It honestly feels like you were born yesterday. You just turned one the other day and now you’re two already. I don’t know how. Crazy!
The last time we spoke, I was at the airport on my way to you. It was a soft landing and Riga hasn’t changed much. (We go too often enough to notice anyway.) We spent your birthday at Neptuns where your mother and I have been frequenting for as long as we’ve been going to Latvia. She coordinated everything from guests to logistics, as she does. I just showed up. All praise to her.
We arrived for lunch and spent most of the day walking the beach with Dace, Kostia & Ginta, their respective kids, your grandma, and Ieva and her mum (besties with your grandma). Your grandpa was the only notable absentee. He was in the hospital recovering from viral meningitis. He’s been plagued with the virus his entire stay, nearly a fortnight now. There’s no cure for it either. But he’s well on the mend and as of the time of writing, seems to be a thing of the past.
Your speech has also massively improved, be it in Russian or English. I’m amazed at the ease with which you use them interchangeably, without much effort (it seems). I guess you know no different so it must come to you naturally. Sentences aren’t a long way away now. But it’s not just your ability to pull from memory that is impressive, it’s more so the ability to apply context when using words like ‘here, there, this or that’. For example, ‘that, over there’. I didn’t think you capable of such framing. But I guess we’re all surprising each other.
The remainder of the holiday was spent restfully, with nothing of note. From age two, the airline prescribes a seat (that isn’t one of our laps). So that’s how we flew back.
In other news, yesterday we visited a nursery a stone’s throw from the house which we think would be great for you. Marc & Jess swear by it. They (well Jess) pestered their way in, calling day in and day out asking for vacancies. They were just a nuisance (her words not mine).
We’ve been on the waiting list for a time and finally got the call of an opening. It’s nothing fancy but everything I think a child needs. It feels like a family raising 20 or so kids, across varying age groups. It’s unrecognizable as nothing more than a house. It’s the perfect setting. The nursery is called Child’s Play (and yes I also rolled my eyes at the originality). We’ll see how you feel about it all.
On Thursday, your mother took you to see Dr Sophie Flammarion, she’s a paediatrician you’ve seen before. I believe that was with your grandparents. They only had good things to report about the rendezvous. And so did Liza. I got a download of how thorough she was and how engaged she kept you throughout the checkup. “She had a toy equivalent of the equipment she used and he only cried once”. Your mother’s words.
This won’t shock you, but we went back for a steer on how best to proceed with your allergies. It continues to be a game of Russian roulette. The eczema on your wrist isn’t budging and is seemingly immune to the creams we’ve been applying so diligently. Smh.
Despite a strict and caged list of no-nos (post the tests in Riga), there is still an abundance of child-friendly palates whose dietary impact on you is largely unknown. (As you can imagine, we didn’t test every food under the sun). Imagine a nightmarish scenario where the world was pitch black and all you had was a candlelight to navigate it. Sure, you could see what was right ahead of you but no more. That’s what this is like. For instance, I fed you pork the other evening and you literally couldn’t sleep – crying and scratching your head, arms, and legs the entire night. No one told me shit about pork.
The doctor said it’s not so much pork but that they rear the pigs on very poor diets. What they eat, we eat. We do so indirectly but the impact’s the same nonetheless, especially in your case. Consequentially, we’re off pork as well now, sadly. You loved a pork belly salted and slow-cooked. “Grass-fed” is your only option as far as livestock. In brief, we reluctantly give you new foods. And when we do, we try to micro-dose.
Also – and this was a tough ask – your mother had to take you to Harley St. for a blood test. She rang me asking if I could make it but logistically I couldn’t join, not in any meaningful time. She recalls channelling her inner me to stay calm while the nurses fiddled and fucked about amateurishly with the needle while it was in your arm. They had more fright and panic in them than she did. I wouldn’t give them this much shit if they came without the “best of the best” repertoire. They need a trip to the Latvian hospital where we did this.
Anyhoot, the test is to check for general health, infections and the function of vital organs. Hopefully, that comes back clear as crystals. Needless to say, you were less than impressed. Liza Facetimed me afterwards to calm you down a bit. You seemed OK I must say.
Overall, the doctor is firm on seeing a dietician. Her red flag is that your very short list of eatables won’t give you all the nutrients you need to develop and wants it expanded. She also wasn’t impressed with your poop and took a sample for tests. Results pending. Insightfully, she advised daily Zyrtec dosage which we previously only administered reactively when we feared the worst. Her counsel is to observe a two-week run, minimum.
