Jo is often angry. I used to be too clueless to even know that she was angry (ahh - I miss those days). But I am still not clued-in enough to know why. In any case, I try to I warn her using Yoda's prophetic words linking fear and anger and the dark side. But life is good. It's hurtling by at every increasing speeds and I hate to blink in case I miss something in the ride of my life.
When I put Vivian to sleep at night (which happens infrequently - Jo usually does that), there is a moment when her tiny body collapses. All the rigidness goes out in one breath and she sinks onto my shoulder and neck. It's a special feeling. Should make me think of youth and innocence and no worries and infinite opportunities and all that. But it doesn't. I don't remember feeling innocent. Sure - I wasn't patently dishonest as a young child (that happened a few months later) - but my childhood had enough instances of guile and deceit and envy and other thoughts and emotions that don't rhyme with "innocent". And nor were there no worries. How big is the monster under my bed? Are my parents going to die in a horrible car crash and leave me orphaned? I think I have fewer worries now as an adult than as a child. Moving on to infinite opportunities - yes - they did seem endless. As a child, I never thought much of greatness in others. Alexander the Great conquered half the known world by the age of 30 - big deal - I always thought I could do at least as well by the time I got to that age - which, at 5 or 8 or even 12 leaves you with a good cushion. And as the grains of sand fall through the hourglass of life, they take away forever what could have been possible up to then. Once gone, there are no possible bifurcations. The past is linear. OK - I buy all that. But the flip side is this - would you trade where you are today to start all over again? Honestly - do you think you would? I doubt if I would. Not so much because I want to hoard all the lucky things that have lead to success and happiness so far. But mostly because of the fear of things having so easily gone horribly wrong - of knowing how close even a normal childhood is to disaster. On the other hand, since Arjun died last year, I can see the other perspective. Who wouldn't give up everything to see your daughter grow up?
It isn't just the Yoda allusion to the dark side. I am feeling a bit blue. Better document it.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Catching Up
Dear Blog - it's been ages - probably the longest time between posts. The last post was soon after Vivian turned 3 months old. That was almost 3 weeks ago. Here's what's been happening.
Tomorrow we go on our first road trip. Before our first plane trip, the Big Question was - will Vivian like flying - or will she cry all the way. It turns out that she is a good flier (even if Jo showed some symptoms of PTSD for a coupe of days after the trip). The Big Question now is whether Vivian will like being strapped to a car seat for 12-14 hours tomorrow. Common sense overwhelms my normally optimistic outlook. But road trips are a part of life - so onward we go. Tomorrow, Vivian, Dadu, Grandma, Jo, and me will pile into an Avis minivan and drive off into the sunrise (actually - we'll start at 330am - long before the sun rises - but the direction is about right). By tomorrow evening, we hope to be in the bustling metropolis of Crestview, Florida.
But - that's in the future. Here's what has happened. In the last three weeks, Vivian is all grown up. I can prop her hands on an arm of the couch, and for a fleeting few seconds, she stands there and supports herself. She blows raspberries all the time. She still sleeps a solid 8-10 hours each night. She chugs 8 ounces of milk from her bottle in less then 10 minutes. She splashes like a blue whale while I try to give her a bath. She screams like a banshee when she is hungry or tired - and god help us and those around when she is both. She has been to the pool twice and loves it. She has (and so have we) survived a plane trip to Michigan and back. She laughed once (the day she turned three months old), but has only giggled since (must have a more selective sense of humor then her Dad). She blew out of her diaper once and leaked out few times (as a result of which, she has graduated to size 3 - which come up to her chest and have to be neatly tucked under her armpits - but has so far proven to be as tight as a dry suit). Her Grandma and Dadu (Grandpa Chatterjee) fight over who gets to hold her. She spent a day at Killeen with Brandon and his Mom. She hung out on the carpet next to Katurah - and they seemed to like each other. She went to Mona and David's party and hung out with everyone there. She's getting a personality - though it looks like it's still split between Bad Baby and Good Baby. She has the most radiant smile when she wakes up in the morning. And she has the foulest howl when she naps and wakes up before her time. She is very alert and constantly looks around. And she tries to verbalize all the time. She is beginning to grab her toys - especially her Ganesh that Jagruti and Morris gave her. And she stares at and sometimes talks to the toucan perched amongst the rotating menagerie above her tropical forest swing. Her head is usually hot (literally) - to which my Dad lays genetic claim - the Chatterjee's have a tendency of "matha garom" - or hot-headedness - a trait I don't think I got.
Tomorrow we go on our first road trip. Before our first plane trip, the Big Question was - will Vivian like flying - or will she cry all the way. It turns out that she is a good flier (even if Jo showed some symptoms of PTSD for a coupe of days after the trip). The Big Question now is whether Vivian will like being strapped to a car seat for 12-14 hours tomorrow. Common sense overwhelms my normally optimistic outlook. But road trips are a part of life - so onward we go. Tomorrow, Vivian, Dadu, Grandma, Jo, and me will pile into an Avis minivan and drive off into the sunrise (actually - we'll start at 330am - long before the sun rises - but the direction is about right). By tomorrow evening, we hope to be in the bustling metropolis of Crestview, Florida.
