Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Strong kamikaze warrior

When I was in elementary school we had a goldfish. Its round bowl home hung in a macramé plant holder from a hook in the ceiling in front of the living room window. It had a happy life, we thought.

One morning we woke up and scampered downstairs and found it glistening bright against the green shag carpet. It was dead, my brother and I understood that. What we didn't understand was why? How?

"It must have jumped," my mom only said.

Do goldfish jump? Do they yearn for freedom from their glass cages, imagining the thrill of the wind at their fins, blissfully not knowing that the moment of glory will come at the ultimate price?

Do goldfish dare to dream?


At our pediatrician's advice we took G to see a physical therapist. He has mild torticullis: diminished neck rotation to the left side as a result of some tight muscles. It will probably turn out to be a nothing thing, a blip in the memory of time, provided we do his exercises that she taught us. So, okay, we have some exercises to do with him, and we'll see the therapist for a while so she can monitor his progress.

[And may I just interject a moment to say thank goodness for good doctors and good insurance that we can get some help that these things can become nothing things. L scraped her knee on the sidewalk today. That might turn out to be a more traumatic diagnosis.]

But the therapist, she said: "Hold him tight. He's strong, and he's a kicker."

Well, we knew that about G already, but it was as if in the moment he knew it for the first time about himself.

Now if he is put down anywhere he doesn't want to be he will arch his back so strongly and suddenly that he only touches the ground with the top of his head and the flat of his feet. He will lift his entire body away in a blue-eyed blue rainbow of disapproval and refusal to go quietly into that good night. On the floor or on his playmat or in his crib or on the changing table it simply means that my sunny-side-up baby is faster than a blink of an eye now sunny-side-down. But imagine, if you will, the infant carrier, shaped like an open V, sitting at adult-waist-height inside the stroller.

When he arches up and over, I have to catch him quickly that he doesn't propel himself straight out. All I can think of is my childhood goldfish. Pin It


This Heavenly Life said...

Don't do it G!! You have too much to live for!!

'Blue-eyed rainbow of disapproval' is lovely! I love the way you write :)

Emily said...

They should really put tops on those carriers, you know?

Katherine had the same tightness on her left side when she was a baby and our doctor said it was really common. We just had to encourage her to turn her head in the other direction for awhile and then she was fine. I hope it goes as easily with G!

SmartBear said...

Oh boy...wait until he is running wild! Sounds like you may have a stubborn little daredevil on your hands!
Glad things went ok with the PT.