Vivi news (Feb 18 - March 2)

Feb 19

Friends Noelle and Jason came to visit with their little person, Isaac, who is just one year older than Vivian. Isaac is an adventurous, sturdy toddler. N & J have a tag-team system going, but I think I'd put money on Isaac if it came to a cage match. I was shocked to see how much Vivi is going to change.

But not as shocked as Gus. He leaned out from the hallway, stretching his spine long and low, on recognizance. The look on his face when he spotted Isaac: Good God, it's mobile. Shock and disgust.

Should have been fear and trembling. Isaac is drawn to stairs, hot coffee, and -- of course-- cats.

Gus took one look and slunk off at the best speed dignity allows (in cats, rather fast).

But, being a cat, he just couldn't cede territory without a show of resistance. There followed a few hours of Gus stalking into the room elaborate unconern, Isaac spotting him, closing on him, and driving him back into a corner, under a table, up the stairs. Gus got a bit ruffled, and even hissed, which is usually beneath his dignity, and retreated. Then, ten minutes later, was back. The one time Isaac failed to spot him, Gus moved in to press the point.

The best part was watching Gus look from Isaac to Vivi. A dawning
look of: I think I've spotted an indication for concern.

Me, too. Going to be hard to keep up with smart, active, strong little mongoose once she can move more than six inches at a time. I have a feeling she might be a cobra-fighter, too: fearless. God, it's gonna kill me.

I did pick up some pointers, though. Bananas, for instance, can cause constipation in toddlers. That sounds as if it could be handy for outings, etc. According to Jason, though, it is like timing the stock market: you never get it quite right.

Feb 20

Another Monday. Still alive, still showing up for work. Still coming home to a happy baby, a slightly shell-shocked husband. The house is sliding towards emergency management levels. Neither of us has any interest in cleaning. I pick up Vivian straight through the door. She lights up just to see me. She snuggles in as I sit down. Curls her belly against mine, and opens her mouth like a baby bird. My bird, my bird.

Feb 21

When I got out of the car, I could hear Vivi screaming. High pitched and constant and clearly been at it for a while. I hurry up to the door with my keys out, trying not to run. She's getting louder. The door opens before I can unlock it. Here, says James, take her.

Feb 22

It's my mom's 60th birthday today. I had printed for her a little book of Wendy's art.

Oh, it breaks my heart. I miss Wendy, I'm heartbroken all the time, but now the heart that goes out to Vivi is whole. Vivi's birth and Wendy's death are not mixed up for me any more. Except in thinking about my mom.

She has said to me: "You always worry. I think you always worry because you know in your heart how bad it will be." To lose a child, she means. And "will be," she always says, not "would."

Would be, would be. I have to try not to think will.

Feb 23

Somewhere in the middle of the night Vivian gives a great screaming shout. A "the missiles are coming" doomsday cry.

At least, that's how I remember it. James, of course, is only awakened when I sit bolt upright in bed and shout "Vivi!"

"What, what, what!" He scrambles for his glasses.

The baby monitor issilent. Then there is a little sleep coo and some rustling. "She's fine, what?" James says.

"I heard her shout." More rustlings. I have to confess, they sound pretty peaceful. James flops backwards onto the pillow. We listen. Rustle, coo. "Go ahead, sweatheart, go check." he says, because he might as well, because I'm going to.

Under the nightlight, tucked in her sunshine blanket, Vivi is sound asleep. But she's also thrashing in her sleep and up close the cooing sounds more like whimpering. Her head whips from side to side. A nightmare.

I hate to wake her; she'll be up for hours. I put my hand on her hair. She makes a heartbreaking sound. I pick her up, she shouts, and then she wakes up, sees me. Smiles and cuddles in.

And is up for hours.

Feb 24

Somewhere in her growing awareness of self, Vivian has developed the concept of otherness, intention, will. Specifically, she's noticed that some things that move are moving under the own power.

Or, to put it her way: Oooo, cat. Cat. Gimme.

Oh, Gus. The future does not look bright.

Feb 25

Saturday. I try to write a little bit of my fairy tale novel, the one with the talking cat and the orphan girl. Why so many orphan heros? It's always seemed obvious: our parents get between us and the story. Our parents keep our lives little and safe and not good material for fiction. (Or, that's what we want to believe, though every day I see children whose stories are too big for them.)

Now I see, no. Our parents get between the stories and us.

I'd get between a freight train and Vivi. Uselessly, knowing it to be useless. But I would. It wouldn't require the least scrap of courage. I'd just do it.

(Courage, maybe, would be stepping off the track.)

Feb 26

Yesterday, Vivian and I hit our favourite store, Goodwill. I got a swell burgandy jacket with brass buckles, but as usual it was Vivs who made out like a bandit. (There are always good kids clothes, as they only get worn for a few hours before their kid grows out of them.) She got a lovely little wrap cardigan, hand-knit from a lavender and silver yarn.

Lavender is her colour – her cheeks are just rose petal pink, her hair the colour of a new penny, her sweet strong mouth. Her skin is a Platonic ideal of skin. She was curled up today in that sweater on the green cushion, and I took a lovely portrait.

The lavender is the exact shade of her eyelids.

Noticing that, I checked for cyanosis in the lips and fingernails, and shook her awake.

Feb 28

Vivian was in my arm when the cat climbed on to the other side of my lap, because he's that desperate. Vivi tuned right in. Just the chance! She reached out and touched him. His ruff, his ear. He put his cold nose in her hand and she drew back.

He gave her a look that said: I will allow you this brief, and armed, detente.

And she gave him a look that said: Ooo, shiny.

Peace prevails.

March 2

Took her to see Doctor Stephanie. She weighs 13 pounds 10 ounces-- double her birth weight. But more amazing: she is 26 inches tall. Or, long, I guess. Nearly half a foot longer than at birth. Three more feet to go, and she'll pass me. At this rate, it will happen in kindergarten.

She was also measured for her crown. As expected, it is a big genius crown.

And, shots. I don't know if she remembered them from last time, but I did. I did not let them make me hold her.

She shouted for only a few seconds, then settled right down. Because, yeah, it's the betrayal that really gets to you.

James bought me a bunch of tulips, to celebrate our growing girl. Four months old today! Impossible.