To the Touch

Last weekend, Bear and I packed up for our first big trip together. We'd gone to Grandma's before (a two hour drive), but this was going to be a gala weekend in the big city. First stop was Grandma's, to spend the night and leave the next morning.

Grandma had already warned us that Granny had a cold, and we might not be able to see her. When we arrived, she said "I'm getting a cold too - I hope that doesn't mean I can't touch the baby!" Of course it didn't - I understand just how critical it is to get close to him. Sometimes, when I'm at work and glance at the sweet picture of him on my desk, I just start to ache. And if she hadn't, I wouldn't have had the chance to eat a nice dinner at a local restaurant (where is it written that babies MUST demand your lap the minute your food arrives? I actually wrote a song about it at the dinner table the other night, called "Mom's Plate.") Besides, breastfeeding babies have magical immunity, right?

Later that night, we got to see an old friend and her husband who live in the same city as Grandma. I was saying hello as I held Bear, and slowly realized that her arms were inching up infinitesimally...did she want to hold him? Of course! This is what it's all about. On some primal level, this new being isn't really REAL to us until we've gotten to touch. It's how infants explore, and it's what we can't resist when we're around them.

The next morning, Grandma realized she was way too sick to go on our trip, so Bear and I turned around and headed home. Unfortunately, the AC is out in our car and it was a sweltering day. But I love to travel, and never want to feel that I've missed the opportunity to see something new. So I stopped at Grinnell College (still one of the prettiest campuses in my book) to see the Faulconer Gallery's exhibit of Liz Steketee's photography. With Bear in his sling and hated summer hat, we prowled the campus, had a snack, and then went in to check out the photos.

Her polaroid photographs were right up my alley. They capture mundane moments with extraordinary intensity, showing the shinging light behind each. Other displays worked on old family photographs, revising the past (complete with a living room installation from which to view them). Huge panoramas in which she subtly blends images from different times to create a composed whole. Perhaps most interesting to me right now, some had a biographical feel, revealing slices of her experience with birth and motherhood. One photo titled "Postpartum Windowsill" had a quiet intensity, as an overwhelming array of orange prescription bottles were backlit by a rising sun. I was strangely thrilled - and provoked - by the images, and moved to do more photography myself. Many of them evoked feelings of nurture and touch, like a photograph of her son nursing from her own perspective.

Bear, however, was a bit non-plussed. He responded with a grin to two images that had large faces in the foreground, but quickly tired of being walked around a silent room and filled it with his own vocals. We beat a hasty retreat, disappointed to note that there were no changing stations in the building (c'mon, parents like the arts!).

I had seen an email about this exhibit and thought it looked interesting, but had my plans not been disrupted I never would have ended up there. Nor would I have had a lovely suprise weekend at home with no plans, in which I lazed about with the boys and caught up on some much needed cleaning. On top of that, I was thankful that we'd escaped the illness going around.

Oh boy, it's a sneaky beast. I'd thought baby felt a bit hot during the previous night, but blamed it on the room temperature and his love of snuggling up between two big humans. Yesterday afternoon though, we both were just cranky and tired. After trying to play and then rock in the rocker for a while, I realized we were both fighting the inevitable. We went to bed and slept most of the afternoon. Then again last night - and thank goodness for husbands, who can watch a baby while you get a couple extra hours, because all night long Bear and I were both running a fever and tossing and turning, leaning in towards each other for comfort only to lean away for some cool air. Sometimes, all he needs is to be able to reach out for me - even with his eyes closed - and I'll see this sweet smile cross his face. I feel honored that just feeilng me gives him such a sense of security. I don't know how to tell him that he does the same for me.