dedalus_1947 | Dragons Live Forever (Reply)

A dragon lives forever,
But not so little girls (sic),
Painted wings and giant’s rings
Make way for other toys.
One grey night it happened,
Jackie Paper came no more,
And Puff that mighty dragon,
He ceased his fearless roar.
(Puff the Magic Dragon: Peter, Paul, & Mary – 1962)

“Hello? I announced, making my entrance into the living room after a warning knock on the door.
“There’s Poppy!” Joe announced to Sarah, who he was holding in his arms, against his chest.
“Hello Nena Chula,” I exclaimed, putting down my backpack and camera case. I was flattered by how alert and inquisitive Sarah seemed to become at the sound of my voice. She straightened her head, arching her back and pushing away from her father’s chest, and scanned the room with wide eyes, seeking the source of her unique nickname.
“Would you like to hold her Dad?” Prisa prompted, entering the room.
“Absolutely,” I responded, “but first let me wash before I take her off your hands Joe.”
“She just finished eating, Dad,” Prisa continued, following me to the bathroom and standing in the hallway. “She’ll probably eat again at 9 or 9:30. I’m a little worried that she’s been getting a lot of down time at the daycare, lately. I’m pretty sure they’re just feeding her and then laying her down to nap, without much activity or stimulation. So, I’d like you to do as much face-to-face interactions as possible with her today”.
“Shhhhuuuurrrr, I can do that!” I exaggerated my approval, drying my hands quickly and moving to accept my 16-week granddaughter from Joe’s large hands.
“I’d love to spend the day talking and laughing with you today,” I said to Sarah, turning her so she could face me as I spoke. “Maybe we’ll even sing today,” I announced, smiling closely into her face. “I’ll take her out in the stroller too, so we’ll have plenty of things to do. How would you like that, Nena Chula?” I asked, giving her a quick peck on the tip of her nose.
“Yieee,” she squealed, smiling with wide opened, cobalt blue eyes, and then making a growling noise that sounded like laughter.
“We bought her this seat so she could also practice sitting up,” Prisa continued, showing me how the chair operated. It was a low-slung, plastic seat that accommodated a sliding tray that could hold the baby in place while providing a platform for rattles, rings, and twirling devices.
“Great,” I said, sitting on the couch and positioning Sarah on my lap so we could both watch her parents preparing to leave.
Together Sarah and I sat, watching Prisa and Joe going through their departure routine. On Thursdays and Fridays, they are more leisurely in their actions, without worrying about the baby or needing to transport her to daycare. Sarah seemed fascinated by their movement, and she delighted in being the constant target of their smiles, endearments, and questions, as they prepared to leave. First Prisa would kiss her goodbye on her way out, and then Joe, ten or fifteen minutes later, would do the same.

When Sarah became restless and started squirming in my lap, I turned her around to face me. She immediately began kicking her legs, springing into a standing position on my lap. I supported her momentary upright stance with my hands, while keeping a firm grip because she seemed strong enough to almost launch herself free.
“Up we go!” I said laughingly, as she leapt toward the ceiling. “You are so big and strong, Nena,” I crowed, suspending her in an upright position for a 5-count, before sitting her back on my lap with a resounding, “down!” We repeated this up and down exercise for about 5 minutes, her face beaming with a wide-eyed look of surprise and pleasure, while I encouraged her with cheers and laughter. Sarah appeared on the verge of shouting, when, instead, she seemed to gulp down a mouthful of air. Soon a powerful “hick-a”, shook her body and erupted from her lips.
“Oh, no!” I said, halting the play to check her reaction. “Hiccups,” I announced with a frown, “how did that happen?” Although I’d seen Sarah experience these episodes before, I paused to see how she would react this time. Hiccupping contractions can be so loud and violent that they sometimes cause babies to shake and cry, but Sarah was taking them in stride.
“Poor Nena,” I explained, lifting her to my shoulder and patting her back gently. “I got you too excited. Let’s take a walk and relax.” After completing a circuit, from room to room, through the house, we returned to the living room. “What about letting some more light in here?” I suggested, pulling the cords of the living room window shades. Still hiccupping, Sarah watched as I moved from window to window adjusting the blinds, and filling the room with bright, morning sunlight.
“Sunny day, chasing the clouds away,” I sang quietly, bouncing Sarah up and down on my shoulder. “On my way to where the air is sweet. Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?"
Hesitating at the next line, I froze for a moment. As my two grown children can tell you, I am notoriously bad at remembering lyrics. Not wanting to make up the next lines, I remembered the Ipod in my jacket filled with children’s songs I had downloaded for Sarah a few days ago.
“I know what we can do for your hiccups,” I said, walking over to the couch where I had tossed my windbreaker upon entering the house. I reached into the pocket and took out a white Ipod, while still bouncing the hiccupping child on my shoulder. “Come on over here, Nena,” I said, walking to the dining room area to insert the Ipod in a small music device on the counter, and then placing Sarah into a portable chair-swing on the floor.
“Let’s see if we can make those hiccups go away with some music and singing,” I said, sitting down and adjusting the Ipod to select the Sesame Street Theme from the song list. Joining the original cast of the old PBS television hit of the 1970’s, I sang along, bending down as close as possible to Sarah, and exaggerating the mouthing of the lyrics and my facial expressions. That song was soon followed by Puff the Magic Dragon and It’s Raining, It’s Pouring” by Peter, Paul, and Mary. During the long session, in which I repeated the songs a few times, I rocked Sarah in the swing while I sang to her. At some point the hiccups vanished, as the fascinated little girl listened and watched my face and mouth, smiling back and moving her lips. The songs acted as a time machine for me, and I remembered singing those same lyrics to Toñito and Prisa when they were children, and I played the Peter, Paul, and Mommy album on the stereo in our old Reseda home.

