I would be measured by the soul, the mind's the standard of the man.

A few weeks ago Jon and I saw The Elephant Man at BYU with some friends from my MSW cohort. It was an intense, intelligent production. The play was based on the life of Joseph Casey Merrick and I loved it not because it was pleasant, but because there was truth in it, truth that punched me right in the gut of my secret hypocrisies. My supervisor told me that being a therapist doesn't mean having perfect relationships--that's not possible, but it involves admitting your faults, acknowledging where you are lacking and that you are on a journey to figuring things out, overcoming your own darkness and becoming whole. We can know a lot about what would heal us, or just make us healthier, and still refrain from doing it. With that in mind, here is some of what I learned from The Elephant Man:

First, the play offered the conjecture that a deformity or malformation only becomes a flaw if we ascribe it that meaning. It also toys with the idea that many of the attributes that we admire in our culture are actually horrible deformities, we just don't label them as such, and even look on them as virtues. This idea made my thoughts take a very "Revelation" turn (the-first-shall-be-last-and-the-last-shall-be-first), and it occurred to me that even beauty can be a "deformity" if it makes you corrupt, shallow, and selfish, but society will support and applaud that deformity, whereas Joseph Merrick's left him friendless, cast out, and despised.

The play was written with the author's stated intent being to deliberately offend and "alienate" the audience. The actor who portrayed Merrick made the [brilliant] choice to demonstrate Merrick’s deformity by constantly drooling, hasta having strings of saliva swinging from his chin and spraying spit when he talked. One part of my brain was raining with compassion--when other characters recoiled at him, I felt hurt on his behalf and ranted in my mind--“I would have been kind to Merrick! I would have been his friend! How could those people be so awful?” while one was repulsed by the spit insomuch that I wanted to gag when I looked at him, so I found myself averting my eyes whenever the actor spoke. Oh. I get it now. I was amazed that the actor had found a way to stir in the audience a sense of revulsion for Merrick reminiscent of what his contemporaries surely experienced. It was a BYU audience, presumably more soft-hearted and primed to feel pity than most, but he made us recoil. So then I had to deal with that urge to recoil, and think about where else it shows up, how it conflicts with other facets of my character, and what it means.

One of the most interesting aspects of this play was that every character BUT Merrick and Treves, the doctor who arranged for him to live at the hospital, wears a mask throughout the play. The idea is that we all have something we desperately wish to hide--a "deformity" of our own--and that we are rarely truly genuine. At one point a woman removes her mask and this is symbolic of her actually being completely naked. Another character screams at her "Woman, clothe yourself!" Sometimes we don't wish to see each other as we really are--or to be seen. It's too frightening, too sad, it would make us too ashamed. Merrick couldn't hide the flaws on his skin; most of us have the ability to hide quite a bit about ourselves. I thought about the masks I have had throughout my life, for different people, and what I have hidden. How many masks flaked off like dead skin cells when I met my husband, and others that are part of my own skin it seems. I thought about the things I am still masking and what it would take to remove each one. (This is a good thing to journal about, if you want to go there).

There was an interesting constrast between the way the upper and lower classes responded to Merrick. The poor maltreated him, placed him in a freak show, beat him, robbed him, gawked at him and used him for their own pleasure (entertainment and voyeuristic interest). The rich paid for a permanent “home” for him, sent him gifts, visited him, and used him for their own pleasure (it was “in vogue” to look upon him and tell the tale, voyeuristic interest).

The play briefly touched on the idea that no one saw nothing innately “him” that they could love, only what they superimposed as their reflections in him. There was a scene where people proclaimed that Merrick had various qualities--pointing out that he was insecure, well-read, soft-spoken, etc. always ending with the statement: “He is so much like me.” This made me think about empathy, the idea of feeling with someone at the connecting joints of humanity: pain, rapture, grief. Is empathy selfish, because what we “feel with” is only a reverberation or extension of our own feelings? So pity for anyone is really self-pity, and love for anyone is really self-love?

