Pre-occupational Therapy

Let's be honest, our baby boy Teague is not in the advanced placement class for physical development for kids of his age. Teague is 1 year old plus a few days, and I can't help but make comparisons with others, his toddler peers, which I know, rationally, that you just shouldn't do this, but emotionally I can't help it. When I see some precocious 1 yr. old striding around in baby-Crocs (Teague is still struggling along on his hands and knees) and spouting a variety of words, sometimes in both English and Spanish, I can't stop myself from saying quite seriously to my son, "Teague, check out this compatriot of yours-> You should try to be more like THAT, I mean, come on, give me at least ONE word! Give me a CAT or a DADDY, or at least TRY to stand up dude, I mean, you've got to WANT IT! Step UP my man!" Today we met one of these genius 1 year-olds who was being paraded past our house by his Mom, and she was super-proud that he could say "Banana", though I have to say that his diction was poor and it really sounded more like "nana" to me, and Mom's enthusiasm wasn't the least bit tempered by the fact that her son referred to most everything in view as "nana", including his mom's cell phone and a nearby tree.

But OK, I'm making light of things, which I suppose is just a defense mechanism. In fact, we've had Teague evaluated for developmental delays. When he was 10 or 11 months old, when babies reportedly should be starting to crawl around madly (or at least should be struggling to do something...anything), we'd put Teague on his stomach and he'd just flail around in Superman position for hours and never move anywhere, or if we lay him on his back he made no effort whatever to roll over, lying there insouciant on his back like some flipped auto-wreck, wheels spinning in perpetuity. This was exacerbated when Mira went to her "New Moms Group" and saw many other kids of the same age doing Olympic-quality gymnastic routines, which really started to cause some anxiety in our house. In our city they have a county sponsored evaluation program for childhood development, and it is free, so we had them come in and evaluate Teague, and he qualified for county services and so we now have an occupational therapist come in to work with baby Teague and recommend exercises and strategies to help him build up those physical skills where he is behind others of the same age. I have mixed feelings about this, especially since Teague seems as happy a little boy as can be and is progressing, albeit maybe a little slowly. I mostly think we should just let things run their course- every baby is different and they develop at different rates, right? Conversely, I think, if there is something, anything, that one can do for one's child- then why not do it, and wouldn't one be remiss for failing to do so? The therapist is sweet and kind and simply plays with Teague and recommends things for us to do, so it all seems harmless despite some strange stigma I feel about the whole endeavor.

Well, the therapist comes again tomorrow, so I'll post more after our next visit...

Sippy Cup Cage Match

Well, at least there were no deaths to speak of in the family today.

My 1 year old boy Teague and I had a standoff this afternoon: Dad vs Son, Sippy-Cup Cage Match, the reverberations of which still hang in the air. My wife Mira and I have been trying to get Teague to graduate to drinking from some kind of sippy cup, which he so far refuses to do, for no real reason I can discern- but then, when did reason ever matter with a 1 yr old? We now have these "Born Free" cups which we just purchased for some preposterously high price off the Web, and while I think Teague understands that he can get juice, milk or water out of this very expensive cup, he insists that Mira or I tilt it back and hold it to his mouth for him; he refuses to grasp the handles with his own hands, or to hold it or tilt it back himself. Clearly he has the dexterity to accomplish this on his own, and he could, should he feel disposed to do so, but he just refuses, preferring that we cater to him. I've had the same sort of standoff with him before, over the cup, and I must confess that he wins every time. So today, I had him in the highchair, his face and hair caked in postprandial sludge, and I put the sippy cup in front of him filled with apple juice. Just to give him a brief taste of the prize, I tilted it to his mouth and gave him a sip, so he would understand the ambrosial reward within. Then, having set it there in front of him on the tray, he first tilted his head down and put his mouth on the cup's spout with his two hands out at his side. Realizing the inefficacy of this method, he took a broad swing at the cup, knocking it to the floor. Undeterred, I replaced it in front of him, evoking from him cries of annoyance and another swing at the cup and once again, retrieval from the floor. I tried to show him my own, fine drinking technique, demonstrating the utility of the two handles. I tried to affix his hands to the handles of the cup to influence him to pick it up, but this generated ever increasing cries of rage and annoyance. And lest you think he simply wasn't thirsty, of course, when I held the juice-cup up for him, he was happy to drink all day. I wasn't trying to torture the poor boy. I mean, I wanted the young Master Teague to have some apple juice, but must we forever peel his grapes and pour the wine down his gullet? Oh well, he cried voluminously and then went down for a nap. I'm sure the scene will repeat itself in the days ahead.

Finally, I will mention the Curse of the Spaniel. My wife and I have an annoying dog named Mumi, of which I am sure you will hear much more in these posts. She awakened Teague from his afternoon nap after only 30 min today, when she flew into a canine rage of barking and snarling directed at the dangerous UPS man who had the temerity to ring our bell with a package. Of course, once the door was opened and the threat in Brown revealed, our hound was all licking and sycophantic tail wagging. Teague, of course, by then was screaming madly one floor above....

Sunrise Sunset

Today, Monday July 28th, my wonderful partner Mira resumed work at her chosen profession, and I took over as full time Dad at home, caring for our 1 year old son Teague. I am tired. I am not tired as a result of some trite explanation that one might expect from the male/female dichotomy and neophyte father, such as, "Now he realizes how hard it is to be at home! I bet he never expected it to be so tough!" No, the reason I'm tired is because my Grandmother (on my Mom's side) died last night. Mira and I were already in bed when the phone rang at 10:30 PM, and I thought, then, of the saw, "Good news always sleeps 'till noon", and though we tried to ignore the alarum, the ringing re-started several times in a row, which we knew could not be a good sign, and so Mira ran down to the phone. It was my Mom, crying and informing us that my 102 year old Grandmother had just passed away that night, a few hours back. At 102, we weren't totally shocked by this news, but I was sad and deflated by my Mom's information, as I had been quite close to my Grandma for many years beforehand. I did not cry on the phone with my Mom, and wondered if I might be strangely inured to grief or tragedy, but as soon as I hung up the phone and Mira reached out and enfolded me in her arms, I broke down in tears. And so I spent a complicated night on the telephone with various airlines, most of whom informed me that they had no bereavement fares, and could do no better than $1000 for a flight to my Grandma's hometown, and anyway not ONE airline could get me to my destination before the final viewing of her body, which had to be kind of quick, since they weren't doing any kind of enbalming or anything My Grandma wanted, as per her instructions, to be cremated quickly without ceremony, and so most family couldn't get there in time for the next day's viewing. Can't blame her there. I think of my Grandpa's funeral (her husband) with morbid recall, seeing the embalmed and makeup-ed corpse as a 10 year old boy and my Grandma commanding me to kneel and pay respects with by other siblings, crying and not really understanding this deathly tableua.

Anyway, hope for more jovial posts in the future