Anyhow, I'm back to the anxious, vaguely hostile frame of mind which comes along with fearing for our family's economic wellbeing. Kate continually debates me on this: she's lived through bankruptcy with her mother and, as she puts it, "eating cereal for dinner", and stayed happy. I love both Kate and her mother, and I don't doubt a single bit of what she's told me.
That doesn't mean I'm eager to go through it myself. It's the kind of thing that Kate may never truly understand, in the sense of feeling the same impulse herself, but she's willing to acknowledge in me: my pride as an adult male, as a husband and father, that I not go broke and lose our home, but know that I've been able to provide for all of us. I acknowledge that we've gotten plenty of help in the last year, especially from Kate's mother, and had at least one stint (and possibly again now, though we don't know yet) on unemployment. It's simply a point of pride with me--a big one--that we not lose our home. Even if we sell and evacuate to an apartment, that's far better than being driven out by the bank. The possibility of foreclosure, and worse of not being able to pay for groceries or gasoline, puts me in a pretty savage state of mind.
Kate's inured to these kinds of concerns, so she tolerates my clouds of gloom with a certain amount of impatience. I realize that I'm letting fear keep me from living better. Like Eva learning how to crawl: putting away worry and fear isn't easy, and isn't done immediately.
And though she's a constant and unfailing support and source of solace and cheer, the fact is that Kate is a fellow adult, and is susceptible to worries like I am. Even if, in this case, she's worried more at the fact of my worry than anything else. Basically, I drag her down with me. Like every miserable fool (think Dr. Gregory House), I like company in my misery. (To bring up another TV favorite of ours: Kwang Chai I'm not. And I certainly don't own any sweet satin pajamas like he does.)
Eva's a great antidote. Not always: when she's crying over hunger, or fatigue, or from just waking up, or from boredom, or worst of all, something indistinct that we can't figure out, her discomfort makes me feel even worse. I do have exasperated moments of thinking with gritted teeth, "Why won't she just be QUIET!?" when Eva demands constant attention, and is unhappy even with it. When she doesn't seem too hungry, and is sick of all her toys, and is no longer entertained by pounding on the keys of my old computer keyboard, or gets bored of one of my songs (granted my voice is usually kind of scratchy)...yes, it's frustrating being a parent. I think of this squirrelly baby occupying so much time and attention, and my unfinished degree, and start to wonder if I'll ever really make anything of myself, other than a career wannabe.
But that's the worst of it, and it's easily solved by giving Eva a little more of myself. Who can possibly blame a baby for broadcasting her feelings? What's really wrong with her constantly wanting our company--it's the highest tribute the little baby can give. And if she's cutting a tooth, or feeling some other kind of discomfort (even hunger), how can she specify it? So of course, a moment's thought is enough to cool me down. But in my moments of frustration, I do need to cool myself down. This pack mule can handle only so much weight at a time, and he's carrying a lot already.
And the best of it...again, it's beyond Eva's conscious effort. Nearly everything about a baby is unselfconscious. Even when they cry and thrash in the effort to gain your attention, it's a wholehearted, honest appeal for attention. Or when she's devoting herself to something else, like leaning way over in her Bumbo to reach for a jar of spices on the counter or, as now, staring at the cat on a nearby chair, rocking back and forth, in the effort to reach him (and instead backing up). This is what I'd say we mean by innocence: there's no duplicity, no ulterior motive in a baby's actions. She's sincere, and that sincerity itself is irresistibly charming.
Babies have a subtle, quiet, and strong charisma. I've never known such a feeling of peace and happiness as in the moments following Eva's birth, when the whole room and the people in it were filled with gladness and admiration of the new little life. Much of that was due to the tremendous effort Kate had just made, the hours-long tribulation of pushing a 19"-long creature out of herself, and the feeling of relaxation she had in her own body. But Kate wasn't the focus, she was a participant. The tiny little bundle with the pink face with eyes sealed shut was the focus: this little being which made the barest squeaks and flexed only slightly through the towels which wrapped it. Even the midwife who was raising the alarm bout the incomplete placenta couldn't overcome our sense of peace.
That power doesn't go away as the baby grows. We call it cuteness, and maybe it lasts only as long as they can't walk, when babies become toddlers and start to lose their innocence. But for now, while Eva can't talk, is just learning to crawl, and shows pleasure mostly by smiling, gasping and thrashing her arms and legs, she has a wordless influence over her parents and many others. With so many things in the world unseen and unknown to her, even small things cause a big and endearing reaction. Her smile is so much more eloquent when not surrounded by words.