Lastly: Wanting to be “like others” was what finally killed Merrick (in real life, and in the play). Because of the weight of his head, Merrick had to sleep sitting up, but was attempting to sleep lying down in order to be more like other people, whom he desperately wanted to be accepted by. In the scene of his death, the ghosts of women who were once his companions in the freak show sing to him: “Sleep like others you’ve learned to admire, sleep like your mother, sleep like your sire.” I thought about the idea that trying to be like others is what kills us, and I've determined that it is true, at the very least for a myriad of tiny deaths. The death of authenticity, the quelling of a free spirit, the quieting of so many words, "songs we never share." How has wanting to be like others killed parts of you?

I don't know that these thoughts have driven me towards any definite conclusion, just fragmented hope that I can move towards offering an authentic self and work to provide a safe place for anyone I meet to be accepted, to know that they are worthwhile.

Also, here is a sweet picture of Chai being an adorable love, to remind us that there are easy/lucky/free things in the world as well as heavy and complex things. Oh, my own Lolly!

If I had an orchard I'd work till I'm sore

Since I wrote last I've written five thousand shadow posts in my head and submerged myself in the conundrum of whether I still want a blog at all. Certainly I don't have far away, or even near relatives who read it, I'm not deft enough in my opinions for it to be a useful philosophy or ideas blog, and I'm not daft enough in my opinions for it to be bereft of those things. Also I'm not crafty or foodie or crunchee or fashion-y, and if I'm not offering anything useful, aren't I just another empty bid for attention in the tumultuous sea of cyberspace? And is that good for me to put so much of my heart out for passive strangers to peruse? What's the point of that?

I started thinking about why Jonathan and I started this blog together; it was basically a mutual love letter we wrote back and forth in our frenzied dopamine-laced haze, our "obsession with each other" as the blog description states. In my sage wisdom and experience of a marriage nearly 16 months old, I can tell you my obsession with Darling Jonny is alive and well, but I feel trepidation in sharing the kinds of things I did at the beginning, and that makes me sad. Of course--some things are too meaningful to write about, they only belong to us, but it's not just that. At the beginning there seemed to be so much support for waving our love like a banner. Everyone was so excited about our relationship, our wedding, our choosing each other. Blogging was also a way for me to give voice to what had become the most significant thing in my life. I found truth! I found what Conor sang about longing for, “To be loved! And believed! In my soul!” I found that despite that I had thought before, I could be happy! For me, it felt like I couldn’t stop reeling that this miracle. I don’t think most people who know me only superficially could comprehend the thickness of the cynicism that was caked onto my soul. Dating Jonathan changed me so much, woke me up into who I really was. Maybe on some level everyone expects to feel that way, or hopes for it. But I really didn’t…for what felt like such a long time. All I wanted to do was tell that story and share what it meant to me. I wanted to document every little piece that fit together so beautifully. After we got married, it seemed that less was expected. Whenever I lifted that banner, it seemed to annoy people. One of my siblings called me out on writing lovesick sappy facebook statuses and asked me if I had a need to flaunt the idea that I have this great relationship. I felt wounded. “I’m just excited,” I said in a small voice. I wanted to celebrate my excitement just as—honestly—I like to celebrate songs I like or movies that touch me or ideas that resonate with me. I feel things very deeply and just as my sorrow is deep, my enthusiasm can be explosive. But I started to realize that when that enthusiasm had to do with a marriage, it could be threatening or hurtful to others. It could be perceived as arrogance and bragging and of course everyone hates that. I know there are some who equate being positive with being fake. And truthfully no, our relationship isn’t “perfect” in the sense that we never hurt each other or that we succeed in treating each other lovingly 100% of the time. But that was just as true (in some ways much more true) when we were dating. We are both real...we both bring our pain and insecurities to the table and sometimes we misunderstand. I wouldn't want to avoid those times though because the journey we take to resolve them is invaluable and I'm sure Jonathan would agree, has created some of the most humbling and beautiful moments we've experienced. I want to write about the joy I feel in our life together because it is still a miracle unfolding to me. I'm so crazy about my husband...he is brilliant and fascinating and he inspires me. But I feel that although expressing those thoughts was expected at a certain time, now it is considered obnoxious. And I feel self-conscious. I don't know if this is an appropriate medium for that anymore, because of course I can write about that as much as I like without sharing. If you have any feedback about this I would love to be fed that feedback :).

