The Grateful Dad

Another festive occasion… another festering controversy? Thankfully, in Canada, we don’t officially commemorate a conquest every autumn...

“We” (though ‘we’ must never tire of reminding ourselves that ‘our’ deficient language, English, fails to distinguish {lexically} between the inclusive and exclusive senses of that pronoun — the ambiguity of which facilitates both insidious and simple confusion) just give thanks.

I won’t try to untangle the question (let alone assume an answer, or proceed to apologize for it) of just who this elusive, unstable thanks-giving “we” might be. I’ll try, rather, to speak only for myself:

Today, i give thanks.

I hope not to strike a moralistic pose: the world doesn’t need another lecture about the virtue of gratitude. But i am feeling very grateful today.

Sara’s mom paid us a visit this weekend, and babysat Roy last night. We therefore had our first real date (as in: an evening out, alone) since he was born, almost eleven months ago. 

Eleven months between dates (or longer, given the nature of ‘dating’ during pregnancy…) is a bloody long time. It was weird, because we were both a little worried about Roy (would he freak out?). Turns out he did pretty well. He cried a bit, and stayed up too late, but eventually took his bottle and fell asleep.

Meanwhile, we bought snacks and went to a movie. A late show. It was like being in our twenties again!  ;)

We saw Never Let Me Go. 

Let me just say this:  O.M.G.
And, furthermore:     Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

Someone at TIME magazine called it “a plea to live and love well” — the story is a whole lot more unsettling, and better, than that  (rather pedestrian and Hallmark-ish) sentence suggests, but it’s true enough. This movie is far better than whatever the best things written about it say. And since the worst things written about it all seem to say the same thing — that the movie's not quite as good as the book — i’ve decided i have no choice but to prioritize the consumption of the original novel (i might get the audiobook from iTunes, or download the e-book, for easy and immediate access).

The story haunted my sleep and stayed with me all day: on our walk with Roy through Jericho Park, on my bus ride to Granville Island to buy pumpkin beer (verdict: it sounded like a good idea), and throughout our Tofurkey feast this evening, i have continued to hear echoes (and see shadows) from Kazuo Ishiguro’s world…

It boils down to this: while the dystopian horrors of a fictional society are good metaphors for the injustices of our own, what we must confront, in the end, is the ‘injustice’ of all mortal existence.

Death itself is not (necessarily) unjust, at least not for each of us as we face the inevitable ourselves. It is most unjust while we live — with the loss and the absence of others whom we loved.

About two weeks ago, i learned of an old friend’s passing... The inarticulate numbness that came with the news has been slowing me down lately. Maybe that’s a good thing...? But when my brother told me that Solomon Burke died this morning, it seemed even more important to write a short acknowledgement of today's persistent feelings.

I am so grateful for all that i have in my life right now. For my family, our health, our happiness (despite the challenges), and our love. The relative freedom and security that makes these things possible is also not to be taken for granted (nor should it be romanticized, as greater and more perfect than it is); however, at the moment, i just want to express thanks.

In particular: Thank you Solomon Burke, for your voice and your songs — and especially for the 2-disc Soul Alive! concert album. Thank you to CFRO/Co-op Radio for introducing me to Burke so many years ago. And thank you Shane, for telling me about Burke’s passing.

And thank you David Phillips, for all the joy you brought to your friends and community over the years; all the feasts and dancing; all the great conversations and flowers and ‘trespassing’ adventures. I will miss you. Roy will hear the legends. 

Rage, Baby, Rage

An epic tale of bedtime.

“[I'd like] ...to remind the reader of... the defiant animal faith that each new baby brings back into the world with the very act of birth” — Lewis Mumford.

Well it’s October. Summer is history (all these sunny afternoons notwithstanding) and the autumnal transition period is also behind us. It’s been a bumpy ride.

There's a lot going on: between Roy’s teething (and switching to more solid foods) and growing, and catching a mild cold (which interfered with the poor guy’s already disrupted sleep patterns), plus his rapidly increasing mobility, and his increasingly complex and confident vocalizations — along with his recent discovery of a hitherto unsuspected aptitude for sudden fits of actual baby-like crying. Not to mention the beginning of my “final” semester (of coursework, while my thesis looms) and the daunting preparations for the end of Sara’s maternity leave, with all of the adjustments that will require…

You could say we’re feeling some pressure.

Still, every day has interludes of serenity and joy. Our brief visit with some dear friends and their newborn daughter was a highlight last week:

(Congratulations Matty & Lara — and welcome to the world, Hunter!) 

However, the moments of tranquility and levity have seemed further apart lately — savory nuggets of serendipity in a congealing temporal and emotional soup of stress and exhaustion. (*Sigh.*)

I'm settling into my new routine, including this part-time job with Computing & Media Services at UBC (why yes, i can look up the password you forgot; sure, i can help you set up that projector...  it’s actually pretty fun, especially when i get to help people learn stuff, or troubleshoot problems i don’t already know how to solve). Mostly i’m trying to get into the habit of writing consistently throughout the week.

That way i can methodically chip away at sections of my thesis while “sharpening the saw” (in Covey-speak) and making incremental progress on other writing projects. One part of my writing-action-plan will be to sustain a pace of production for this blog, and to strike a balance between the passions from which it springs...