Liza left with a couple of prescriptions for a new cream and an antihistamine, all of which Grandma Julia bought yesterday. There’s a hysterical irony to this but the antihistamine prescribed had a ‘banana flavour’ to it. Admittedly, a flavour doesn’t necessarily mean the real thing but given you are severely allergic to it, the word ‘banana’ is taboo in this house. The meds also had a bunch of “E stuff” we don’t like so we’re going to find a way to import the Zyrtec we got from Latvia. Well, Liza is. I just co-signed.
Oh, uhm, did I mention we had to call an ambulance the other day? Someone decided to swallow a fish bone… I had my finger down your throat, my hand playing the tam-tam on your back, hoisting you head first over the sink… I did everything. The choking appeared a lot of fun, for you especially. I call on that memory for a peaceful night’s sleep. Liza probably does the same. By the time the ambulance got here (and they were quick), I somehow got you to swallow whatever was stuck there. I honestly don’t remember how. The large peach bites helped. They checked your throat for an all-clear and even put on a show of flashing lights for you. They have my respect.
In brighter news, the last Lovevery play kit packed a sink. That thing keeps you busy for quite a while. I think the puzzle is a little too complex for you. Either that or you’re just not that guy, the puzzle-solving type. As far as the dot catcher, I’ve asked myself whether you are colourblind. Conceptually, it’s just not registering with you. You get more joy out of watching them fall out after you randomly toss them in. But I guess that’s good enough. We’ll come back to colours later.
Less than a month ago, I caught you on tape giving me a Malcolm X-like speech – powerful, inspiring and every bit as eloquent. This was all before bedtime. I’ll just leave it here.
Yesterday, your mother took you to your first-ever tennis lesson. At this point, this is very much her dream than yours. I gather you didn’t want to leave though so I’m down for whatever makes you happy. I see there’s been an Amazon order for balls and a racket. See you next Friday.
Day 1 – Lian is doing really well and is happily playing alongside Riley in the garden.
That was the headline from the nursery where you’ve been throughout the month, three times a week. The name has grown on me. I squirmed initially but now I think it fits the tin rather perfectly.
The drop-offs have been dramatic – tears, screaming, and a general sense of abandonment (by both parties). Today, however, (Oct 11, 2024,) your mother said you were very mature about it all; “very serious”, she said. You ran through the alleyway, knocked on the door, went in and that was it. She waved and left.
I have to keep reminding myself why we’re doing this, why we’re sending you off to this place to spend an entire day with strangers. I am grappling with this concept from an emotional standpoint.
Logically, we’re doing it to give you more of everything, everything an active two-year-old needs. More engagement, more time outside, more toys to play with problems to solve in a fun way, more challenges to overcome, more people to meet and interact with, more ideas to ponder, and more life to live. With our current schedules, it’s impossible to check all these boxes, not between dinner preps and work commitments.
Your grandparents have done an exceptional job raising you so far but they also need a break. Your energy levels are travelling in opposite directions. Nursery means we can give you the best of ourselves when we have you, fatigue-free. The separation unites us in the evenings. The quality is better.
Nevertheless, the emotional turmoil of walking away while you weep is still something we (or at least I) haven’t normalized. That will take some time. That said, you love the place. You are the chef’s favourite because you eat all the food she makes and Katie your key person has nothing but good things to say about you from behaviour to etiquette. I do however take all of that with a smidgen of salt. What else are they supposed to say right? So I can’t lean into that too much. These comments aren’t all that surprising though. You are extremely well-behaved, especially in public. So in all, nursery is going well and it’s a good thing for you.
A few Saturdays ago, late last month, Liza and I took you to the barbers for your first trim outside both houses. (I’ve cut your hair before and your grandmother trims your sides all the time when you’re eating). Started with tears and ended with “Actually, this isn’t so bad. Anyway, are we done? Alright, let’s get the fuck outta here”.
I’m also teaching you basic sign language. We’re five gestures in. I am in awe of how well you retain and playback information. It’s frightening. It catches me off guard all the time. At the time of writing, you can say and recognise “yes”, “no”, “baby maybe”, “please”, “thank you”, and “are you OK?”. It only took about a day or so to incept and now I just repeat whenever the occasion to use arises. You’re ready for new words.
