Today Kaleb is 14 weeks old. (that’s 3 months and six days for the laypeople)
And he is changing and growing. Fast. Too fast (see previous entry….).
When I first met him I thought he looked like a little Asian boy. Then he started to look like an Eskimo. I thought, who has Eskimo in their family? Then he started to fill in and started to look more Slavic . Which actually made sense since I am Russian and Howard has Polish in him. The outer edges of Kaleb’s beautiful, cobalt blue eyes have that Slavic upturned swing – like a dancing, drunk Russian.
What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor?
What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor?
What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor Early in the Morning?
At his three month check-up, the doctor told us he was 24 inches long (I think they say “long” until he can actually stand up – at which point he becomes “tall”). He was 14 lbs. and 8 oz. which puts him into the 75th percentile, down from the 85th percentile of last month. (85%! I couldn’t believe it when the doctor told me – and then the dr. called him chubby and said something about cellulite on his tushy – WHAT! – I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not – aren’t babies supposed to be chubby? at least they are in my family!). And his small head is still in the 35th percentile. He gets that from his daddy.
He laughs and giggles all the time now. At least in the morning. Or after he’s had a nap.
He talks up a storm. He says Ma-ma (or at least he puts those sounds together and I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt).
He sings with me when I sing to him – or when the iPod is playing he’ll sing along. (maybe I’ll video-tape this for next time).
He rolled over from his tummy to his back two days ago. Twice. (Or maybe he was just trying to get out of tummy-time).
He grabs at his hanging stuffed animals and sometimes swats at them when they’re not responding to his opinions the way he likes.
He’ll hold onto a stuffed bear now and will suck the fibers out of any blanket.
And sometimes when he’s giggling and cooing at me, he starts to get shy and tries to hide his head. If he starts to giggle after he eats, which he frequently does, because who doesn’t feel great after getting to eat your favorite food yet again (boob milk, my favorite, how did you know?) he’ll be giggling, get shy…and then try to hide his head beneath my booby. He’ll not know the irony of this for some time.
But at night (or even some afternoons) he still sometimes acts like he’s auditioning for the next Freddy Kruger flick. (How is he able to scream that loud and that long and not lose his voice? There may be future for him in Rock n Roll.)
And the beautiful thing is when I say he only sometimes uses his vocal chords as claws on a chalkboard, I do mean sometimes.
Some may call this “colic” – that mysterious ailment that had doctors previously giving drugs (anti-depressants and anti-spasmotics) to infants (!) to cure. But I read an article recently that said colic can start at two weeks, peak at 8 weeks and decline until it completely disappears at 12. I guess that must be a statistical average.
But why does it seem like some babies have it worse than others? I think I know. Or, I have a theory anyway.
I think when babies come into this world, they’ve just left G-d. They’re closer to that World than the one in which they find themselves. They stare intensly into “empty” air for lengthy periods of time and laugh at things no one else can see (angels? fairies?). And at times, they all experience a type of separation anxiety. It must be shocking to realize that they’re no longer there and instead find themselves with these strangers. Sure, they may be nice but when they’re that new, they must also have a clear memory of their most recent bond and connection to their Love and Creator. I believe “colic” is a spiritual malady.
I also think some babies just feel things on a much deeper level than others. It’s the emotional seedlings of the people they will become and some carry the echo of this mysterious loss into their adult lives (you know who you are). But when these babies first arrive into this world, they must have an insatiable yearning to return to that Love. It must literally feel like they’re going to die without that Love and they wail their frustration at having been abandoned, screaming out the injustice of it all. Then, they (we) start to forget (or the lucky ones anyway). And slowly – they start to also notice the new love being showered upon them by their new guardians: their parents. And eventually they calm down because they like it.
But – then again, it’s not like we can ask.