This eczema thing… It’s tough to call it. At one point, it was visibly more pronounced under both eyes and on the left side of your lip. But as of last night – I haven’t seen you today – everything seemed a lot better. Liza and I are pretty confident we’re dealing with allergies.
Well, how the fuck do we know? Great question. Liza got the intel from Maria, Nico’s mother. (You guys have hung out quite a bit.) Turns out, she is allergic to tomatoes, in a major way. She only has to look at them to display the same symptoms i.e. an outbreak of eczema on her face.
The night before yours went to town, you had your mits in my salad picking out raw tomatoes and stuffing your face with them. We could see the area around your mouth go red but thought nothing of it — business as usual. Well, shit. Looking back, being none the wiser, you’ve had tomatoes in almost every form, regularly in almost every meal. Tomatoes are pretty hard to avoid.
We should’ve known better though. Every time you had tomatoes, it showed up in your stool, undigested. That should’ve been a telltale sign. But unfortunately, your parents aren’t the smartest, are they? Also, tomato recipes were always incentivized. You love them.
So we think we have the cause pinned down (and reverted to giving you dairy products). However, we’re widening the list to include nightshade vegetables. According to the internet, that’s also a thing. When your skin settles, we’ll talk about giving you aubergines, potatoes etc. It’s unlikely we’ll give you tomatoes though. Not anytime soon.
In the build-up to this, we’d checked in with Maalouf for a medical opinion. Then, we were fighting something that looked like dandruff on your scalp. Nope, that was a fungal infection, to which he prescribed a (pretty strong) ointment to treat. We had to cut most of your hair off to administer it. It’s a bit premature but that now seems like a problem of the past.
The same appointment also uncovered an ear infection and a soar throat, which you didn’t tell us about. Tut tut tut! We also got antibiotics for those.
This morning, your mother and grandfather took you for a second opinion (since we weren’t getting anywhere with the rash). At this point, Dr Agne Zemaite is like a family doctor. Liza is probably on a first-name basis with her and I saw her when my back had the plague (because I thought it was indifferent to wash my clothes with rags that had been used with chemicals to clean the apartment, despite your mother saying not to. I was saving water though).
The TLDR of that visit is she couldn’t believe Maalouf was so easy to prescribe the meds he did for someone so young. Long story short, we’re going to favour her advice along with the (more child-friendlier) meds that come with it.
There’s the biggest-to-date bruise on your left cheek currently. You were dancing and spinning around at the Retreat and ran into the edge of the door. Your granddad walked into the room when he was dropping you off with a “don’t panic” announcement. It’s pretty bad but boys will be boys is what I told him. Your mother also got a heads-up warning. I hope this doesn’t deter you from dancing and the love you have for music (and Tiny Desk). Keep dancing sir, keep dancing.
You’ve been listening (and reacting) to music even before you were born. Be it jazz, rap, opera, or reggae, you’ve heard it by now. You are The Music Man. Your heart is filled with it and while it’s no big surprise you’re so drawn to it, it’s still the most wholesome thing witnessing you express it freely and outwardly without any reservation. So young and so full of vibrations.
I think it’s a matter of time before you start taking music lessons. There is a prerequisite to that, however. You need to love an instrument enough to want to play it regularly. I’ve been watching you closely and trying not to meddle with your decision. I’ll know when you’ve made the choice(s). So far, you’ve dabbled with the tambourine, castanets, handbells, a xylophone, a triangle, the maracas, and a hand drum. These have all been fleeting moments.
The other day, I bought you a guitar. This is the only time I’ve seen you refuse food in preference of something else. You glued yourself to it. You still can’t fully say ‘guitar’ but the four-finger up-down gesture as if striking strings is pretty clear as a request. When it arrived, you sat on the chair for what seemed like an eternity being Hendrix. It’s like you finally had a part to play from all your music books. You’d become one of the characters. You do this face and head bop (which you copied from me) as if swallowed by the melodies. Amazing.
It’ll be interesting to see how long this (small) obsession lasts but you’re still pretty into it. We were watching Hermanos Gutiérrez – thank you Tiny Desk – and zoned out. You had your guitar in hand, taking it all in. Man, is there more to life than this?
