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.
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.