Someday soon I will write a post about how much I love my job (only slightly less than I love Star Wars), Christmas (much more than I love Thanksgiving), lessons I learned from The Elephant Man (at least three) and poetry (if I ever finish a poem). But now it is Chai time that I wrote about Chai. He is a delightful, delicious baby, and not just because his name lends himself to many puns and rhymes with almost everything. He is a gleeful squish. In the last 6 months since that glory drenched day in early June he has become my darling companion and friend. He is the soft movements by my side at night, the warbler bleating for my attention when my gaze turns away, the shrieking eel of excitement when either his Dad or I get home from work, the chunk of sunshine glowing in the morning.

In the month of November Chai has changed so much! His advancements have brought him the grave realization that at any given moment, he might not be having as much fun as he could be. When before he was content to lay sweetly and beautifully where he was placed, now he writhes, twists, and wrenches himself around, rolls under furniture and up against walls where, if stuck, he wails piteously until repositioned. He can support himself on his hands and knees mostly smartly and is just hours away from crawling. It hasn’t quite occurred to him yet that he could propel himself forward. Secretly I’m hoping he won’t get it for awhile…once he has means to flee what will keep him in my arms?

I remember talking to one of my friends while in Romania about how far we would go to make fools of ourselves so the orphans would laugh (far). I love to sing and dance for Chai because it brings him such joy. We have a myriad of little games that we play, secret sweet little games like the knock/beep on his forehead and nose, draw a magic circle, conducting an orchestra when music is on, peek-a-boo, blowing raspberries in his neck, the “my dad is awesome” speeches, pretending to look away and then jumping on him, he jumps every time and screams with laughter.

He reaches for things and is busily trying to fit the whole world into his mouth, one finger, tabletop, blanket, carpet, kitty tail at a time. He has realized that often what people are holding is food, delicious food being kept from him! He must have it! And he must taste everything, just in case something delectable is being kept from him. He will find it out and eat it.

It’s the most fun ever having a baby. He holds my hand now while he’s nursing. He is more hardy and firmer and quicker than he used to be. He goes to sleep NEVER. He’s been ranging from 12 to 1 AM lately and I don’t want to mess with him but I wouldn’t mind if he didn’t take after us so much quite yet. I've discovered that I have fantastic mother’s intuition that comes up with perfect names for him, like Lolly Friendship Applegum, business, Lolly-business, Little Man, Manimal, Bunny-one, Hermano Lipari (named after a man in our Spanish ward of whom we are fond).

Chai eats all manner of yogurt, smoothies, occasional baby food, sucks on fruit when I let him, and once famously chowed down on a lemon in a most matter-of-fact and businesslike manner. He has been known to pilfer food from plates with lightning speed. He looks fantastic in hats, just like his daddy. Chai loves to be around people and his heart breaks when he is taken away from a party. He is a party...he is a magical creature, like Jonny always says. We love him so much!

Pond scum. I want to cut Jonny's hair. He's been growing it out because I had a fantasy of him having a ponytail, like Lumiere, but it's taking too long.

Handsome Jonny on the dating scene.

Falling asleep being a CUTIE in his swing.

Feasting on the word.

Frog legs.

Frog face.

Making out with auntie Mahwey.

WWII Chai.

Oh sweet mah toes!

This was an important day. Chai meets his beloved for the first time. Beautiful Scarlet, who was 10 lbs and BORN AT HOME! Go Laurel! I'm so proud of my amazing friend.

Chai and this drink are both "Daddy's rockstar." Heh. I like this shirt although I really do despise the thick and obtuse genderizing of baby clothes.

Raking leaves to win favor with my husband :)

Chai and I practicing our smizing.

Oh how I love him. Darling, darling one!

All I ever need, in my soul.

LOLLY. FRIENDSHIP. APPLEGUM.

In the mother's lounge at church. Chai is irreligious and has not made it through sactown since his first one ever, when he was 5 days old.