In other news, we’re still fighting your allergies. Your mother’s hairdresser recommended another doctor. No action as of yet. We’ve agreed to only give you basic foods now until your skin completely clears up. Then we’ll see about these Chinese pears and dragon fruits.
I remember when you met your grandad for the first time. This was in Riga in the heart of Winter when we flew over. Hell broke fucking loose. You acted like we’d sold you into slavery. I mean, my God you cried. Today, he’s your best friend but that’s not how that relationship started, no sir — those introductory days sure scarred you both, in different ways.
Perhaps saying you have a favourite parent is a step too far (or is it?) but your current behaviour suggests a parental preference at least for certain activities.
I genuinely believe if you had to choose, you’d opt to live with your grandparents. Emotion aside, that would be a logical choice. You currently spend the most time with them. Endless happy hours filled with love, play and laughter. It’s everything (I think) an infant wants. You are living out a dream (and we’re ecstatic you are. We have no other wishes for you at this age).
Liza just came down to have lunch and I followed her into the kitchen to ask who she thought you’d want to live with if you had to choose between the houses. Interestingly, she said you’d one hundred per cent want to stay with us. You supposedly spend a lot of your time (with them) asking for Mama and Papa. I don’t believe this entirely. Your mum loves an exaggeration. But her viewpoint is very insightful. I would’ve put money on the contrary. But WTF do I know!? Not a lot. Clearly.
However, looking back at my own life, for a very long time my mum was everything. It’s only now that I realise and fully acknowledge the things I couldn’t see then. The seemingly passive role my father played. The metrics you use as a child to measure love don’t always provide the most accurate reading. You don’t care about who’s paying for your education or the clothes on your back for example. You care about who’s giving you the most hugs and who makes you laugh the most. Your mum and I aren’t that passive in your upbringing but that’s the bucket we currently float in – the financiers you don’t see a lot of. It’s in part the reason I keep this blog, to bring you awareness and give you better love measuring tools that take you beyond the surface.
So far this entire blab is to say, it wouldn’t surprise me if you had a favourite parent. It seems my thinking isn’t misplaced either. There is some – thank you Google – science and normalcy to it. None of it strikes me as rocket science.
For example, you hate sleeping with me at the moment. (And yes, we’re still taking shifts between us.) I had you a night ago and you woke up around 1:24 am refusing to go back to sleep and screaming for your mother. Pointing upstairs and hysterically trying to leave the room. You were inconsolable. You stood in the middle of the room going at it for about twenty minutes. There was nothing I could do besides let you cry (and hopefully get tired enough from it). That worked. You fell asleep in my arms.
It’s not the first time you’ve done this to me (and so far only me) but it’s the first time you’ve done it twice in a night. You were up again around 7:17 am with the same “go fuck yourself, find my mother right now” vibe and thankfully that’s around the time your grandad shows up to pick you up. 7:30 am to be precise. I was happy to make the exchange.
Thankfully, I have my wits about me and can remove my feelings from this situation and put your needs first. I know better than to take this personally. There was a time when you favoured me for a lot of things and I recall your mum understandably having trouble trying to compute why the child she carried and brought into this world wouldn’t understand that all she has to offer is unconditional love. So whilst my reaction isn’t like hers, I completely get it. As Jimmy Fallon put it, “Everything is mama“. For now, it is.
Staying in line with favourites, you’re still dancing around with that guitar. You’ve added vocals to your set now. Liza has a video of you from dinner last night. It’s so funny to experience it in person. So music (or la-la as you call it) is still your thing. You also love assembling things. Building stuff. For instance, you have a bicycle you refuse to mount but you’re all in the minute screwdrivers come out and we have to pull it apart. Once we’d put it back together, I asked if you wanted to get on it and you went, “No”. OK then.
I really have to be ultra careful with tone and language around you. Your speech and development have improved so much. You are copying every single thing at the moment. My voice is naturally very loud even when I don’t mean to be confrontational. The other day Liza and I were talking and in the midst of it, you started shouting and gesturing like an angry coach on the touchline incensed by a refereeing decision. You were simply copying me. So I have to be very careful now, that goes for diction too.