Whenever Eva is dominating a situation (and not complaining), it's very quiet. Babies in general, being so small and not very coordinated, are very gentle, and very deliberate in their motions. Eva reaches very slowly for toys (most of the time--she's getting much grabbier while being held), and takes hold of things gradually and delicately. And when she addresses a person, it's with wide-open eyes and an unsuspecting look. That look might brighten into a smile or shrink into tears, but there are times when simply the time it takes Eva to do something, and her silence throughout, have a calming effect on everybody.
Eva loves to go outside. It's a nearly daily ritual for me to load her up in the Snugli chest-carrier and tote her around outside for a bit. We did again last night, while Kate was at chorus rehearsal. Dusk was deepening to night, and I thought she might enjoy a little time outside. But there was one small problem: as happened to Kate and me last summer while Kate was still carrying, Jasper happened to be outside, and began shadowing me as I walked away from the condominium. Toward the end of the driveway it became clear that Jasper had almost never been there (perhaps only last year when he followed the two of us). His tail was bushy, he snuck along furtively from one point to the next, and he scanned obsessively on all sides as he went. I didn't want to induce a heart attack in the poor cat, or actually lose him to a car or the pond or some other chance, so I didn't go far: the dam and waterfall at the end of the condo's driveway.
The water rushes quickly down the slanted surface of the dam, with not so much a roar as a breezy rush, and the foamy boil at the dam's base isn't so much violent and turbulent as foam-laden and syrupy. It's a small dam, but enough to thrill little Eva, who went into infant-sized conniptions of joy, shaking her arms and legs while drawing deep noisy breaths. She's shy around other kids, to be sure, but just as surely, this baby likes action. She's got a busy mind which is comforted by busyness. For this reason, and for her general love of going outside, I'll be learning my trees, flowers and bugs, for the purposes of long walks with my little girl.
Today was another small milepost. She had her first swim class, not so much a lesson as a half-hour of guided time in the pool, where babies start to learn what it is to be wet and surrounded by water. I'll always be glad that I wasn't working, and was able to see her go into something bigger than a bathtub for the first time. The YMCA instructor laid out the whole class plan, showed the parents how to hold their children in the water, and demonstrated the series of activities (emphasizing things like kicking and moving their arms in front of them).
Now, leading up to this, Kate of course went shopping for Eva's bathing suit. Kate now likes
shopping for her daughter almost as much (probably more) than herself, but it's not like seven-month-olds are making fashion statements (at least, not outside of Hollywood or Fifth Avenue). She just wanted something with some style that would have a chance at fitting our little giant until September (good luck). She settled on your basic black-and-white, polka dot/jailbird theme, accented with a touch of bright yellow (canary yellow is Eva's color, without a doubt). It is, of course, adorable. But one thing surprised me: the diapers.Nobody wants babies doing their business in a pool, of course. This very YMCA pool was once shut down three afternoons in a row by a small boy puking in the water. I'm no germophobe but hygiene is important. And it came as a surprise to me (and I'm impressed at how Kate always seems so informed about things...but it is her nature to do her homework and cover her bases...and even invent more bases of her own)--only a momentary surprise, that there are waterproof diapers made specifically for swimming babies. No water gets in or out. (Baby equipment is a real racket--better than cookware, pet gear and golf schwag) So Katie had all the right stuff for Eva's first foray into the pool.
I tagged sullenly along, griping that I'd miss the noontime basketball league since our class wrapped up before 11 and it would be pointless to wait. But I also secretly knew that I'd love seeing Eva go in the pool, so I volunteered to do a bit of video work, grabbed a quick workout while Kate got our little girl ready, and then met her in the pool.
Three mothers, three babies. I was unsurprisingly the only father there. The instructor complained playfully when she noticed the videocam running, but Eva, as usual, grabbed most of the attention. She was in the class with two boys--both older and smaller than she is, which is nothing new--and she was so eager to touch the water that she nearly launched herself off of Kate's lap. The boys sat placidly while Eva was bouncing up and down and flailing her arms to reach the water. Even at seven months, I love this girl's spirit. My mother told me--possibly exaggerating a bit--about how, as a child, at the end of the summer's day she'd crawl up the steps to her home, sobbing and covered with dirt from having played herself to exhaustion. I hope Eva's like that.
Once in the water, with Kate drawing her along through one exercise after another, the little girl never panicked or cried. She didn't smile or show great pleasure--it was strange and disorienting enough to keep her serious--but our baby girl was equal to it. Only twice--when the instructor used Eva as a demo for one exercise, and took her away from Kate, and later, when I was holding her, and she dunked her own face in the water--did her mouth form the shape for crying--but she never did.
It's a courageous little girl we've got, one whom we'll probably have to frequently save from herself. And there are many times, when her sense of discovery and joy feel to me like life's greatest gift.
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