Kitten's Claws

Each month, your fingernails lengthen by 1/8”. To some that may be agonizingly slow, but when your longest finger measures only 1 ½”, that growth seems pretty jarring. In fact, feeling Dorian’s little fingers just the day after I’ve filed his nails, I get the same feeling Jack’s mother must have had when she looked out her kitchen window at those looming bean stalks.

Now matter how many mornings I discover how much his nails have sprouted, I’m always surprised.

And when those tiny nails are sharper than cut glass, my “What the?!” is usually preceded by “Youch!”.

Despite the daily scarification ceremonies, for the longest time we were afraid to cut his nails, knowing how easy it is to clip the fragile skin just below the nail. And his fingers were just way too small to approach with scissors.

Our reluctance to cut meant filing a few times a week. Plopping him on my lap, I see-sawed away with one of Mitch’s emery boards. (When you’re married to a classical guitarist, there’s never a shortage of pics or boards). Dorian’s head swiveled in time to the manicure, working up to a sudden pounce, looking like a child about to jump in on a game of Double Dutch.

To fend off the imminent maneuvers, I belted out the Filing Song. It’s most successful when sung in a gusty voice, the melody vacillating somewhere between a sailor’s drinking chant & a rerun of Gilligan’s Island:

File, file, file! File the baby’s nails!

His nails they are so sharp! So long!
Just like a kitten’s claws….

So, file, file, file…File the baby’s nails.

‘Cause when he grabs your nose, It hurts!
And when he grabs your cheeks, It hurts!

So, file, file, file…File the baby’s nails.

(repeat till done w/ both hands)





Despite our best efforts, the filing just wasn’t cutting it. Poor Omi felt the scourge of his sharp and darting nails. In July, she and Granddaddy Jake came up from Colorado for a visit with their 6th grandchild. (Note: Dorian may be last in a long line of adorable grandbabies, but he’s still the first grandchild they’ve had from their eldest daughter.)

During their stay, we drove down to Yosemite, some 4 hours away. When Dorian wasn’t napping, he took great pleasure in grabbing the soft underside of Omi’s arm, anchoring his nails in and doing a little twisting. Her squawks filled his eyes with smiles. Releasing his pinch, he patted her forearm reassuringly, then went back to the loud part of her arm. To be honest, her Ow! was so satisfying, so loud, surprised and outraged, that I doubt anyone could have quit after just one. Much less a little guy learning about cause and effect.

Still, after seeing the tiny red scratches on my mother’s arm, I had to rethink my strategy.
These days, I clip his nails. And luckily, it’s not such a delicate operation anymore: both his fingers and my nerves have become sturdy enough.

And, if Dorian is anything like me, Omi or Mutti, then he'll appreciate having his fingertips accessible.

The Rehbehn in us needs to work with our hands. Changing diapers, writing, scrubbing, editing, feeding, dicing- basically any verb used in the home or office becomes impeded by long nails.

This became clear to me yesterday when Mitch needed a hand model for a shot of someone holding an iPhone. The gal he’d lined up canceled at the last minute and so he asked me to step in.

Which meant donning fake nails. (Note: at this point in the blog, Mitch would like to argue, “What does this have to do with The Toe Show?” And my response is, “Did you read the subtitle? It’s Glimpses into Dorian’s World. Am I not a glimpse? Besides, it’s still on topic.”)

Anyway. Putting on the fake nails, I felt like a Native American at the turn of the century, forced to wear shoes for the first time. An entire avenue of sensory input was cut off. I couldn’t feel anything with my fingertips, couldn’t hold or touch anything without complaining.

Maybe that comes with practice, but personally I couldn’t wait to take them off. (Though I did enjoy pointing at Mitch with my new talons and announcing, “I’m so not doing the dinner dishes!” before flouncing out of the room. I definitely do see the advantages.)

As soon as we finished the shoot, I dipped my fingers in acetone, melting the nails off.

Now that I have my sense of touch restored, I revel even more in caressing Dorian’s soft little shoulders, his nose and cheeks.

One downside: less flouncing.

Return of Dancing Fools

Last time I tried to post the dancing fool video, it didn't work. Can you let me know if it does this time?

Spinach and other Leaves

Mitch, here.

New Dorian update. Our little mellow monkey has been with us for 8 months. He's now eating spinach and various household plants. In fact, in this series of photographs you'll catch a glimpse of him eating spinach for the VERY FIRST TIME (today). Digging it, he asked for more in the coming days and weeks.

Also in this series is Dorian interacting with his favorite domestic greenery. Ever since he was . . . . . . a baby . . . . . his eyes were fixated on this flora by our bed. First he'd just stare. Then, I'd pull the vines toward him, let go and let them snap back into position - rocking back and forth from the ceiling hook. He loved that.

These days, he crawls across the bed, toward the 3 foot cliff (which is the edge of the bed) and reaches for his prize.

