the way we grow.

{almirante nieto, torres del paine}

It's so fascinating to watch a little one grow. It is relearning wonder as the new person you have become. Remembering to play. To trust. To encourage: yourself and each other. Some days it's a 'pull your hair out' good time. But love. Love is the easy part. When you hear that laugh, the baby babble, first words and sentences ooo what's this?, witness the personality unfurl, the one that's going to someday tell you jokes that will make you guffaw. Guffaw? Guffaw. Well, none of this is what I meant to write.

Let's try this again. 

Rowan went to meet his new pediatrician last week. It made me appreciate how caring and good with people his previous pediatrician was. But all is well. After the appointment, we had to go to a different floor with some paperwork to get his vaccines.

We used to stay in the same examination room and the same nurse who took his measurements before the doctor exam also administered the shots. He received a few of his vaccines with nary a tear. The nurse would make warm eye contact with Rowan, he'd bat his eyelashes and sit in my lap, and I'd be upbeat and smiling while I held his hands away from the needle. All done. Cute gender-specific bandaids. Pants back on.

This time, though, the needles seemed much bigger.

The mild-mannered shot technician was nice and apologetic. A little too apologetic. She started saying Sorry before she even gave him the shot, which melted my cool and drowned out my Yays. Poor little guy needed three of these, and he started screaming with the first prick. I guess there's just something colder about the care we've transitioned into. Not that it's poor quality. I just miss the smaller, happier needles.

It's incredible how much babies use their caregivers as a mirror for their own states of well-being. When Rowan stumbles, the first thing he does--if he doesn't immediately get back up--is look at me to gauge my reaction. I've been pretty good at keeping my cool. But there are times when the bonk sounds loud and I start. And of course Rowan grunts and gets back up like nada. Still other times, I've seen him break down because of somebody else's animated are you ok? response.

It makes me think a lot about modelling the right things for him, and what exactly I want that to be.
Calm is the first thing that comes to mind. Space inside and expanse outside.  Indoors, that means unclutter, small compartments for his toys, flat shelving for his books so he chooses them by looking at their fronts rather than their spines. Outside, that means forests, mountains, meadows, rivers, oceans. It means access to the outdoors is close at hand. We're working on this. Breathing deep.

How are you?