect. You’re a fan, especially of the remote. Every button has had its head smashed in.
Liza’s taken her mum to the Chessington Garden Centre leaving you and I for a few hours. Your best pal GPops is at The Retreat. Your bicycle arrived this morning so I’ll take it over for him to assemble since it’ll live there. The whole thing was your grandmother’s request. She even picked the model your mother bought. I just chimed in on the colour. The next few days are going to be interesting.
I’ve been thinking about what becomes of you if something happens to me or your mother. Its potential impact on you weighs on my mind. This topic fills Liza with unease and anxiety. It’s understandably always a difficult conversation. She’s very evasive about it. But knowing everything I know, it’ll be a dereliction of duty not to take measures to protect your future the best we can.
Writing a will has been on the cards forever, we’ve danced around it for too long. A few days ago, I advocated for a decisive action (after another sombre dialogue). You never think it’ll happen to you until it does. I used to hear about nasty injuries people got playing football thinking, “That’ll never happen to me“. Until it did. There is a surrealness, a stark reality that settles on you when something like that happens and you realise just how fucking mortal and minuscule you are. So we’ve reached out to a lawyer to get the ball rolling.
As you know, no one in the family knows about this archive. Not even Liza (who’s back and sitting at the other end of the room). I think someone in the family should, just in case, Manu perhaps.
I don’t remember who your mother said she spoke to, but we bought you a convertible learning tower on their recommendation. I love it both in theory and practice. In two gestures it goes from a sitting desk to a tower which puts you above the kitchen counter. Gone are the days of you whinging in a face-up chair pose asking to be carried so you can see what’s cooking. Now you can help cook. It’s a great piece of kit.
I think a lot about ways I can raise you, free of stress, anxiety or trauma. Your mother does too. I figure the best way to go about it is to educate ourselves on the subject. We live in the information era. If you have a question, chances are you’re not the only one and someone already has an answer or two.
The answer in this instance is Dr Gabor Maté and his book, The Myth of Normal. I’m learning a lot about the oneness of the mind and body – the mindbody. I am only a few chapters in and reading about epigenetics. You are you based on what’s happening inside and outside, ‘man’ and his environment. Those are great guiding principles. Instinctively, innately, they’ve always been mine but it’s interesting to hear someone emphasise them in a way that is so well structured and easy to consume. So if there’s anything to take from this entire journal, take those with you. Your milieu has a heavy hand in who you are. And now more than ever, our culture has become a toxic one.
I also listened to his interview on Joe Rogan’s podcast where (among other things) he shed some insightful views on trauma. “It’s impossible to love a kid too much“. That statement stayed with me. Now I know that letting you cry in a crib so you can learn to sleep alone is bullshit unnecessary. Gosh, how traumatizing that must be! Don’t worry, you can carry on sleeping with us until you’re ready to try it on your own. And when you cry, we’ll pick you up and console you (til you have a better understanding of the shitshow that is this world). Besides, you’ve already outgrown a lot of the habits we considered an inconvenience without push or shove. All we did was give you time.
We may as well talk about it since I brought it up. You’re going through another bout with insomnia. You’re so fussy and fidgety to the point where we’re back to taking shifts. With life and work, it’s unsustainable to have two sleep-deprived parents. It’s now 10:35 pm (Jan 13) and you are (hopefully) asleep with your mother upstairs. I’ll be on the sofabed once I’m done here. You’ve had a runny nose since yesterday to compound matters. The next few days are going to be t o u g h. With some luck, it’s days and not weeks. The Olbas oils and every other med on the bedside table better work.
We suspect you picked it up from the baby gym you attend thrice weekly. It has to be. Running around with all those other kids carrying God knows what with them. It’s great for your immunity but sucks for your carers. We can’t stop you from going either now because you love it that much. It’s great exercise in a “safe” – I’m rolling my eyes – place and you get to evolve your social skills. Fuck me, it also costs as much as my adult gym membership (albeit discounted). £70 per month for a seventeen-month-old child. WTF are we doing!?
Liza and your babushka took you to see Maalouf earlier this month, the day you turned seventeen months old. A check-up made sense after your little trip to A&E.
I thought maybe your growth spurt had levelled up and you were becoming more… regular. Nope! You are still heavier and taller than 90% of kids your age in the UK.
To be honest, these metrics don’t do anything to me. I’ll do anything to keep you healthy, smiling and laughing. That’s all I care about. And so far your mother and I are doing a great job at it. We’re trying anyway.
You’re also advancing into territories that are new to us. The kicking, biting and hitting have also come early. Liza is struggling with it. She’s so far been the unlucky beneficiary of this communication style. (You seldom do it to me). She thinks you’re being unfriendly and unkind. As fate would have it though, I got and forwarded a timely email from Lovevery with an article on the topic.