I had some coupons for a photo shoot at Sears that turned out to be the biggest ripoff imaginable. I'm devastated that we never got to take REAL family pictures with the gorgeous leaves this fall. That's okay though. Chai will still be lovely next year, and I shall be skinner (please bless).

Most lolly EVER.

Eating the tablecloth. I love how everyone is so enchanted with him.

Jon thinks Chai looks like Darth Vader without the mask on.

Chai and his gorgeous grandmother. I mean really.

SQUISH!

Hasta ver!

How fleet the foxes

NOTES ON HALLOWEEN:

*I'm proud of myself for creating these costumes 20 minutes before we left for a party. Jonny and I were gypsies and Chai was (who else?) Slim Shady. My 17 year old self would be so proud.

*The purple vest Jonathan is wearing is from an ACTUAL GYPSY I met at the hospital in Romania. Dangerously legit.

*My skirt is from an ACTUAL CHRISTMAS DANCE I went to in high school. Huh. That didn't sound as cool.

*I desperately wanted to take Chai trick or treating for the sole and shameful purpose of collecting free candy for myself. In the end I couldn't bring myself to do it. Luckily I got a lot of free candy anyway.

*Chai was a horrifically cute rapper and delighted all who saw him. He wears a beanie well, as does his handsome father.

*We had fun with the Lowes. I told Laura she should use Halloween as an opportunity to show how "scary" the medical paradigm of birth is, and she could dress up as Pitocin or this famous OB at UVRMC who gives famously terrible episiotomies.

*I'm so glad Halloween is over. Now I can freely begin celebrating Christmas, and the sooner we get to Christmas, the sooner summer can come again. I don't have much use for fall.

Oh, what I'd give for a hundred years, but the physical interferes...

This may be a little bleak, but I feel the need to write about this. Most of the time this feels like an echo anyway.

My father's father died last month. I am sadder than I can say that I only met him a handful of times in my life. I think I mildly charmed him as a little girl; when I was older I grew more aware of the disconnect and more appalled at the way he and my grandmother gnawed at one another's lonely bones. It hurt me to hear about how his cancer caused him to suffer terrible pain and indignities. I was humiliated on his behalf, I longed for him to go out whole and confident, be spared the idea of his "frail deeds danc[ing] in a green bay". He worked so hard, slaved for his humble noble business well into his eighties and then sold it to a crook. The idea that he might have left my grandmother with nothing crushed him. My dad started flying back east, back in time, now there was so little time left. When he passed away, my heart ached for the memories I never had with him; for the relationship that never existed between us. It was too late now to get to know him, and I mourned for that. I grieved the dreadful truth that I didn't know him well enough to miss him. It seemed so wrong. That my "loss" at his death was just the final loss of my never knowing him at all.

I feel like death has been slamming its fist all around me lately. I've felt the tremors, but people I know have been knocked off their feet. I am so sorry, so helpless when I see their bleeding pain. There are so many souls I have known that have gone. So many of them younger than I am. By their own hand, seized by a treacherous illness, strangled in the clutch of addiction, struck by a cruel accident, withered and weakened by years. I don't understand! I don't understand how a personality could be extinguished from the earth so completely that so that they only go on existing in our memories, when we are gone what shadow will remain of them? How dare we ever say that anyone is better off? Out of their suffering? Wouldn't it have been better to be spared the suffering and to go on living? I know I am going to lose someone close to me, and if I live long enough I may lose nearly everyone close to me. What is this life that we can be so vulnerable to falling out of it? Like we're living upside down and lucky if we can stay in our shoes long enough for the 80 years we hope for.