Which reminds me: a friend recently published what, according to the reviews, sounds like a fantastic poetry book, inspired by Jack Spicer. I’ve yet to get a copy, but i should do so soon — now, if ever, i need to make time for poetry.

Anyway, today i was just going to post a quick update, along with two tidbits of parenting info, however Roy’s struggle this evening at bedtime prompted a more substantial reflection.

First the easy part.

I wanted to share some information that contributed to our decision (many months ago) to take Roy out of swimming class — even though it was lots of fun.

A study described here apparently indicated a significant correlation of infant exposure to chlorinated pools and bronchiolitis infection, which in turn increases the risk of chronic respiratory problems including asthma. I’ve been meaning to mention it here, since we decided it sounded persuasive enough to warrant a precautionary withdrawal.

The full peer-reviewed article is “available” (for $15 USD) here. Actually, even with free access to academic journals through UBC, the online version won't be unlocked until 18 months after its publication. (I promised myself i would not get sidetracked and launch into a rant about the despicable stupidity of the academic publishing industry's restrictions on public access... Because that's not what this post is about.)

On a happier, less anxious note: i’ve started attending a very cool weekly event for dads (or other male caregivers) and babies at the Vancouver Public Library called “Man in the Moon.” It’s lots of fun, with silly songs and interactive games, and best of all it’s a chance for babies to see other babies and dads to see other dads, all hanging out together.

Roy and i went for the first time two weeks ago, at the Kitsilano branch, and it was absolutely packed. We were officially on the wait list but Marcus, the facilitator, kindly allowed us to stay. Unfortunately Roy’s naptime pre-empted our plan to remain for the whole hour that day, but in a doubleplusgood turn of events, it turns out that the event also takes place two hours later at the Dunbar branch — which isn’t as crowded, so that’s where we will be going on Saturdays from now on. Busy but exciting times.

Anyway, about this evening.

Roy’s been crying a lot more lately. It's kind of surreal, because he hardly ever cried at all, until this week. Things are changing.

There are exciting changes, like when Sara phoned me today (while i was actually making some progress on my writing) to tell me that Roy has started crawling forward (he’s been going in reverse for months) and standing up unassisted!

It’s amazing to see how much he develops even in a single day. But all this change, all this learning and exploring, takes a toll — and our little guy is definitely expressing a greater range of emotions lately. The last few nights, in addition to waking up more frequently, he’s been waking up the whole neighborhood with operatic howls and sobs.

:(

It’s a terrible feeling, when the baby-soothing techniques we’ve used all these months (with such success that we felt a little like the Oilers with Gretzky), suddenly stop working and our adorable little buddy becomes inconsolable.

Since the beginning, our “secret weapon” has been a little melody that Sara composed days after Roy’s birth. We found early on that our duet's simple harmonies had an almost hypnotic power to calm him down... But our musical magic seems to be no match for the feelings brewing in Roy’s heart these days.

This evening, after all our usual bedtime routines, Roy raged against sleep like we had never seen him rage before.

He certainly has stamina. It took hours. Breastfed to the point of bursting, cuddled and cradled in Sara’s arms, he just kept a steady pace of relentless distress. She tried soothing him long enough for me to clean up the whole kitchen and get started on the bathroom; usually he’s passed out before i’m done washing the cutlery.

When Sara finally came out of the bedroom, it was not for a quiet victory dance, but for a shift change. However when i walked in and picked him up, i could tell this wasn’t a crying fit that could be extinguished with a bottle and a lullaby. Nevertheless we had to try something.

So we improvised. It had been a long time since we’d had any kind of difficulty like this, but during Roy’s initial adjustment to life at home, he had seemed to mellow out when i played my harp. So, as terribly clueless as i remain about any sort of proper technique, i started strumming and plucking the heavenly strings.

I wish i could say it worked.

But since nothing seemed to make any difference, i just kept playing anyway, sometimes singing a little, quietly — faintly hoping that, eventually, between his violent wailing cries, he’d catch a note or two and  become distracted. Or simply get tired enough to pass out. Which is what happened i guess. But even after he stopped crying and kicking, his breathing was still punctuated with squeaky little sobs, and it stayed that way for another hour or so.

He ultimately fell asleep in the most ridiculous position a human body of any size could hope to get into: lying horizontally across his crib, his feet dangling out over the side through the bars, his bum up in the air, arms straight, and his face turned to one side.

I couldn’t bring myself to move him though, for fear of awakening the creature from the swamps of sadness. Sara bravely entered his lair and tucked him in. As i write this, his sobbing has finally stopped and Sara and i are sitting on the couch looking slightly less frazzled than Tina Fey and Steve Carrell in the posters for Date Night.

Speaking of which, i’ll end by saying that it was a delightful surprise to hear, earlier this week, that our very friendly neighbors down the hall have generously and spontaneously offered to babysit for us sometime... I can only hope that either they possess very powerful magic, or that our little Roy’s rage phase soon follows summer into the past.

Oh: one more thing, back on the whole awesomeness of being a dad theme… By now everyone on the interwebs has seen it twice, but this scene from Glee is worth a third viewing. There’s no music, but it makes me want to sing.

EDIT: After all that, Roy slept through the night, and woke up (briefly at 6, finally at 8) happy as a clam.