When Sarah became fidgety and fussy in the swing, I suspected that she was getting tired and picked her up. I carried her to the master bedroom where the bed had been prepared with a tummy mat and blanket. I laid her on her stomach in the middle of the bed and adjusted myself between her and the edge. There are some issues to consider when allowing babys to sleep in this unprotected fashion. Is the baby strong enough to lift and move her head to avoid smothering, or could she roll off the bed, striking her head on the floor? Placing babies on their stomachs was the accepted method of putting them to sleep in the 1970’s and 80’s, but the practice had changed. Parents were now advised to keep them on their backs until they could roll over by themselves. This was a SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) precaution. When I placed Sarah on her stomach for “tummy time”, to practice raising, moving, and holding her head up, she sometimes fell asleep. If that happened I would slide along side and keep her company while she slept.

Sarah follows a three-part choreography while sleeping on her stomach that always fascinates me. First there is the whining and physical resistance to napping. She adjusts her chubby hands and arms, and then begins raising her head, fussing and crying as she moves it up and down, and from side to side. She repeats these motions for a few minutes, complaining with short staccato cries, until she stops. Releasing a long, exhausted breath, Sarah finally rests her head on the blanket, and begins closing her eyes. She fights to keep them open, but at every attempt the slits get thinner and thinner, and soon the eyes are shut. The second phase is the long sleep, but even that part is filled with sounds and movement. Slumber is a languid workout for babies. While Sarah sleeps, her back arches and falls with her breathing, and her body moves to reshape itself into different positions. The calming silence of the bedroom turns her loud breathing into the musical score of the nap, the sound bouncing off the bed and mat and echoing through the room. Her head moves from side, to front, to side, until the optimal position is found, and her tiny hands shape themselves into tight fists, and then extending to relax them near her face. I usually take advantage of this quiet period to reflect ruefully on how quickly Sarah is changing, or to review my notes from previous visits and schedule the day’s activities.

I’ve taken to jotting down notes when I babysit for Sarah (aka Nena) on Thursdays and Fridays. I first noticed Prisa doing this during the early weeks of maternity care when she wrote down the feeding times, diaper changes, bowel movements, and any other significant actions or physical developments that occurred to Sarah during the day or night. I thought it was a good way to remember Sarah’s feeding times when I babysat, and also a handy reference guide when describing to Prisa exactly what had occurred that day, while she was away. The first week I did this, the schedule was pretty simple: Nena would drink a bottle every two hours and nap for 20 to 30 minutes. In between I carried her or watched her playing on her back in the floor jungle gym, or on her tummy on the bed. This routine has been steadily expanding over the weeks, that now, on a usual day, my notes would look like this:

7:05 Arrive
7:10 – 7:30 Hold and carry baby during departures
7:30 – 8:00 Music and singing
8:00 – 8:30 Nap on tummy
8:30 – 8:45 Diaper and clothing change
8:45 – 9:20 Floor gym
9:20 – 9:30 Bottle and poop
9:30 – 9:45 Play chair
9:45 – 9:55 Diaper change
10:00 – 10:30 Swing in backyard
10:30 – 11:00 Nap in Poppy arms.
11:10 – 11:30 Floor gym
11:30 – 11:40 Fussy baby!
11:50 – 12:00 Bottle
12:00 – 12:10 Diaper change
12:15 – 1:45 Take stroller for walk
1:45 – 2:30 Gym and Singing
2:30 – 2:40 Bottle and poop
2:40 – 3:00 Diaper and change of clothes
3:00 Mommy’s home!

My notes clearly pointed out that Sarah was an incredibly accommodating baby who didn’t mind following routines. Our first child Toñito was like that. He was very predictable in his development and easily scheduled. Prisa was not. As a baby Prisa seemed to make up her own routines and schedules, and we were forced to keep up as best we could. Even though Sarah was 16 weeks old and could grab and grasp nearby objects, she was barely on the cusp of turning herself over in bed, and still couldn’t crawl on her own. She was still the ideal child to babysit because I could control and direct all her activities. I knew that situation would soon change. Babies just didn’t stay in the same places for long, they just kept moving forward. Sarah would continue to grow and develop, and she’d be walking, talking, learning, and wanting. I wanted to keep her right there, still small and helpless in the vastness of her parent’s bed, sleeping the sleep of angels.

Usually, after 25 minutes of sleep, the third act begins with tiny noises emanating from her extended form. Her head and hands begin moving. This is followed by a slow-motion exercise of extending fingers, moving arms, and her face being pressed into the blanket, until a single cry escapes the stretching, flexing little body. It’s not discomfort or complaint, nor a call for attention, but a sound of awareness. One eye squints open and closes. Soon both eyes squint open and close. I try to position myself so that my face will be the first thing she sees when she is fully awake. When her ocean blue eyes are wide open and alert, I speak:
“Hello, Nena Chula," I ask, "did you have a nice nap? What would you like to do next?”