This is a journal entry that explores the feeling I have right now better than I can do tonight :(*names have been changed*)

July 15 2011

I have to write down what I’m feeling tonight…I feel so glowing peaceful and happy but I also feel stifled with fear? Respect? Trepidation? For the fragility of existence and the fleetingness of time (yes surprise surprise!). The other night Jonny and I went to an MSW reunion bbq at Lindy’s house. Nate was there and I told him I was so sorry to hear about his son’s problems. He mentioned to me that it was nice to hear my baby cry since his baby can’t make any noise with the trach (in case I’m reading this years later, their son was due after mine but was born 6-7 weeks early. He has some seriously compromising health problems).Natalie’s and my old roommate had her twin boys at 20 weeks and they both died within a few days, but not before having tubes and wires wound through their little bodies, tearing their fragile skin. That kind of suffering—both for the babies and for the parents—makes me feel a cold sick secret dread. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to lose a child. Why was my baby born perfect and healthy and theirs were not? I talked with Jonny about that this morning. How cruel the world is to children! How ugly and beastly it is that there are people who torture and deliberately destroy little children’s bodies. I read blogs today of people whose lives are awash with loss—the woman whose husband is blind and her 2 year old brain damaged, another family whose little girl fell in a swimming pool and drowned. And Lindy the other night, when I remarked that her daughter had been so sweet with my baby, she said that Daisy loves babies, especially since she can’t have any of her own. That hurts so badly! Why? There is so much suffering, and even those losses one could argue are little more pale in light of children in Africa who starve, who are gang raped or watch their families murdered. The world is swarming with grief. I went on a little walk tonight and thought, what grief has really touched me? Pain for my family, my father’s loneliness. I worried all day that Dit was involved in some scam and was going to be either human trafficked or horrifically disappointed. And of course as you well know all my pain pain pain in the over all the lovestruck Romeos, but please. None of that is even in the same universe as holding your baby while its heart stops beating, or worse finding your child brutalized and murdered. Getting a call saying your husband passed away. I was walking and I saw the sunset and the mountains gently cradling this city, and I loved our rural street and was filled with joy at the beauty of what I was seeing, my happiness at my husband and son tucked away in my house with turquoise walls. I made dinner tonight and registered for the CSW exam, made plans to teach in young women’s and thought of ideas for Abby’s bridal shower. What lack I yet? Rather, I want for nothing! My life is SO good! And so part of me wonders, this searing finger of suffering, when is it going to touch us? I know I can do hard things, I’ve overcome anxiety and worked hard when I needed to, but I know I’ve never really felt it burn me as others have. But no one escapes life unscathed, right? So will it be my marriage? Will depression one day begin eating my brain and heart and turn me into a bitter marionette who makes my marriage sour? Who will I lose? Who will I NOT lose? Oh Lord, I know suffering hollows us out to be filled with good things, and I want those good things, but please protect my family! Please spare my children and my sweet husband. He is so dear to me. Let us not be part of the casualties scraped off the earth every day. I know there’s no guarantee of safety and protection—our bodies can turn on us at any time, or a car can turn into us, or we can be standing right at the wrong place. This last winter Jonathan and I would cuddle up together and admit that we were so happy, we were wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. But I’m not going to live in fear of fate. I’m not in charge of cutting the thread. So all I can do is appreciate what I have as much as I can, and try not to take it for granted. I want to stare at my beautiful son and love every day of his little life, for 6 weeks, 6 years, 16 years, as long as I am privileged to have him. Love my darling Jonny, the only only only one who required of me what I needed.

I love Chai, I want him to exist forever. Sometimes I worry that people made up the idea of heaven just to make themselves feel better. Despite people saying they “know” I hope it’s true, I’ve never hoped more that it’s true. I think of Robin telling Jason that people don’t come back to life and I think, how can she have a little boy and tell him that? How can she not WANT WITH ALL HER BEING for it to be real, at least for him? If it’s not true, he’s just dead in the ground and his body will rot away and he won’t Be anymore. I want my little boy to go on being forever. I was just looking at his perfect little fingers, miniatures of my own and I started to cry. Oh my darling! My darling! I cradle him over my shoulder and he snuggles his head by my neck and I rock him and his shifts his little arm around my neck and what could be sweeter than this? And I need to love it now and know it so deeply now because it will not always be this way. His little hand will get bigger like his father’s and it is so beautiful but so painful, too. He was made of love. Jonny says the Universe was made out of love, so we have nothing to be afraid of. I need to remember that every day I get a little bit closer.

Out of my deeper heart a bird rose and flew skyward.

Out of my deeper heart a bird rose and flew skyward.

Higher and higher did it rise, yet larger and larger did it grow.