Because they can’t yet express all of their emotions, especially in the heat of the moment, sometimes these big feelings come out with a kick or a bite.
Your brain is just underdeveloped. This isn’t hate or spite. It’s everything but. I don’t know how many times you say “mama” daily but I’m sure it’ll break any counter. We had a chat and hopefully, it sunk in and settled your mother. You love her more than anything in the world.
Speaking of mothers, today is the day I lost mine a few years ago. It’s so hard to imagine it’s been years. I don’t even keep count because it hurts that much. My body has an odd way of reminding me in the build-up (to today). During my last shift with you, I thought of her a lot. Cried a lot. This was earlier in the week. I woke up heavier than I feel today. Lyn has tried calling me. She does the same day every year and I never answer. The irony of that is that the broken communication is communication in the end and we understand and love each other all the same. My way is to be evasive and avoid anything and everything to do with it today. WhatsApp is full of texts, photos and videos which I’ve been avoiding all day.
Instead, we spent the entire day at the Priory Farm with you, Liza and your grandmother. Your grandad couldn’t come because he was recovering from the night before trying to get you to sleep. It was a cold but great day to remember your grandmother. She would’ve loved sharing your first experience with a guinea fowl. I miss her a tonne.
We also started showing you little snippets of Sir David Attenborough’s Planet Earth. Liza and I have never seen you so animated for so long, gesturing and mimicking all the animal sounds. You looked so happy. We got so much joy from that. Thank you. Long may it continue.
You turned a year and a half two days ago. It coincided with your grandparents celebrating a year of living in the UK permanently. So we had some cake and a meal to mark the milestones.
I’m skimming through sites trying to find what to expect from an eighteen-month-old child. I’d like to gauge where you are on the spectrum. There are several but this one stands out on one topic – sleeping problems. Last night, you woke up around three asking for “mama”. I tried to explain you were stuck with me mama was upstairs sleeping but you weren’t having any of it. Didn’t care. You cried for a bit, asked for Mama some more and got the same response. I felt so sorry for you. You had some milk and decided it was time for a speech, waving your hands, pointing, delegating… Christ! This went on for about an hour before you decided to pack it in for some shut-eye. I am still recovering.
This other site references coordination and probably explains why your last Montessori set included an open cup and mini jug (to pour yourself a drink). Risky. I’ve never seen your mother with a mop. She’ll probably wrap you in kitchen roll for this. We’ll give it a go for sure.
In other areas, you’re doing just great, Maalouf thinks so anyway. Your speech is still mostly nonsense but you understand and say a tonne of stuff (especially in Russian). No one can quite figure out how you came to understand your name is “Ateh”. We have no clue. But you say it with your hands on your chest every time. You are also sprinting and not walking despite what some sites say. Your balance is pretty good. Music and dancing is still your thing. You point at the radio and say “la-la” for music. It brings warmth to the heart.
I had other topics to discuss but it’s just gone 10 pm and I am beat. My head’s still spinning from the three-hour train journey. I am in Skem for work and have to be up early. But it won’t be long until the next one.
Right. Nurseries. We’re late on this. We’d sought a steer from Marc and Jess who’d recommended the Child’s Play Nursery (where Luca and Noah went to). It has great ratings and ranks highly among parents. So your mother had it earmarked and got you registered from a year ago I believe.
She had me call them last month – she believes I’m better at these things for some reason – to find out if we’d make the cut. Turns out we’re thirty-something on the list and unlikely to get a place this year and maybe next year. I mean, I hear people register their kids the second they find out they are pregnant. Now we know why. It’s that difficult to get admission (into a decent nursery, of which there aren’t many).
When we visited Marc last weekend, Jess was recounting having to call the nursery every day and pestering them until she got admission. That was her advice. That and changing our needs to requiring full time care (as opposed to three days a week). Those apparently get prioritised. Thinking about it, it’s more money, less joggling and less admin for them. The logic is sound. So we’re thinking about it. Liza just walked in so I’m going to ask her what action we should take… She agrees we should pursue both.
By “both” she means the Child’s Play Nursery and Parson’s House Nursery. She’d managed to get membership into the latter and it seems a fine, if not better option. We’re getting a tour on Thursday. It’s just… A bit far so logistically not the best by comparison. But that’s plan B.
We’re currently in Riga and I’m writing from an AirBnb. Your mother is on the phone talking to her mum. We’re going out when she’s done so I need to pause this update for some basic hygiene. I’ll resume later this evening.
PS – We heard you slept well last night. Much much love to you.