But - that's in the future. Here's what has happened. In the last three weeks, Vivian is all grown up. I can prop her hands on an arm of the couch, and for a fleeting few seconds, she stands there and supports herself. She blows raspberries all the time. She still sleeps a solid 8-10 hours each night. She chugs 8 ounces of milk from her bottle in less then 10 minutes. She splashes like a blue whale while I try to give her a bath. She screams like a banshee when she is hungry or tired - and god help us and those around when she is both. She has been to the pool twice and loves it. She has (and so have we) survived a plane trip to Michigan and back. She laughed once (the day she turned three months old), but has only giggled since (must have a more selective sense of humor then her Dad). She blew out of her diaper once and leaked out few times (as a result of which, she has graduated to size 3 - which come up to her chest and have to be neatly tucked under her armpits - but has so far proven to be as tight as a dry suit). Her Grandma and Dadu (Grandpa Chatterjee) fight over who gets to hold her. She spent a day at Killeen with Brandon and his Mom. She hung out on the carpet next to Katurah - and they seemed to like each other. She went to Mona and David's party and hung out with everyone there. She's getting a personality - though it looks like it's still split between Bad Baby and Good Baby. She has the most radiant smile when she wakes up in the morning. And she has the foulest howl when she naps and wakes up before her time. She is very alert and constantly looks around. And she tries to verbalize all the time. She is beginning to grab her toys - especially her Ganesh that Jagruti and Morris gave her. And she stares at and sometimes talks to the toucan perched amongst the rotating menagerie above her tropical forest swing. Her head is usually hot (literally) - to which my Dad lays genetic claim - the Chatterjee's have a tendency of "matha garom" - or hot-headedness - a trait I don't think I got.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Three Months Old
Vivian turned three months old on May 16th (or 12 months old from conception - that's a very long time..:-).
It's time for a plane trip - a nice short three-hour flight to Detroit to meet her Dadu (grandpa), and to see Uncle Alu and Aunt Michelle before they sell their lovely house in Ann Arbor.
Jo bought this polka dotted apron like thing that allows her to feed Vivian in public without showing skin. Laura had told us that the secret to flying a baby well is to feed her during take-off. Feeding apparently helps equalize pressure, and equalized pressure means the baby's ears won't hurt. Or, if you don't believe that, doing anything with a boob in your mouth makes it better.
It works like a charm. Vivian feeds and sleeps inside her new polka dotted tent. And then she wakes up and charms everyone around. And then falls asleep for the landing. Jo and I think this is a piece of cake. I conjure up images of flying to Tokyo and Auckland with Vivian just for the hell of it.
Ann Arbor is great (here's a picture of three generation of Chatterjees ). Vivian loves bathing in Alu and Michelle's very newly remodeled kitchen sink. And she takes over their bedroom and sleeps through the night. But on the last day, she skips her naps. We worry because we know that without her beauty sleep, she gets cranky.
Jo's timing is impeccable. We board the plane and they close the doors. At about five minutes to take-off, out comes the polka dotted tent. Vivian starts feeding. But wait - the ground maintenance needs to be called because an overhead bin won't close. It takes the guy 30 seconds to apply duct tape (rated for 300 mph) on the offending bin, and about 10 minutes to do the paperwork. Vivian is still feeding. Phew. But hang on - the tug that is attached to our plane to roll us out from our gate breaks. We wait for the aircraft at the next gate to leave and then borrow their tug. After a very long taxi, we finally take off.
But by now, Vivian has been feeding for ages and is full as a tick. About 5 seconds after take-off, she's done. She's so full, she refuses to suck on Jo's pinkie. We try everything. She clamps her lips shut - "thanks, but I am full".
About a minute later, my ears pop and I swallow to equalize. And Vivian starts screaming.
She gives it all that she's got. That's a lot of decibels for a tiny Bombardier CRJ tin can. Fellow passengers start plugging their ears - presumably to stop the bleeding.
We try everything - I even try to get Vivian to lick on a piece of ice - and that makes her madder. Finally, Jo calms her down - but it's an uneasy calm. We invoke Newton's First Law and don't change anything. Jo enters the Guinness Book of World Records for sitting in the most uncomfortable position for two hours without moving. I keep reading my book.
Vivian sleeps through the landing. Even though we are in Row 4, we minutely examine the carpet while our fellow passengers exit the aircraft and the leave the airport. We'd rather not make eye contact with anyone who was on the plane with us.
We get home and tumble into bed. Next morning, I take the early morning feeding for a change so Jo can get some sleep. Vivian and I are horsing around at 730am when Jo walks into the bedroom. Without looking up, I say - "Hey - that wasn't too bad". She barely whispers something incoherent. That's when I realize that she looks like a poster child for PTSD.
Today we have been on our best behavior. I tell Vivian - "Shabdhan, baba - Ma abar Mexico er dik'e takache" (Easy kid - Mom's looking towards Mexico again).
Happy three month birthday, Vivian.
It's time for a plane trip - a nice short three-hour flight to Detroit to meet her Dadu (grandpa), and to see Uncle Alu and Aunt Michelle before they sell their lovely house in Ann Arbor.
