This week I learned about the ocean. To celebrate my ninth month, my parents took me to a place that is bigger and bluer than anything I have known. It's called "the beach," and it is full of fascinating sights, sounds, and smells. Mommy placed me upon the sand while Daddy set up our umbrella. I felt the coarse grains between my toes and fingers and all the little nooks and crannies caused by my luscious rolls of baby fat. The granules stuck to my fingers, which I promptly shoved into my mouth. They tasted crunchy and forbidden. As we played under the umbrella and posed for the requisite pictures, the wind tossed my hair around and smacked me gently in the face. I heard music in the distance and watched big white birds fly low to the ground. The sky seemed so much bigger there: the clouds were taller and stretched on forever. The smell in the air was fresh and calming; I could have sat with my toes in the sand for hours. That's when Daddy took off his shirt, picked me up, and walked me into the sea.
The water was warm like the bath I take after dinner and before bedtime, but it didn't stay still. The water rolled past us and headed toward the sand, where Mommy stood with her camera. Daddy explained that we were wading among the waves. The sea was waving to us, so I waved back. (This week I learned how to wave good-bye, so I was ready to swing my arms as long as the ocean responded.) I splashed the water, and it splashed back. I tasted salt. It tickled parts of my tongue that I didn't know existed. Daddy lifted me high above his head and then back into the water. We smiled at each other and waved to Mommy, who seemed to be wiping tears off her cheeks.
Back on the sand, I felt brave enough to try crawling. I pushed down and back with my hands and knees like I do at home, but the sand didn't push back like I thought it would. Instead, it kind of moved out of the way. I was able to make a little progress, but the sensation of shuffling through the sand made me stop and sit and contemplate this new substance all around. By that time, Daddy had taken down the umbrella, and Mommy was packing up our towels and toys. Back in the car, I let the sun and excitement of the day lull me into a significant afternoon nap.
My trip to the beach was undoubtedly the highlight of my week. I learned so much while there, and the entire experience was positive and something I'd like to repeat. That cannot be said for the other things I learned in the last few days.
On Thursday, I learned about allergy tests. Mommy took me to a new doctor, whose waiting room was much louder than the one outside my pediatrician's office. She said that was because we were in Aventura, where people are generally louder than the residents of Hollywood. The doctor was friendly and inquisitive. He asked Mommy lots of questions about what I eat and which foods have made me get all red and splotchy. Then he left the room. Now, I've been to enough doctor appointments that I've noticed a pattern. Once the doctor leaves the room, it's only a matter of time until a nurse enters and pokes me. I expected her to poke me in the legs a few times, but apparently Aventura isn't just loud. It's sadistic. While Mommy held me, the nurse used tiny needles to prick me more than a dozen times on my back and arms. Each poke wasn't so bad, but the totality of the repeated tiny bits of pain was more than I could take without crying out my extreme unhappiness. Once the nurse left the room, I was glad to get back to one of my favorite activities, crinkling the long sheets of paper that sit on examination tables. We waited around for maybe a half hour before the doctor returned to continue his conversation with Mommy. I admit that my vocabulary isn't the most comprehensive right now, but I did pick out the words eggs, milk, nuts, and sesame, all of which I know are kinds of food. Mommy seemed distraught and started asking a barrage of questions. I think she was trying to learn as much as she could from the doctor. When he left the room again, I had a sinking feeling that the poking wasn't quite done for the day, and I was right. The next thing I knew, there were three nurses in the room, and Mommy was holding me down on the table. Before anyone else touched me, I started to scream because that was clearly the correct response to whatever was about to happen. The first nurse took out a big needle and poked it right into the fleshy part of my arm behind my elbow. The weird thing is that I didn't feel the needle; earlier, a different nurse rubbed some ointment on my arm, and I can only conclude that it was a magic potion to numb me in preparation for the torture that would soon ensue. The nurse holding the needle in my arm looked concerned and said something about "sideways veins." I couldn't hear everything she was saying because I was still screaming. By that point I might have been making this heartbreaking stammering wail that made Mommy bite her lip and try to hide the tears that started pooling under her eyes. A second nurse took the needle and poked me again. I had no idea that nurses liked to gang up on innocent children, but that day I learned the truth. The second nurse dug around for a while with the same concerned look on her face and said my veins were too small. I don't know what veins are, but if those nurses were trying to take them out of me, then I'm glad my veins were hiding. I think the third nurse just stood there because she is the kind that likes to watch. Sicko. Finally, they all gave up their evil plans and left the room. Mommy took me home, where I found comfort in a calming snack of milk and a lengthy nap on her chest. It's going to take me a while to recover from that ordeal.
On Friday, before we went to the beach, Mommy and Daddy took me to see my pediatrician. I know what you're thinking: two doctors in two days? Yup, that's what I was thinking, too. As usual, the doctor was friendly, asked some questions, and then left the room. You know what happened next - another shot in the leg. Seriously, what do nurses have against me? Why must they poke me? Did I somehow offend the Queen of Nurses? Has ordered her minions to attack at will? I need to figure out a way to get into their good graces. Maybe I can get Grandma to bake them some cookies.
I guess this week I learned to take the good with the bad. Just like the ocean waves go up and down, so do the events of a week. As I get better at crawling and practice pulling myself up onto various pieces of furniture, I am reminded again that life is full of these ups and downs. Sometimes you're on top of the world, holding onto the coffee table and reaching for the remote control, and then you're face down in the rug, wondering how you got there. I'm learning, in these situations, to pick myself up and crawl toward the next adventure. Or cry until someone acknowledges my pain and kisses my boo-boo. (Usually the latter.)
Bye-bye,
(I'm waving bye-bye, but you can't see me.)
Zelda
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