Side note . . . After each meal our boy gets to drink water from a glass. It goes like this - we bring the glass toward his face, his eyes grow wild along with his mouth, his hands thrust out and cup the vessel while pulling it into his face. I think he takes a couple sips, but for the most part he just blows and growls at the water when it arrives at his lips. Spinach remnants and foggy drool end up in the glass.

That's when I finish the rest of it.

Sand Stars

Since Sunday, Dorian has been getting filthy. And it’s all Ali’s fault.

Last weekend she and Brad flew up for a visit. When Dorian woke from his morning nap, there they were, all hugs and coos. He gawked, transfixed, at his Auntie Ali, intrigued by those curls and that generous smile, somehow so similar to his dad’s.

We explained to him that Auntie Ali was his daddy's sister, but he didn't quite get it. "I think our two get it," said Brad, with a laugh, referring to Brooke & Drew, their babies back in LA. "But they have a head start on knowing what brothers and sisters are."

A few hours later we sat around full plates of huevos rancheros at our favorite brunch spot up the street, and Ali told us about taking the twins to their Mommy & Me classes. This is where the trouble started.

“It’s so important,” she said, “to let babies experience the world with their senses.”

In fact, as we lingered over coffee and empty plates, those exact 2/7th of Dorian’s cousins were at the beach with their grandparents, dunking their little toes in the sand.

The very next day, Dorian did the same. We went to our favorite park, but instead of having him sit on my lap, while I told him stories, I plunked him down in the sand box. His feet wriggled immediately, burrowing like a polecat released into its den. He dug deep with his heels and toes, eyes widening with every cool strata unearthed.

I encouraged his survey and, remembering Auntie Ali's words, resisted the temptation to dust him off. Encouraged by my restraint, his hands grabbed the small stones and let them fall through his fingers, the dripping stones a replica of the hourglass in our minds with its relentless dispatch of hours.

Initially I was concerned about everything getting in his mouth, but somehow he didn't need to digest the sand, satisfied instead with displacing it.

And as if this discovery and manipulation of a new substance weren't enough- that same day there was another first: he stood. Okay, I stood him. But! He stayed standing. I crouched in front of him & he stood between my legs, balancing on my knees. We both thought it was pretty hilarious to face each other on eye level.

As soon as we got home, I cleaned the layers of grit from Dorian's clothes and Mitch lowered the mattress in Dorian's crib. Once babies can stand or pull themselves up, it's no longer safe to have them sleep either high or with any bumpers that they could use to climb out.

It was strange that night, putting him to bed. I felt like a mother bird who had evicted her chick from the padded nest only to see it suddenly perched next to her on a tough and jaunty limb, nodding off, exposed to the night sky.

As usual, though, I was the only one having issues with the change. Dorian was just fine with the transition. In fact, I think he preferred it. Now he can see the entire room at a glance, whereas before he had to lower the bumper to see beyond the bed railings.

So, that night, as Dorian lay sleeping in his new roost, I sat outside in our yard searching the sky for meteors. As you know, for the last 2000 years, this planet of ours has been traversing through the detritus of the orbiting Swift-Tuttle comet. That means that, starting in July, you can see brilliant flares of the universe’s original rock burning up in our atmosphere. When Ali & Brad were here, we'd looked for meteors, but only saw a passing owl.

The night of the sandbox, though, I was determined to see some meteors. I leaned back in the lawn chair and concentrated on finding movement in the night sky, ignoring the myriad of music provided by our many neighbors. Mitch would have been beside me, but he was in bed, sleeping off a cold. And Dorian had been asleep since hours, not having seen a night sky since last February, when we introduced a 6:30 bedtime.

Next August, I thought, they'll both be with me, scanning the skies. I grew dizzy, staring at the stars and thinking about the future.

Suddenly, I saw one brilliant meteor flash through our atmosphere, some 30 miles above our house. I gripped the chair, abruptly aware of the precarious roundness of the earth, its heady velocity as we whirled through space.

An uninvited interpretation of perspective worsened the dizziness: What if I’m not actually looking up at that shooting star, but down?

And all the while our boy lay in his new bed, serene, but also spinning. To an untrained eye, it might have looked like this sweet baby was lying still, but when you add up all the movement, he was actually cruising along at 900 km/s in his bed.

What an immense day for us. Holding sand, spinning under burning stars. William Blake would have been proud:

"To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour. "

Hungrier than Jessica

A few days ago, Joycie emailed us a video. Like most of the limbs on Dorian’s family tree, his great aunt’s branch never stops shaking. If you’ve ever been to Colorado, you’ve seen the beautiful quaking Aspen with their golden, quivering leaves. Dorian’s family tree also flutters, only it’s not from any breeze, just vigorous laughing.