We flew back from Riga a few days ago. As I pondered this post, I asked myself, was it worth it? Was it worth the trip across the border to do these allergy tests? Damn fucking right it was! We uncovered more in hours than we did this entire time trying to manage your health. Within days, your sleep and mood have significantly improved. The former no longer requires a mental prep while I chalk the latter to “he’s a child, he’s supposed to throw a tantrum now and then“. Your skin is also back to being golden.
Frustratingly, to now, every clinician we saw maintained that these reactions weren’t food allergies. Never mind what we said. They were more content with recommending more creams to deal with the eczema. It seemed so bloody obvious.
Anyway, your mother had heard and seen enough. Riga was her move. If you haven’t figured this out yet, she’s got strings everywhere. Between her circle of friends, she was recommended to one of the “crème de la crème” general practitioners in Dr Ilze Aizsilniece by Ieva Ilvesa (once the first lady of Estonia). At short notice, she somehow forced her way into an appointment. I only turned up as a witness.
A prerequisite was to get some blood tests. So we left Gatwick in the morning and by late afternoon, around four-ish, we were at a clinic for blood work. It’s ridiculous how much you needed to provide. Your mother was a blink away from crying. I had your legs pinned in between my thighs while I held you dead still through the screaming. Fuck me, I was barely holding it together! They still didn’t have enough after draining one arm. They wanted us to come back but thankfully someone suggested trying the other arm. I agreed (unwilling to repeat this ever). So we did the right arm. You’d have to be critical for me to do this again.
A few hours later, your mother and I were at the flat looking at your results. (Yes, it was that quick.) You are severely allergic to dairy, eggs, swiss cheese and (here’s an odd one) bananas. What breaks my heart is that these are items we’ve been giving you every. single. day. That’s how long you’ve been suffering. We’re so sorry about that.
The hour-long meeting with Dr Ilze was in Latvian so you and I hung out in the corner (with the toys) while the two women in control talked. I’m sure there were others but the headline download I got was
A prescription of more baby-friendly creams to handle the rash.
A gentler antihistamine to use in emergencies.
Re-introduce some dairy foods (like milk and yoghurt) at age three in very small quantities and observe over a week.
Your body thinks these foods are toxins so it’s doing its best to eliminate them
All of your symptoms have subsided since. The relief is… Well, it’s everything. To think this is how far we had to go. In hindsight, it looks like we were once onto dairy as a possible cause though without science, how could we be so sure? Also, these are not the only food types you are allergic to. It’s a journey we’re glad to see the end of.
The rest of the week in Riga was rather fun. You spent most of it hanging out with Liza. This made her very happy. I had work, unfortunately. Apparently, you had a blast with Dace’s kids in the country.
It seems the multiple Tiny Desk sessions and endless playlists you heard when you were bean-size have cumulated into an ear (and love) for music. And as noisy, rattling and emphatic as your performances are, we are here to cheer and applaud them.
I don’t remember an evening where you haven’t picked up a musical instrument. Not in recent memory. The harmonica is certainly premature and the guitar is the current favourite. I’ll catch your head bouncing, shaking the expressive emotion on your face, rocking away. Honestly, I’m surprised by how surprised we are given the heavy hand we play – buying you all these noisemakers and exposing you to so much “la-la”. Nevertheless, it still does and still warms our hearts.
Furthermore, your desire to express yourself sonically seems limitless. Currently, anything (or anyone) can become an instrument. God knows every height-friendly box, stool or table at both houses has taken a good banging. I’ve been beaten a few times. Liza sure has visible bruises (that could land me in hot water). And throughout our stay in Riga, the radiator tops were piano keys. (Oh the performances you gave us will see me to my grave.) I think know if I beatbox often enough, you’ll copy that too, most certainly. The intrigue is already embedded. I can see you trying to compute what the hell is going on and how that’s possible. Your brain is firing signals to your jaw muscles and all sorts. Lol.
Alternatively, when there is no instrument, you fancy yourself as quite the blues vocalist. I’ll just leave this video here and walk off.
In other news, we’re thinking about doing a more expansive food allergy test. I gather this is a non-invasive prick test. Why? You ask. Well, because we think you may be allergic to some nuts. As restrictive as your diet now is post-Riga, we have a fairly good idea of what to and what not to give you. But most noticeably, you still get the odd flare-up after nut-based milk alternatives. Nowhere near as bad as previously. But It’s all inference and a hunch at this point. Hence the need for more explorative tests. TBC.
