shiso mama

While going through my pictures the other day, I came across this mystery baby who somehow magically appeared on my hard drive. Does this baby belong to you? Maybe you should come and claim him. Because I have several pictures of him in VERY compromising positions. And he's really creeping me out.

We resisted initially, but we've been slowly introducing "bad" foods into Otis's diet. You know, the junky stuff that's basically the mainstay of our own diets. Like the ice cream. An average person's body is composed of about 60% water. F's body is composed of about 20% water, 20% coffee and 20% ice cream. Oh, and probably about a good 5% bacon. I myself am probably composed of 25% french fries.

I've been obsessing over these fantastic, thin, crispy, brown sugar-y chocolate chip cookies from the Farmers' Market, so we made a pilgrimage to San Francisco this past weekend, where we decided to introduce Otis to the joys of milk and cookies. I was pretty excited. I mean, I love sweets. No, I LURVE sweets. And a fantastic chocolate chip cookie is hard to come by. So I naturally assumed that Otis would understand how significant it was that I was introducing him to one of the most important things in my life.

We broke off part of the cookie and gave it to him. His reaction: "Yeah, sure, that's good. I guess. I mean, whatever, I'll eat it."

We gave him a sip of whole milk. His reaction: "What is this wondrous concoction you've just fed me? I MUST have more! And I mean NOW! Mama! NOW! Here, maybe you'll move faster if I act like I'm DYING of thirst!"

Wow. We should sell the baby to the advertising team of the Milk Council. It's just so weird, how any child, particularly any product of my sugar-crusted womb, would prefer milk to a sweet treat. It's puzzling. And alarming. I mean, milk's healthy and shit.

I tried the experiment again today. He didn't even notice when most of his cookie dribbled onto his shirt and he dropped a big soggy clump on the floor. But he actually moved his face towards his tray to lap up the milk he spilled from his cup. Like he were a small furry creature whose normal behavior might also include chasing one's own tail. And he kept tipping the empty cup back and staring dolefully inside long after it was all gone. Uh, isn't this how drunks act?

Otis is definitely making some sort of sign for hungry. But you might think from looking at him that he only does it when he's almost DEAD from hunger, because he'll do it while he's yelping desperately, and when he's pointing at his mouth, it looks like he's actually trying to EAT his finger, that's how hungry he is.

Happily, Otis no longer looks like he's suffering from Parkinson's. But all of the sudden, it's like the baby's got soul. He'll be bopping his head to the beat, as though I were some sort of impressive improv Jazz musician, rather than a failed pianist who only knows how to sing his name tunelessly. And the only improvisation I do is where I add a different letter to the beginning of his name with each repetition. "B-B-B-B-BOtis! F-F-F-F-FOtis! M-M-M-M-MOtis!" Man, this baby's making me feel like the star I was meant to be.

This afternoon, on our way to the hardware store, Otis and I stopped for an ice cream treat. He didn't have a clue that it was in my hand until we stopped at a public bench, and he glimpsed it in my hand. He looked meaningfully at it. I offered it to him, and he moved his mouth on it as though he were trying to suck it through a straw. Then he got this disgusted look on his face as he wrinkled his nose. The cold surprised him. But a second later, he yelped for it. Then the face. Then the yelping. And so on and so on. Does the kid not realize that it's the very thing that he wants that is so cold that he has to wrinkle his nose in disgust?

In the interest of full disclosure, I will confess that this photograph is actually a RE-ENACTMENT of the ice cream eating, and in the interest of historical accuracy, this reenactment shows him gobbling Ben and Jerry's The Gobfather rather than the Cookies 'n Cream from the cheapie Indian restaurant. Now I told you so don't be all playing Oprah to my James Frey, OK people?

I love our new kitchen. There are lots of cabinets (many already quite full, as our architect incredulously noted) and don't even get me started on the new love of my life, the stove. But they made a mistake with one of the cabinets - instead of a door that opens into a perfect little hiding spot for my mixer, it's a weird slide-out door with two integrated little drawers. It's small, it's awkward, and you can't even really reach inside the bottom drawer. It's one more thing that needs to be fixed, but in the meantime, it's the perfect little drawer for Otis. I have filled it with various baking miscellanea, and it has been keeping him occupied for long stretches, as he explores, pulling stuff out and throwing it around. It's much better than having him follow me around, weeping for me to pick him up and occupy him.

This morning as I was cleaning in the kitchen, I could hear this little sipping sound. I turned around to see that Otis had pulled out one of these little baking tins, small enough to make a little miniature cake, and he was pretending to drink from it, slurping as he tipped the cup back. He thinks it's pretty hilarious. He's been dying to get a sip of our coffee, and was in heaven the one day that I let him drink barley tea from my tea cup. He loves drinking like a big boy, smiling even when everything liquid dribbles down his chin, soaking his shirt, instead of going down his throat and quenching his thirst.

