Go Pats!

Lil' Heisman

On the prowl. Photo by our pal Carrie Dorean, http://www.doreanphotography.com/

In May I wrote a letter to our cat, the esteemed Mr. Zimblestern George-Ira Gob Winter. (“Zim” in common parlance.) Ezra had just started to show an interest in Zim, and I feared the kitteh’s days of peace and quietude were nearly over.

Indeed, Ezra loves Zim. And Zim’s tolerance level for this love has continued to surprise. Baby and cat are nearly playmates sometimes.

Zim used to crawl under the slipcover of the couch to hide from visiting toddlers. We never expected he would allow an infant’s hugs. But he does!

Admittedly, Zim probably does not particularly *enjoy* Ezra’s affections. But he begrudgingly accepts the baby’s exuberant love. And he’s a cat, so you’ve got to give him top marks for that.

This photo pretty much sums up their relationship:

I suppose a love like this could not last. But it is not a scratching incident that got the best of these two, at least not Zim scratching Ezra. The problem stems more from Ezra scratching himself. We learned in December that Ezra is allergic to cats (and just about everything else). Our pediatrician recommended that we find a new home for Zim. Hopefully this will improve Ezra’s eczema and the allergies-asthma-wheeziness he has experienced.

Tomorrow morning we’ll say goodbye to Zim, and he’ll move to the suburbs with a cat-loving couple. Hopefully he’ll like the fresh air, green grass, public schools and voter representation available in the Commonwealth of Virginia.

We’re doing this for Ezra, of course. But we also feel really sad for Ezra. We are sad to take away something that gives him such joy. When Ezra is in a funk and I can’t figure out what to do with him, he inevitably perks up at the sight of the cat. There’s something special about growing up with a pet, and I wish Ezra could have that. (and no, we cannot get a dog at this juncture.)

But there’s also something special about growing up healthy, breathing easy and having skin that is not red and inflamed. I’m hanging onto that. Clinging.

Zimblecat, you have been a great pet. You saw us through a sad, lonely season, pre-baby. Admittedly, the past year has not always been easy — we had a rough transition after Ezra was born. But you’ve really come around and shown more love/tolerance than we could have ever imagined. Your new humans will give you the scratching and belly rubbing you (don’t) deserve. They assure me they come “from a long line of cat people” and even offered to set up skype dates for us. That’s love.

I hope you bring them much happiness.

Be good, Zimby. Use your box, don’t rough up the furniture too much, and keep in touch.

I’ve neglected the blog because we’ve been rather mentally preoccupied with our friend. You can read more about him here: http://getwellpk.blogspot.com/

But I needed to come out of hiding today to give a shout-out to Nana and Pops and their groove-inspiring Christmas card. After a day visiting at NIH, then sobbing on a run in Rock Creek Park, I picked Ezra up from his babysitter’s and came home to discover some delightful Christmas mail. I love holiday cards! Ezra got a very special one today, and you can see he enjoyed it. (These are Ezra’s dance moves, by the way. He’ll work on the leg kicks later.)

Ezra woke up to discover a Nutcracker in his shoe. Then St. Nicholas’s helper, who also happens to be one of Ezra’s godmothers, brought us a basket of beautiful and delicious treats!

Here you can see Ezra showing some early enthusiasm for the foil-wrapped chocolate Santy, but what he truly LOVED was the pea soup.

Score another one for St. Nicholas! Christmas miracles all around.

But what happened to my little, helpless baby? When did he become an assertive one-year-old? And who gave him a driver’s license?

We are fortunate to live a block away from two “pocket parks,” little parks tucked between rowhouses in the middle of a street. Lady Bird Johnson helped create our parks, but by the time we moved into the neighborhood, it was hard to imagine a First Lady getting anywhere near them. They were neglected by all but the drug dealers.

Happily, that is no longer the case. Over the past few years, neighbors and the DC government worked together to reclaim the parks. They now have fences, landscaping, awesome play equipment and no sign of drug deals.

When I was pregnant, several neighbors mentioned the parks and how I would soon benefit from their renovation. I thought it would be a few years before our child would be old enough to appreciate them. But no, as you can see, I already have a big fan.