Even your posture and handling is right. You have one leg up to support the guitar. I didn’t teach you any of it.
Your mother’s in Paris for work this minute. I think she’s back late tonight. Last night she asked me if you still knew who she was, “for him two days is like two years“. I’ll let you pick that one up.
You’re not far from being a two-year-old now. Twenty-two months to be exact, some five days ago. We didn’t do much about it, especially just coming back from a resort holiday, Ikos Olivia in Greece. And to be honest, we’ve stopped picking on the fourth of every month.
So how was it? The holiday you mean. Thought-provoking question, one your mother and I have pondered about, trying to assess whether this is a destination for parents with a child(ren) your age. We asked ourselves whether we’d ever come back and shook our heads. Another couple we met said the same thing. They had two teenagers and alluded the activities didn’t include ones their kids were interested in.
For us, it was harder to deduce why. You don’t incur any extra costs and the bill is frozen your entire stay whether you order coke or champagne, butter or caviar. There wasn’t any caviar but the food was pretty damn good (even the buffets), and the grounds, public areas and facilities had just been renovated so everything worked. The staff were very friendly (though I wish I wasn’t acknowledged or smiled at as much all the time), and you get a Tesla for a day to explore the region.
So what’s not to like? Well, you didn’t like the creche (to no noticeable fault of theirs). You made it through two of the three hours scheduled on day one. They called us to pick you up at the last stretch. We didn’t think you’d last ten minutes so we knew it was coming and pleasantly surprised you lasted that long. The second attempt was a disaster and failed before it even started. You burst into tears at the gates, inconsolably so. There was no appeasing you. Not with any of the toys they had there (a lot of which you had at home). You looked so sad, too morose for us to force the issue. So we cancelled that and every other session we had booked. We did notice you were also the only child your age there so you had all the attention, which any other child would love, except you.
Personally, I didn’t like the hotel. I couldn’t believe my eyes driving up to this big beige building. I’d paint it if they’d let me. It just seemed so dull and a wasted opportunity to explore different tones and colour palettes. I expect grey buildings in England, not in Greece. Architecturally speaking, I’ve seen a better-looking block of flats. This had no personality. The only thing I remember about the interior is… wait for it… the beige carpet they had running the hallways. The edges were giving way like the ends of a continuously stepped-on pair of jeans, bubbling like a cheap sweater. I couldn’t believe that wasn’t part of the renovation.
The room itself was a joke. Unimaginative. Terrible use of space, really poor choice of furniture, tacky, deteriorating and not ageing with any grace whatsoever. The finishings lacked detail and attention. For example, the bathroom doors wheeled completely out of place and I found myself trying to fix it. If you looked around the bottom corners and edges, you could see the shabbiness either in the paintwork or the materials used. It’s all a bit shoddy and lacking finesse. Forget how much we paid – hint, it wasn’t cheap – but if this was my place, I’d feel a deep lack of self-pride. Perhaps I’m being a little unfair. (I doubt I am.) Your mother and I stayed at The Grand Park Hotel in Rovinj and The Ritz in Tenerife. The former especially was… Wow!
You’d have to ask your mother what her pet peeves were about the stay. I know for sure she didn’t like fighting for beds poolside or having to call someone because the safe had jammed on day one. I walked away from this one but I think she rightfully lost her poise and had to get some older kids kicked off one of the pool facilities designed for soft play and kids your age. If she kept a score then I don’t know what else she had on her list.
The best day of the entire vacation was made off-prem. We had the free car and drove into Afytos for the day. We didn’t walk for very long and settled at a restaurant called Vouka. They were experiencing a water cut. (We’d seen water flowing into the street walking up the hill presumably from some broken pipes.) The staff were normal (which amplified how exaggerated those at Ikos were). I spoke to the waiter about life in Greece, the economy, money pre and post-COVID etc – small talk. It flowed naturally.