At first it was but like a swallow, then a lark, then an eagle, then as vast as a spring cloud, and then it filled the starry heavens.

Out of my heart a bird flew skyward. And it waxed larger as it flew. Yet it left not my heart.

~ Kahlil Gibran

One year ago this weekend was the first I heard of Chai...although I had no idea he would be Chai back then. I wanted a little boy so much, we were both sure it was a little girl (Houston really gave me a complex about things like that). It seems like a thousand years ago, was that really us? I remember looking in the mirror and wondering how anyone ever look at me and see their mother and just reeling with glee that science was actually real, I guess. ("Bingo! Dino DNA!") I never actually believed I would have children, even though for awhile I thought the yellow bird might be a baby. I made Jonathan a cute little presentation involving cereal and a scripture and an inside joke and put it all together like I was asking him to prom, and I got it all wrong. He wanted us to be alone, for me to just tell him clearly without all the fanfare. I regret that now, but I didn't understand. I always want everything to be a party. I felt impatient...I wanted to feel the baby kicking, I wanted a tight watermelon of a pregnant stomach right then. I remember also feeling a little alarmed..."boarded the train there's no getting off," that's it exactly, thank you Sylvia.

And now we're on the edge of another October and that little almost imaginary good-news salamander will be four months old this week! It’s incredible how much I love my Chai. When I hold him I have the softest feelings imaginable. This other afternoon I had him on my lap while we were watching Intervention and every time they showed the protagonist as a child and told their backstory my heart squeezed with pain and I thought—please no, not my baby. I’m so glad he will remain little for the next few years because I can’t think too far beyond that, of his suffering. No one makes it through this life without suffering, but I hope he will always know that his mama loves him, and that I can teach him things that will help him be resilient. That sword hasn't pierced my own soul yet; I fully understand that we’re existing in Neverland with our perfect, merry baby. He is SO beautiful and amazing! These are some thing I want to remember about my Chai:

*He is marvelously happy and content. When he was very tiny he used to wail in the evenings, but now he almost never cries. People always comment on that, "I forgot there was a baby here!" or "I didn't hear him make a sound the whole time!"

*When he does "cry" it's almost like a bird squawking--not a prolonged noise, but little short cries to let me know he is awake or needs something.

*Chai has become very verbal and talkative...he is always so excited to tell us things in the morning! Sometimes it really sounds like he is making words. I know he thinks he is. We'll have whole conversations with him where he'll make his sounds ("Gah! Ahhhahhyaaa!") and we'll make them back or say affirming things like "I know...I know! Tell me more, baby!" It's my favorite.thing.in.the.world.

*I love how Chai croons along with us when we sing to him, he makes a melodic noise like he is trying to sing, too.

*Chai is tall and slender. He weighs 13.14 lbs (50th percentile) and is 25 1/2 inches tall (80th percentile). He has a "big alien head" like his Dad. :)

*As you may have noticed in the pictures, Chai has become a baldie. I was excited that he had so much hair when he was born, but it's mostly gone now. It's okay though, he's still the handsomest ever.

*Chai is much more portable than I imagined a baby being. It's pretty easy to take him anywhere--I ditched keeping him in a car seat pretty early on--they are so heavy and unwieldy, and besides, I love holding him--I always think about him getting bigger and not being able to carry him everywhere. We can go out to dinner with friends and he just sits on my lap. I need to get a Moby wrap because he's getting heavier.

*Chai is not your regularly scheduled baby. He takes naps at random times, or not at all. I've never known a baby who seemed to need less sleep. Jonathan's mother told me that Jonny was like that, too. He usually falls asleep around 10 or 11; a couple of times he has stayed up until one--not upset or anything, just looking around very wide-eyed and interested in everything.

*When people ask if he's sleeping through the night and I tell them he sleeps with us, so waking up a couple of times or not at all doesn't really matter or make a difference, they look at me baffled/disgusted (disgaffled!) but that's okay. They have to decide what's right for their own lives. But for me, I LOOOVE co-sleeping. I think it's excellent for attachment. It's also super easy to move him briefly if we need the bed for anything--once he commits to going to sleep at night, he is out. I love how Chai gradually moves closer to me during the night and how his breathing matches mine; most of the time he likes to rest one arm on my chest. I also love knowing he's there and that he's safe.