He likes to crawl on the squishy surface of the park, climb on the (age-inappropriate) play structure and spin in the spinny things. (Yes, the same spinny things that I protested when the park was being planned. Of course kiddos don’t have the same nausea response I do when it comes to spinning.)

Just another block up is another bigger park with swings. E loves the swings. He first rode in a swing on his 8-month birthday. I went to the park with a friend who has older boys and she asked, “Would Ezra like to get in the swings?” Me: “You don’t think he’s too little?”

Of course not…

First ride in a swing. Verdict: awesome!

Fashionable swinging in September, before E gave up hats.

Dear Ezra,

I am home alone with you, and you are sleeping. I should be doing any number of things – washing your bottles, sweeping up the vast destruction of the rice cake you had for dinner (or rather, the rice cake you did not have, but instead donated to the floor), sorting clothes, cleaning the kitchen, packing for our trip this weekend. Doing any one of these things would make me feel better in the morning. For instance, it’s always nice to not have to wake up to an explosion of rice cake. But I can’t seem to muster the energy for any of that. I’m tired and a little sad. It’s been a rough week. I worked the past two days, and I missed you. Your dad is in California. You’re testing out a portacrib in our room to get used to it for our weekend away. But really, I just have the overwhelming urge to scoop you out of your crib and cuddle with you.

I will resist. (Actions have consequences.)

Why am I feeling so sad and nostalgic? It may be in part because you are now 11 months and 1 day old. I can’t believe you are growing up so fast.

In some ways, it seems like you just arrived, my little baby, helpless, frail, so tiny. But in other ways, it seems like you have always been here. I can’t imagine a day without you.

I’ll admit, this 11 month milestone has taken me by surprise. I’m having trouble accepting that soon you’ll be a one-year-old. You’re teetering toward toddlerhood, and I’m not quite emotionally prepared to say goodbye to your baby days.

The days and weeks and months speed by so fast. I’ll blink, and it will be Thanksgiving, and you’ll be sitting in a high chair with a cupcake on the tray. Can it be my baby doing that already? I’ll blink again and you’ll be having a slice of cake, using actual utensils to eat. I’ll blink again and you’ll be a real grown-up, not just a grown-up baby.

And yet, as sad as I am that you have to grow up so fast … as much as I miss those days I would just tote you around in the carrier all day, letting you sleep and wake and sleep and enjoy the world at will … as much as I miss the cuddly nights you’d sleep beside me … I love seeing the lively little man you are becoming. I love you more every day.

I remember when you turned four months old and I thought, “THIS is my favorite stage.” Part of me worried it really would be my favorite stage, that I would spend the rest of your life wanting to go back to four months. You were smiling, yet totally portable. It was delightful. But I love watching you grow into yourself even more. I love seeing your personality come out.

I love watching you crawl and play and explore the world. You’re a fast crawler now, moving through the room and grabbing things you like. You like to open and close and open and close and dimantle and bang and open and close. Last weekend you climbed stairs for the first time. You went up three steps at a friend’s house. You love to practice this new trick at our house, but our 100-year-old wooden staircase is a little trickier. You’ve made it up one step. But I know how this will go. Soon enough, we’ll have stairmaster workout days, up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs.

I love that you laugh at me, and not just when I take you by surprise. Now you laugh at things that are legitimately funny. For instance, my dance moves.

I love sharing sweet moments with you, like the day we went for a run in Rock Creek Park and stopped for a “picnic.” We shared a bagel and an apple and you ate some baby food. It was an adventure we both enjoyed, and it made me excited to pack picnics for us in the years ahead.

I love how you share with me. Two weeks ago you took a bite of an apple and then pushed the apple toward my mouth. You laughed when I took a bite. You claimed it as a fun new game, and now you love sharing things or putting things in your parents’ mouth. It still makes you laugh. Me too. I admit it’s funny.

I love your newfound interest in food in general. I love that after months of rejecting the little chopped up banana pieces I tried to feed you, this week you decided to just bite right into a banana, chomping away like, “What are you looking at? I eat a banana every day.”

The world is full of suprises for us both. I look forward to discovering them.

I love you!

Happy 11 months, little bug.

Love,
Mama