Firsts

As Ocean’s first birthday nears, I can’t help but find myself thinking about all of my firsts growing up. My father was the one who put me to bed most often when I was younger, this was due largely in part to the fact that my mom was busy with a newborn by the time I was six. Bedtime routine was pretty standard fare—story time, followed by discussion and analysis of said story, possibly a discussion about Sandy the surfing dog, or the man whose legs were eaten by a shark, yet how he still managed to surf on his hands, and then, a back rub to quiet the mind and settle me in for a good night’s rest.

A few firsts happened during this traditional evening endeavor. One such event, the reading of my first “real” book, Robinson Crusoe, by Daniel Defoe, was a milestone that I shall never forget, one that has placed isolation on a deserted island in a very sentimental place in my heart. I still have the copy of that book, just waiting for Ocean’s curious hands to pick it up and start flipping through it.

Many times I’m reminded of our nighttime traditions while I am playing with Ocean on the floor of her room. She has begun to like the idea of cuddling, be it only for a few seconds, 10 seconds if I’m lucky, but we’re making progress just the same. Anyway, I believe this new found interest in cuddling stems back to my back rubs when I was younger. You see, Ocean is incredibly fond of the feeling of my nails being dragged lightly across her back—I know this because she can be in the middle of playing with her favorite toy and I will begin said massage; causing her eyes to glaze over and her body to freeze in whatever position she happened to be in when the tickle rub commenced. I’m immediately transported back to my dad bringing out a surprise for me during one of our nights together: Honeycomb.

This glorious structure was a part of material he used to make his surfboards, it was pliable enough to maintain its shape while still remaining easy to manipulate. But all that aside, honeycomb served an even better, more profound and significantly more important purpose: It was the ultimate tickle rub material. Honeycomb was necessary for a proper rub, because my dad, being a typical mad scientist had no fingernails whatsoever to speak of, and we all know that with no fingernails, one cannot receive a really good tickle rub.

I think about this honeycomb heaven many times whilst rubbing Ocean’s back--I find myself wondering if she will remember the rubs I gave her while playing on her floor amongst all her toys. I wonder if she will remember and treasure her first “real” book, I wonder if I’m making her firsts as memorable and easily plucked from her memory as mine are. I hope so. I hope she has honeycomb like tales to tell her children, or to draw upon when she looks back at her childhood. I hope her firsts are as treasured as mine.

Looking For Love in All the Wrong Places

It has been far too long since I have sat down and blogged. I blame this on the massive amount of time I sit in my daughter’s bedroom on the floor doing my best impression of a jungle gym. I tend to get crawled all over, poked at and smacked all in the name of fun by my daughter who is growing at inconceivable rates.

At 11 months, she tips the scales at a whopping 23 lbs—yes she is kind of, just a little bit chunky; OK, she muffin tops her diapers, but geez those rolls are so cute. At the ripe old age of 11 months she has begun to learn the meaning of the word ‘no.’ Now, understanding ‘no’ and abiding by ‘no’ are two totally different concepts. I know she understands that ‘no’ means to not do whatever she is doing when the dreaded word tumbles out of mommy’s mouth, because she will quiver her lip, fill her eyes with tears and give me the look that almost—yes almost—melts my heart.

The last episode of this dramatic event occurred while I was on the floor doing what I do best; being a moving climbing apparatus. Amidst torrential giggles, Ocean, being at that stage when everything she loves goes in her mouth, decided that she loved me so much she wanted to put me in her mouth as well. With a huge grin on her face, she looked at me adoringly, opened her mouth, and proceeded to attempt to fit my thigh in her mouth.

This attempt was of course met by an “uh-uh, No Ocean, don’t bite mommy.” She jumped back, looked at me like I was crazy, and with her eyes still glued to mine, went in for a second attempt. “No, Ocean, don’t bite.” Indignantly, she looked at my thigh, then at me, back at my thigh, and went for it—fast and hard. She pulled out all the stops, wrapping her chubby hands around my thigh, and shrieking as she went in for the kill. I removed her hands from my thigh, told her No one more time, and set her down in front of some of her other, much more bitable toys.

She turned—gave me that look; the one that makes her face look like you just took away her puppy, contorted her face up and loudly lamented the ending of her ability to show affection to my thigh. I am quite sure that she was simply letting me know “Everything I love I put in my mouth and I love you so much I want to put you in my mouth as well,” but I simply will not be eaten. For now, I will leave you with this photo of Ocean playing on the movable jungle gym, otherwise known as Daddy. Be well!