*It's getting a little tougher since he's been rolling from side to side and sleeps kind of like an eggbeater. Lately since we're sleeping on an air mattress he winds up perpendicular to me and likes to kick me in the side (like back in the day when he was in utero!).

*We're still nursing on demand and going strong! (I pump for when I have to work and he does fine with a bottle too). I'm not planning on introducing other food until he gets a little older and shows interest. I LOVE nursing him and I wish I could explain the thoughts I have when I look at him laying so sweetly there with his eyes closed and making the dearest motions with his hands. I just tell him over and over again how beautiful he is and how much I love him. He often rests his arm on my chest and it melts my heart.

*Chai is not a winner at nursing in public ("Who told you you could cover up?") and is agitated if I try to nurse him under a blanket, etc. I think he resents the absurdity of the social stigma against BF in public. Good Chai!

*He is pure. It's humbling and healing to spend so much time with someone who is not capable of lying or deception. I want to be like him. He can't hide what he's experiencing and it's beautiful. Joy--fear--curiosity all flash on his face in the most innocent sincerity.

*Chai expresses himself a lot with his legs...kicking when he gets excited or anxious, or during Dancey-Dance time :). It always makes us laugh. He also tries to "run away" when he gets frustrated by kicking and pushing off against the wall or furniture.

*He loves to "stand" and has very strong legs. He also loves being "danced" or "jumped" around by us or my brothers (see picture second from the top). He also wants to be held facing outwards almost all the time, I say it's because he likes to think he's "driving."

*Chai is still a local fan favorite in Ogden. There are practically wars and bloodshed over who gets to hold him. Sometimes I start to miss him because no one wants to give him back! He interacts with everyone and is very charming and responsive. I think--I hope--he knows how very much he is loved. A typical scene is for someone to be holding him on their lap, while someone else plays with his feet, a third person holds his hand, and a fourth person strokes his head or face. All of them talking to him at once. It must be overstimulating, but Chai is very patient.

*I'm obsessed with how cute he is when he is sleeping. He either sleeps on his side with his hands tenderly clasped under his chin (adorable!) or on his back with his arms spread out wide and his legs drawn up like a little frog. I can't stand it.

*My little boy loves me, I think maybe! It means so much to me when I make eye contact with him and talk to him and he just bursts into sunbeams and smiles. I took Chai to a work retreat with me and we were talking/beaming at each other, and two of the therapists I work with commented, "That's relationship enhancement right there" (what they teach clients to do with their children to strengthen attachment.) I thought about that all day, it made me feel so good!

*His neck is the most ticklish and he loves it when Jonathan blows raspberries in his neck or stomach. And he laughs--this little grunty "heh" noise--and it's amazing and so exciting and beautiful, and sure that's cheesy but really what else could be more beautiful than the sound of your baby's laugh?

*During the last few days he discovered he could stick his tongue out and he seems to like the way it feels...he keeps poking it out and blowing spit bubbles. "Like a boss" as Jonny would say.

*I should mention that Jonathan is constantly saying Chai does things like a boss. "He holds his head up like a BOSS!" "He rolled over like a BOSS!"

*Chai likes most everyone and is generous with his smile. But he definitely loves his Dad the most. When he sees Jonathan his smile lights up the sky. They are very loving and attuned to each other. Jonathan has incredible instincts about what Chai is feeling and experiencing, it amazes me and I've learned a lot from him. I'm so, so happy they get to spend time together a few times a week when I go to work, even though it makes me jealous. I always feel a little left out when I drive away, but I'm happy for both of them that they get time together that they might not otherwise have. They love each other so much.

*I am so proud of my little buddy for being so adaptable and easy-going with all the troubles we've been having in our house. A more high-strung baby could contribute a lot of stress to this situation, but Chai continues to be patient, good and kind. Every baby deserves to feel adored, and I hope he can feel even a little bit of how very much we love him. He is my Happiness Boy.