Anyway. This video was of a hippopotamus. Theoretically wild, this hippo was actually pretty pampered. The people who lived on the banks of the river feed her nearly constantly. Even though the animal is free to forage with the other hippos, every day around tea time, it ambles into this home along the green river and demands its Elevenses.

Entering the kitchen, where she’s known as Jessica, this 7,000 pound artiodactylid approaches the woman behind the counter. Brown eyes protruding like telescopes, round ears incongruously cute on such a large head, mouth open wider than seems possible, Jessica stares the woman down. And the woman drops food in her mouth, by the fistful, dewy eyed and doting.

Maybe you know where I’m going with this.

Yes! Except for the shiny black hide and the toaster-sized molars, that hippo looks just like Dorian. If you don’t believe me, you come over here and peel a banana in his presence. His mouth opens, his head tilts back, his keen eyes track you, patient and demanding all at once.

And mother’s pride aside, if hippos or babies dealt with cash, I think Dorian could give Jessica a run for her money. Just today, for example, his buckets were refilled several times with oatmeal, pears, yoghurt, banana, cantaloupe, lentils, kale, peas, applesauce and milk, milk, milk.

Though it’s easy to snicker when you see someone shoveling food into a hippo’s frontal chasm, I can relate. The wider Dorian opens his mouth, the quicker we fill it.

Lions! Babies! Bears!

When we left Marin in 2004 to move to Oakland, we thought we were sacrificing nature for a mortgage. We braced ourselves for an urban existence, replete with Raider fans and illegal side-shows.

Three years later we’ve discovered that Raider games at the Coliseum a few miles away just means a free firework display. We've also confirmed that sideshows- reckless drivers and their posse who commandeer intersections- are definitely best avoided, but, that’s easy to do as they usually erupt late on Friday and Saturday nights.

What we didn’t realize is that our hikes would actually improve: the East Bay’s largest remaining natural stands of redwoods is just 10 minutes from our door. In the last 7 ¾ months, Dorian has experienced a lot of forest.

After Dorian’s second nap, I’ll pack him in the carrier and take him on one of the countless trails snaking through the Redwood Regional Park. When it’s just the two of us, we admire the light dappling through the trees. When birds sing, we praise their songs, then quietly join in with our own. Looking up at the giant red trees, Dorian chews on the string of his hat and occasionally offers me a taste, which I politely refuse- Oh, no, just had some, thanks, you go ahead.

In short, it’s serene. It’s calm. It’s peaceful.

Unless daddy comes along.

Riding with Mitch transforms the journey from an ambling tea party to a rousing safari. A few weeks back we hiked up the Sunset Trail to the Bay View Trail and back. Because Mitch was carrying Dorian, I found myself 15 pounds lighter, scampering up the hills. Soon I was around the bend, alone on the trail.

Suddenly I heard growls, then grunts, then tiny roars. And strangest of all, the gutturals were all repeated, several tones lighter. Big growl, little growl. Big grunt, tiny grunt.

I waited for the mystery beasts to turn the corner and then matched the sight to the sound: I saw Mitch and Dorian opening and curling their mouths, tiny under the tall red trees, two male animals bonding in a symphony of bluster.

Dorian and I had been on that forest trail dozens of times. I guess it takes more than the woods to inspire you to roar: it takes your daddy.

On Your Mark...

Get set…

Oops, he’s off already.

It started with a little rolling. A little wriggling. Then pulling, kicking, squirming and Vroom! now he crosses rooms, ducks under couches, maneuvers around age-appropriate toys and heads straight under the glider toward the finger-hungry gears and cogs.

For now he’s still flat on his stomach, kicking with froggy legs and propelling himself forward.

But, man, is he fast.

This skill developed from one minute to the next. I meant to write about this when he first started lurching closer to toys, but he evolved quicker than I could get to the computer.

And, anyway, I had to keep him from the cogs.

Today he spent part of his afternoon chasing a fish on wheels - a colorful number whose fins emit a satisfying crinkle sound when pinched.

Better yet, the purple wheels can be wound up: pull the fish backwards, and the springs in the wheels store the tension. Release it and the toy careens forward.

Dorian spends a lot of time pursuing this colorful land shark up and down the corridor, a determined grin on his face as he approaches.

The way he slaps his hands on the floor and pulls his little body forward, it actually looks like he's staying in one place, but just reeling the room toward him. The fish usually manages to elude those sticky fingers for a while, since whenever Dorian gets close enough to grab it, his touch serves to nudge it forward, keeping the fish tantalizingly out of reach.

But you can escape our boy only so long, fishy!

With a final, vigorous kick and slap, Dorian pounces on his prey. Then like a little grizzly cub, he rolls immediately on his back and starts gnawing the wheels, gripping the fish with both hands and paws, er, feet.

We obviously don't have a picture of every moment, but I thought that this one shows how much Dorian's newest skill touches and startles us.

I can only imagine how that fish must feel.