February 20, 2007
My what big teeth you have!

Karis officially has her two bottom teeth in. They broke through her gums today and she delighted in grinding them against my inquiring finger tonight in the bath. She LOVES her bath time. She squeals and splashes and even dips her face right in to the water, sputtering in surprise when it tickles up her nose. The Boy was watching her stare in fascination at the water falling from the spout and he commented that being a baby must be like being on E 24-7. Everything is new and amazing. I laughed at the comparison. Life as a 9 month old certainly seems to be filled with sensory delight.

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February 12, 2007
All choked up

My God this child has hawk vision! She can find the tiniest piece of filth that most people would require a magnifying glass to see. She has mastered the pincher grasp and immediately puts any scrap she finds into her eager little mouth. What she lacks in dexterity she makes up for in perseverance. If it doesn’t make it into the mouth the first time, try try again!
Today her fascination with small chokables partnered with her mother’s inattentiveness nearly cost her her life. And NO, I’m not being melodramatic. I sat her down in front of the full-length mirror by the bathroom while I brushed my teeth. Next I put her on the bed to change her diaper before we left for another round of house hunting. While I was changing her she rolled over onto her belly in an attempt to scoot away. I flipped her over which caused her to laugh. Her wide smile revealed a dull grey rod tucked up against her cheek! I immediately made a grab for it. It turned out to be a spring about an inch long, similar to what you would find in a pen or mechanical pencil only wound much tighter. (I found out later it was part of The Boy’s electric shaver, which had been dropped on the bathroom floor the day before.) I finished diapering the little trash compactor and gave a silent thanks that we avoided choking, bowel obstruction, punctured intestines…
Three hours later found us riding around with the realtor looking at town houses. Karis was fidgety and bored with the toys I had brought so I gave her my hat to play with. She loves to touch the yarn tassels and I let her play with it all the time. Just as we were arriving at our destination Karis started choking and gurgling. I checked her mouth but didn’t see anything. She spit up a little drool and finally got her breathing under control and I assumed she had just inhaled extra saliva or something. Not until we were back in the car on our way home and she started choking again did I realize what was going on. I looked over at her as she was hacking again and saw what I thought was a rubber band in her mouth! I pulled it out and found it to be a piece of yarn from my hat tassel.
How is it that I successfully kept numerous children safe and healthy for over ten years while working as a nanny yet I can’t seem to keep my own child from eating mechanical parts and offering her unsuitable toys?

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February 6, 2007
It’s a hard knock life

Poor Karis. This past week has been rough on her. I joke with my mother that she should call CPS on me! First I let her fall off the bed. Falling off the bed was one of those things that I vowed I would never let happen to my babies and I couldn’t believe how many parents had stories of their babies thumping to the floor. A friend of The Boy’s even asked him last month, “Has she fallen off the bed yet?” The Boy answered with an indignant “No!” “Aw, she will – give it time.” Was the friend’s laid-back answer.
Well, she was playing on the bed, rolling around and babbling to herself. I was sitting right beside her at the computer table. I watched her playing and said to myself, “She’s getting awfully close to the edge.” But did I move her? No. A second later I hear a soft thud. I look down and see little Karis staring up at me with a shocked look on her face. She had slid right off the end of the bed, landed on her butt, and fallen backwards onto her back. Thank God our temporary apartment is carpeted!
As if letting her fall off the bed wasn’t enough a few days later I cut her thumb. I was trimming her little dragon talons and got to her left thumb. She was wriggling around and I cut into her skin rather than her nail. She looked up at me for a moment in disbelief as if to say, “What the hell was THAT!?” She then started shrieking hysterically. This child bled like a stuck pig! It took Herculean strength and Circ Du Soile flexibility to keep her little thumb pinched in a washcloth in an attempt to quell the bleeding. I eventually managed to rig a band-aid around her injury. She was fascinated by it. She kept staring at it in wonder and tentatively touching it to her tongue in cautious little taste tests. I watched her like a hawk because I was having visions of her choking on her tasty little band-aid. The whole incident was long forgotten by the time we left the house to run errands. Well, forgotten by her anyway. As for me? I’ll remember it forever!

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February 4, 2007

My mom refers to today as Gloria’s “celestial birthday”. She thinks it sounds better than calling it the anniversary of her death. I agree – it sounds much less morbid. I can’t believe it has been eight years already. I still remember her last weeks so clearly. She died of stomach cancer. It was a long drawn out process, and all of her five children along with their spouses came up to the ranch in her last days to spend time with her and help with the nursing. (Several of them are in the medical field)
I was fortunate enough to live near by at the time. I worked at a local vet hospital just down the road and I would come over everyday after work and hang out with my aunts and Gloria. One day when I came over I found Gloria propped up in bed with a dramatic black beret perched atop her head at an artistic angle. She was wearing a deep red lipstick and almost looked ready for a night out at a gallery opening. She patted the bed beside her and I sat down. At her request I snuggled down onto her lap – still in my scrubs – and she began softly patting my hair. Gloria had never been the snuggling type, but this somehow seemed totally natural to me. I relaxed into her thinning frame and listened to her breathing. She said to me if I ever needed to, I could come lay beside her and have her pat my hair. This struck me as an odd thing to say, but I didn’t question her. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was one of her last gifts to me. In the eight years since her death I have lay down beside her many times and envisioned the feel of her soft touch on my hair.
Gloria passed away three days later. She died around noon surrounded by her husband and children. I was working and when I called the ranch at lunchtime my mother said, “She’s gone.” She said it was peaceful. I was very matter-of-fact about the whole conversation. I hung up the phone and stared at the sun shining through the window onto the vials of blood near the centrifuge. I didn’t cry. I didn’t say anything to anyone. About an hour passed before a co-worker asked how my grandmother was. I said, “She’s dead.” And my co-worker hugged me. The act of hugging released the floodgates and tears came streaming down my cheeks. Dr. Charlie insisted I go home to be with my family.
I remember bumping up the rutted dirt road to the ranch house in my Toyota Corolla. I came in the front door and found Gloria laid out on a dais in the living room. Her hair was lose and falling softly around her head. I hadn’t realized how long her hair was when it wasn’t curled. Her hair was naturally curly and I have no idea why or how it was so straight that day. I felt like a bit of an interloper being the only grandchild present. We all sat down at the kitchen table beside Gloria and had a late lunch. Quiet music was playing. The table conversation was pleasant. The mood was more joyful than somber.
Later in the evening I was upstairs in the loft with my mother and Bob. We were looking down on Gloria’s body and I asked my mother if I could keep a clip of Gloria’s hair. “No. That’s human remains!” she said. She seemed almost disgusted at the suggestion. I was confused. My mother had kept clippings of each of our first haircuts. I quietly shrugged it off. A few moments later my mother turned to my stepfather Bob and in a gut-wrenching sob cried, “My mother is dead!” I had never heard that tone in my mother before. Her cry haunts me to this day, and I fear the day I too will have to face life without my mother.
All in all Gloria’s death was one of the most beautiful spiritual experiences of my life. I miss her everyday and still feel very close to her. I love every moment of motherhood and beam with pride at the job I’m doing. I know Gloria would be so proud of me.

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