Jo bought this polka dotted apron like thing that allows her to feed Vivian in public without showing skin. Laura had told us that the secret to flying a baby well is to feed her during take-off. Feeding apparently helps equalize pressure, and equalized pressure means the baby's ears won't hurt. Or, if you don't believe that, doing anything with a boob in your mouth makes it better.
It works like a charm. Vivian feeds and sleeps inside her new polka dotted tent. And then she wakes up and charms everyone around. And then falls asleep for the landing. Jo and I think this is a piece of cake. I conjure up images of flying to Tokyo and Auckland with Vivian just for the hell of it.
Ann Arbor is great (here's a picture of three generation of Chatterjees ). Vivian loves bathing in Alu and Michelle's very newly remodeled kitchen sink. And she takes over their bedroom and sleeps through the night. But on the last day, she skips her naps. We worry because we know that without her beauty sleep, she gets cranky.
Jo's timing is impeccable. We board the plane and they close the doors. At about five minutes to take-off, out comes the polka dotted tent. Vivian starts feeding. But wait - the ground maintenance needs to be called because an overhead bin won't close. It takes the guy 30 seconds to apply duct tape (rated for 300 mph) on the offending bin, and about 10 minutes to do the paperwork. Vivian is still feeding. Phew. But hang on - the tug that is attached to our plane to roll us out from our gate breaks. We wait for the aircraft at the next gate to leave and then borrow their tug. After a very long taxi, we finally take off.
But by now, Vivian has been feeding for ages and is full as a tick. About 5 seconds after take-off, she's done. She's so full, she refuses to suck on Jo's pinkie. We try everything. She clamps her lips shut - "thanks, but I am full".
About a minute later, my ears pop and I swallow to equalize. And Vivian starts screaming.
She gives it all that she's got. That's a lot of decibels for a tiny Bombardier CRJ tin can. Fellow passengers start plugging their ears - presumably to stop the bleeding.
We try everything - I even try to get Vivian to lick on a piece of ice - and that makes her madder. Finally, Jo calms her down - but it's an uneasy calm. We invoke Newton's First Law and don't change anything. Jo enters the Guinness Book of World Records for sitting in the most uncomfortable position for two hours without moving. I keep reading my book.
Vivian sleeps through the landing. Even though we are in Row 4, we minutely examine the carpet while our fellow passengers exit the aircraft and the leave the airport. We'd rather not make eye contact with anyone who was on the plane with us.
We get home and tumble into bed. Next morning, I take the early morning feeding for a change so Jo can get some sleep. Vivian and I are horsing around at 730am when Jo walks into the bedroom. Without looking up, I say - "Hey - that wasn't too bad". She barely whispers something incoherent. That's when I realize that she looks like a poster child for PTSD.
Today we have been on our best behavior. I tell Vivian - "Shabdhan, baba - Ma abar Mexico er dik'e takache" (Easy kid - Mom's looking towards Mexico again).
Happy three month birthday, Vivian.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Sleeper
I didn't want to do this with insufficient data, as ephemeral as this may be. She's done this for a week now.
Vivian sleeps through the night. She's carried to her crib after she falls sleep at about 930-1030ish at night. And she wakes up between 6 and 730 in the morning. With no squawking or crying or even jabbering in between.
And she still takes her signature long nap (3 to 4 hours) during the day. She must need all this sleep because she's taken to jabbering and moving her arms and legs every waking moment.
What does she say? Mostly a wide variety of mangled sounds. Like star constellations or intelligence data on Iraqi WMDs, I am only too eager to connect the dots and make up shit to suit myself.
The other day, she looks me straight in the eye and says "Help me".
That's pretty weired for 11 week old, I think - a bit ET-like, or perhaps a previous-life experience. But I stay calm and counter "Who are you?".
She says again, more softly but clearly "Help me".
Yesterday - I see her in the morning and say "Hello Vivian".
She cheerfully replies back "Hola".
"How are you", I continue (deciding against "que pasa" mostly because that is the extent of my Spanish, and I don't know how good Vivian's is).
"How are..." she replies, before getting distracted by her left hand.
Vivian sleeps through the night. She's carried to her crib after she falls sleep at about 930-1030ish at night. And she wakes up between 6 and 730 in the morning. With no squawking or crying or even jabbering in between.
And she still takes her signature long nap (3 to 4 hours) during the day. She must need all this sleep because she's taken to jabbering and moving her arms and legs every waking moment.
What does she say? Mostly a wide variety of mangled sounds. Like star constellations or intelligence data on Iraqi WMDs, I am only too eager to connect the dots and make up shit to suit myself.
The other day, she looks me straight in the eye and says "Help me".
That's pretty weired for 11 week old, I think - a bit ET-like, or perhaps a previous-life experience. But I stay calm and counter "Who are you?".
She says again, more softly but clearly "Help me".
Yesterday - I see her in the morning and say "Hello Vivian".
She cheerfully replies back "Hola".
"How are you", I continue (deciding against "que pasa" mostly because that is the extent of my Spanish, and I don't know how good Vivian's is).
"How are..." she replies, before getting distracted by her left hand.
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