We finally received and installed the honeycomb shades for Otis's room. They're not perfect or attractive, but it was a relief to take the aluminum foil off the windows. Yes, that's right, aluminum foil. Otis needs to sleep under a veil of darkness, and it was the most effective way of making and keeping it that way (and believe me, we tried all kinds of methods). As an added bonus, it keeps the aliens out (or so I saw on the X-Files). After their installation, I took him upstairs to show him his new blinds, lifted them up dramatically, and he kept blinking rapidly in confusion. I guess this is what happens when you keep your baby in giant dark bubble. We'll order the rest of the blinds now for the rooms in the front of the house.

Here's what his room looks like now:

this morning when i was preparing otis's lunch, i sliced up asparagus to put in his pasta. as i cooked it, i wondered, "hm, i wonder if eating asparagus will affect the smell of his pee…" now i know.

Otis has learned to shake his head. Fifth Aunt Grandma, K, noticed it the other day when she was singing him a Chinese children's song in the car. "Hey, he's waving his head to the music!" Much excitement ensued. But today, he was doing this all afternoon. I'm not sure where this movement originated from or what he means, exactly. One of the games that F and I like to play with him is where we turn our heads left, center, right and he thinks it's hilarious. OK, doesn't sound like much of a game - I'll give you that - but he's a baby. Maybe he's imitating us. Maybe he's head banging to the rockin' tunes of Old Macdonald Had a Farm and Chinese folk songs. Maybe we've been shaking our heads and saying no to him all day and all night and this is yet another way he has found to defy us. What? I thought you said he was just a baby! He did it when I was singing. He did it while he was eating. He did it in the bath. Sometimes he did it to see my reaction, but other times he did it when he didn't even know I was looking. First-time mother syndrome set in as I began to suspect that maybe he DOES have Parkinson's! Yes, sure, it usually afflicts people who have seen a few more sunsets and sunrises. And yes, it does take an extended period of degeneration for such muscle tremors to set in. What am I, a doctor? To test my theory, I copied him the next time he did it, and he laughed and laughed and laughed, which made me pretty sure that he was OK. After all, if you have Parkinson's, you don't someone making fun of you, right?

I've been trying to teach Otis some basic signs so that he can find some way of communicating his needs to me. Not surprisingly, most of the signs are food related: eat, more, done, drink. Here's a typical interaction that will illustrate how this is going.

"Here's a tasty SnapPea Crisp, Otis. It's your favorite snack!"

yanks it out of my hand and stuffs it into his mouth

"More Otis? Do you want more?" Show sign for more and then show him the SnapPea. "More?"

looks at the SnapPea and screams

"More?" Show sign for more, then show him the SnapPea, then show the sign again. "More?"

looks at the SnapPea, screams louder, and then starts pawing at my hand

Show him the SnapPea, and then make the sign while holding the SnapPea in my hand, hoping to draw his attention towards my hands.

screams so loudly that I drop the SnapPea in surprise, and then grabs it and stuffs it into his mouth before I have a chance to recover

Start the process over.

So it hasn't been going well. But that's OK. I know that he recognizes some of the signs even if he can't make them himself. And, as you can see, he's making himself understood fairly effectively in spite of the lack of language.

So yesterday morning, I'm baking cookies to take to Gemma the chicken lady. And Otis is following me around the kitchen as I try to finish baking and get out the door. At one point, I pick him up and he perks up instantly when he spies the cookies cooling on the rack. How does he just know when something is food, even if he's never eaten it before?

And then I make my fatal error: I give him a tiny little nibble. Even before I see his eyes rolling around in sheer ecstacy I knew I shouldnta done it. Now he's not just following me around the kitchen, he's actually pursuing me. He's throwing himself at my ankles, pulling on my jeans, whining. And the begging, oh the begging. Once, I look down, and he's sprawled on the floor, arms wrapped around my leg, looking beseechingly at me. And then he buries his face into my ankle to express just how DEEPLY he needs more cookie.

And then it happens. I look down to see Otis has pulled himself onto unsteady knees, arms still wrapped around my leg. He manages to unwrap one arm, and still wobbly, uses his free arm to point one finger at his mouth. Mama! In case you didn't understand my efforts to communicate with you, I want a COOKIE! Put it in here!" I probably frightened him a little with the look that possessed my face, and he probably would have fallen into a heap if I had not swooped down and picked him up and hoisted him into the air, exclaiming, "You did it! You showed me a sign! I'm so proud of you!"

Not that I want to give him a cookie as a reward every time he does something, but what else could I do? I had to give it to him. And then I finally managed to distract him with his toys.