Liza ordered something, Americano I believe and I got an Aperol Spritz which still stands as the best I’ve had to date. (I had a very good Passion Spritz earlier today at the shambles for food and service that is 36 Line in Jurmula but that’s another story.) They were also kind enough to find you an unwashed apple so you were ‘jiggy’ – you’re madly in love with apples at the moment. We don’t know why. You also took a massive shit which was tricky to manage without the option of water. Wet wipes to the rescue.
Eventually, the waiter said we could order food, clearly pointing out those we couldn’t have as they required water to prepare. I went for chargrilled octopus, squid and a ribeye. Oof! So good. I won’t forget the aroma of that steak in a hurry. The seafood was equally magnificent. The sauces were exquisite and clearly, very thoughtfully curated for the dishes they accompanied. I think this place officially sealed your marriage to hummus. You couldn’t stop. You didn’t give us much of a chance with the breadsticks either. They earned every penny of the tip we gave them. From there we drove back with olive oil and bits from the neighbouring local businesses.
Overall I think you were just happy spending time with us. You had mosquito bites the first night, including one dead centre between your eyebrows, like a bindi and very Indian-like. (I was calling wrongfully comparing you to the Dalai Lama for a bit.) But for the entire stay your skin cleared up from the allergies. I’m crediting the food and weather for this. We got to spade the sand by the stony beach and enjoy live music. There were great moments, the greatest of which was your time with Jack and Noah B, aged six and eleven I’m guessing.
We met them at dinner and started talking to their parents David and Sarah. Turns out David used to live literally a few minutes from where we live now. The odds of that are pretty wild – meeting complete strangers in another country who used to live down your road. Wild stuff. We got on really well. They had this authenticity about them. But what was astounding to witness was the chemistry between you and their wonderful kids. Liza and I were in awe of what we were witnessing, all three of you playing, laughing, running around… Beautiful. This continued the next day by the pool. It affirmed you just need the right characters to be social.
Oh and check this, it turns out the couple who also said they wouldn’t return have a ‘small modelling agency’. Their words, not mine. In fact, that was the primary conversation. They were very keen to get you on their books. You get quite a bit of attention wherever we go and while this was the first (to go as far as appearances for money), I doubt it’ll be the last time. They took our contact details but it’ll all be for nothing if not just friendship.
I can see where Liza is coming from when she says she doesn’t want you exposed to this type of vanity so early in your life. She’s a bold no. I’m a bit more “he’s so young he wouldn’t remember” but admittedly it’s a very slippery slope. I think you need some grounding virtues and a stable foundation before ever considering this path. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m thinking if the money you made from this went into something like the S&P500, by the time you’re eighteen… All that said, you do not have to earn your love from us. It will always come unattached and free of charge.
In other news, I’m writing this on a 9 pm flight from Riga back to London. It’s a loud one and there’s just been an unpleasant exchange between a family with kids asleep and a party who just wouldn’t shut it. I can hear them even through noise-cancelling headphones (though it’s more like background noise at this point). Anyway, I piggybacked off Liza’s work trip for the weekend. We miss you terribly. She stayed behind for her event tomorrow. She leaves for Paris thereafter and should be home on Tuesday. You’re currently with your grandparents.
By the way, Julia and Valery took you for a prick test a few weeks back (before Greece). You were still getting the occasional flareup after certain meals so we wanted to know if you had other food allergies we need to be wary of. They couldn’t find any and recommended treating the rash with the same CeraVe lotion which ironically I’ve been using. So yeah, we had a remedy in-house this whole time. Take that with a grain of salt. You have so many lotions you could become a beautician.
You had your first pretzel during the transit to Greece, in Vienna. A pretty big one at that, without leftovers. We’ve also made small mods to the house for your benefit. We got you a bed low to the ground and without the prison bars. You’re still to sleep in it. You were very clear when asked, you said no (to sleeping in it). The chair we got you is in full use though, along with the low hooks to hang your jacket when you get in. Old habits die hard and you’re still rebuking any headgear. Without a helmet, time and progress on the balance bike are curtailed and slow. We’re working on that. You threw away your cap in Greece and it’s safe to say we’re reluctant to buy you another.
We’re approaching Heathrow and landing in a few ticks. I’ll add some pics to this and consider it done. Love you son and see you at the next one. Bye for now. Papa.
PS – Back in the day, I’d ask you how good something or your food was with a thumbs up and you’d reply, “Goot” also with a thumbs up. You’ve stopped saying and doing it. It’s rather sad.
Historically, I’d speed talk at you as a deterrent from something I didn’t want you doing. I’d come down to your level and vomit a lot of (meaningless) phrases, spoken quickly enough to overwhelm and distract. And that usually did the trick. Lately, not so much. It’s like you’re retaining and reasoning, and trying to influence the dialogue, chiming in at times. I can also see on your face, what I’m saying makes no sense. I talk, and it’s like you’re going, “That’s horse shit”. Not verbatim but the gestures and utterances couldn’t be clearer.
Supposedly, reasoning in kids doesn’t start till the age of three. Your second birthday is in August. Now, I’m not saying you have a complete grasp of everything we tell you or can host a four-hour podcast. Communication is a life-long evolving skill many adults will never master. Your source pool of words is nowhere near as expansive and constantly swinging between Russian and English is hardly the park walk. However what I will say is, if I promise you a plum when we get home to remove you from an incident, you ask for it when we’re back at the house. That means I can’t bullshit you any more. There is accountability now. My tactics have to meet the current status quo. You’re a lot smarter.
In other news, your mother took you to Frankfurt again to see Olya. It’s a yearly ritual now and I imagine last year was a completely different vibe. You’ve changed quite a bit since then. Sounds like you had a blast though, unsurprisingly.
Speaking of customs, you and I have one too. Your grandad drops you off at ours around six every workday. So I’ve made a point of taking you for a walk on the balance bike when he does. We’ve been at it for a couple of months now. In the early days, there was a lot of hoopla just getting the helmet on. You can’t even keep a hat on (and we still haven’t replaced the one you threw away in Greece). But with a lot of persuading and demoing, I’ve managed to get you to associate the bike with the helmet. That both always go together. Every time we went out, I pointed out every cyclist or motorist wearing a helmet going, “Look, helmet”. I did this consistently especially if they were other kids. This is how I got you to think it was something ‘cool’ and worth copying.
The bike itself took some getting used to. We did practice runs indoors to start with, in a controlled environment where I (or the carpet) could catch you if you fell. Simultaneously, you could learn how it worked while improving your balance and motor skills. I didn’t want you to see the bike as something that brought you pain i.e., from falling over constantly. I figured you just needed to build your confidence. We did that repeatedly and now you’re a pro BMX rider. At least you think you are. I just need you to assess risk a bit better. You currently think slopes and hills are your friends. Mate, until you learn brakes, they aren’t. I’m trying to prevent you from learning this the hard way.
Someone shared this photo in our family chat. I’d never seen it before. It’s three of the greatest women I’ve ever known. Gone and no longer with us. My mum’s on the left, that’s her sister on the right and sitting down, is the source of all things, their mama, my beloved grandmother. I’ll leave that at that for now.
I am currently at Gatwick Airport Gate 1 reflecting, and thinking about you, technology and our role as primary caregivers in your introduction to it. According to this, “When the child is between 18 to about 24 months, they recommend that tech devices can be introduced to the child up to a limit of 30mins per day on the devices, TV screens, and others.”
Inevitably, you’ve seen phones, laptops and tablets but we’ve more or less stayed within these parameters, leaning more towards micro dosage. Our first stance is no phones, screens or tablets. However, as we know, Tiny Desk has a big influence on you sonically, and without being there in person, it can only be streamed. The magic is finding a middle ground between entertainment and overstimulation. That’s no easy thing (given we can’t measure either). In that sense, abstinence seems logical.
To put some makeup on this, you’ve been in Riga (with your mum and grandparents) coming up to a fortnight. You’ll turn two there hence my weekend trip. So far, technology has mediated our interactions via video calls and media-rich texts. Thus, it’s fair to say you’ve had some screen time. Not much but more than usual, necessitated and amplified by distance.
I’m also half thinking maybe cumulatively you’ve had even less time onscreen. Your mum isn’t one to stay put, and from the pictures, there hasn’t been room for Tiny Desk. So perhaps my reflections are more visceral than actual. Anyhow, I’m on the plane. Embrace soon.
