Davison Online

Jonah’s AA baseball game yesterday was not exactly one for the record books. The spring-action pitching gizmo kept moving around so the coaches (who operate it) had to do lots of practice pitches to calibrate it before anyone could bat. (They said afterward that they’re going to buy some pegs for subsequent games to try to keep the thing in place.)

Not that it mattered much. Not a lot of hitting going on. Jonah struck out in his one at bat—disappointing since he’s one of the better hitters in practice—but he was swinging at everything and only one of the pitches actually looked hittable from my vantage point down the first base line.

The fielding was about what you’d expect from kids who’d never played before. By and large it was best observed through the lens of comedy, otherwise it would have been two unbearable hours. Hits were so seldom that when they happened the team frequently had no idea what to do, and stood still as the batter ran to first. The highlight was our third baseman fielding a grounder that rolled dead at her feet and, at her coach’s urging, running to third base for a force out. Admittedly, this was only successful because the opposing team’s runner on second forgot to run, but the out was roundly cheered as the highlight of the team’s performance, and I am not one to rain on that parade.

Other good news: Jonah and the rest of the kids looked great in their uniforms. They conducted a successful and spirited cheer for their batters (“Here we go, Sea Dogs! Here we go!”) in the fourth inning, though it was eventually abandoned due to tediousness. Everyone seemed well pleased by the after game Gatorade and cookies.

Next game on Wednesday.

Tags: Baseball, Jonah

Jonah’s now a dog paddler, making it across the pool several times unassisted. I think watching lots of Olympic swimming helped.

Elisha was the most wonderfully tranquil child through 18 months. Then she mutated into a willful little beast. We’re still working through her terrible twos–the sooner she discovers she’s not queen of the world, the happier she’ll be–but she’s given us more than a few glimmers of hope in recent weeks.

Part of the problem, of course, is that she’s caught in the classic middle child squeeze. Jonah commands a lot of attention, and Jillian, as baby, has to get a fair share our time. How could Elisha not feel slighted?

It’s also frequently difficult to remember that she’s just two, because she is remarkably tall for her age. More than two years younger than Jonah, she’s not that far behind him in height. Whenever we go to play with other kids, no one can believe she’s just two. (We were at AC Gilbert House today where there’s a special “2 years and under” playroom with a small doorway designed for that age group. Elisha has to duck her entire head to get in.) Anyway, the point is that it can be difficult to remember what’s age-appropriate when your two year-old looks like she might be 4 or 5.

The part that fills one with hope, though, is when you see her at her best. She shares with and cares for others superbly well under many circumstances, and she seeks responsibility almost constantly. (“I wanna help myself!” is her unceasing refrain.)

She also likes Christopher Robin, Pooh, Tigger, and Roo, but heffalumps most of all, and she’s taken to “seeing” them in various places around the house and warning us when one’s coming. “Protecting” her from a heffalump gets you a hug every time, which is every bit as wonderful as it sounds.

Tags: Elisha

Jillian deserves a bit of a mention here because business and family have curtailed my blogging.

The girl is cruising–holding onto objects and walking about–and does a funny-looking, speedy little bear crawl like nobody’s business. She remains cute and cuddly, and gets wildly enthusiastic upon seeing me first thing in the morning. (She gets wildly enthusiastic seeing Erin at any part of the day.)

Juju–a French nickname for Jillian–is also eating an increasing number of solid foods. It’s taken us awhile to come up with stuff she likes–she didn’t immediately take to solids like Jonah and Elisha–but we’re slowly moving her to more solids and less breast milk.

She has Erin’s eyes.

Tags: Jillian

It’s hard to believe that the boy has been here that long. Watching him grow has been an amazing experience, and I continued to be a mess of emotions just thinking about it. (Can one be both proud and humbled simultaneously?)

It’s not a lock that he’ll be accepted (though we are technically a parish family which should weigh in his favor), but we’ve signed Jonah up for kindergarten at Queen of Peace School for next year. It’s 4000 smackers for the year at this private Catholic elementary, but full-day public school would have been over $2000, so it’s not quite huge financial disparity it might seem at first glance. More important than the money, though, is our simple belief that Jonah will have the best educational experience here.

In truth, we would have liked to explore the local public school more, but they won’t let parents or students visit during school hours, so there you go. I also found it vexing that the school district could never tell us which school our kids were supposed to attend. One person would say one school, the next person another. Honestly, you could flip a coin and get more consistent results.

But again more than these minor slights, it was that Jonah was welcomed with open arms into Queen of Peace School. We wholeheartedly believe he (and later, Elisha and Jillian) will thrive in this environment. That makes me think that age five might prove even more exciting than four, and I thought he was a great four year-old. Happy birthday, indeed.

A blast from the past (my weblog, June 1998, specifically) with anagrams. (Bear in mind some anagrams turn a bit offensive. If you’re sensitive to such things even in this day and age, do not read).

Elisha Davison =

Voila! Danishes.
Shaved liaison
Inhales, avoids.
A diva, Holiness.
Aha! Divine loss.
Aha! Solid veins.
Alias = Shoved In
Alias = Dish oven
His anal videos
Anal video hiss
Hi, nasal videos!
Alas, vinos hide.
Alas, divine hos.
Oh divine salsa!
Divine salsa ho
Hailed vain SOS
I also vanished
Haloed vain sis
Haloed via sin
Slavish on idea
Shiv salon idea
Nailed visa hos
Ah, Ladies, vinos.

Jonah and Jillian to come. Don’t forget these ones, though:

Erin Lilly-Davison:

Lad virile. Sin only.
Darn Illinois levy!
Alien lord is vinyl.

Ty Davison =

Nasty void.
Sand to ivy.

Tags: Elisha

Jillian’s got her game on, and has at long last begun crawling forward. As you can imagine she is thrilled by this new ability. Erin and I are trying to convince her to use her powers only for good, never for evil. Time to start doing a much more thorough cleaning of the floor.

Tags: Jillian

I asked Jonah for some song titles the other day. Here’s what he gave me:

• “Bird, How Much I Love You”

• “Raisin Corruptor”

• “How Much Money Do You Have Left?”

• “My Egg Got Broke in Jail.”

I’ve already start working on “Raison Corruptor.”

Jillian continues to sleep, eat, poop, sleep, eat, poop. There’s a little crying mixed in there, too, but not much. She’s a pretty docile kid thus far. Erin, who gets up with her, has even managed a six hour stretch of sleep at one point. Last night it was about five. Lousy by objective standards, excellent by the standards of new parenthood. In fact, it’s actually better than I’ve been doing in some respect because now I get up with both Jonah and Elisha. Between the two of them I’ve had some pretty weak nights of sleep in the last 10 days. But better me than Jillian, I suppose.

Tags: Jillian

Born 8:04 PM on June 15, 2007. 7.12 lbs., 19.5 inches, a full head of black hair.

But let’s start earlier in the day.

Erin had a medical appointment at 9:45 AM, where we learned that after several days of irregular contractions she was still only 3 CM dilated. Oh well, baby will show up when baby will show up.

After a quick stop to return some items and see some folks at Sprague, we came home. I felt quite unwell (food poisoning, I think, but don’t ask me what caused it). While I recouped, others went off to participate in the Relay for Life at McKay High School. (Liz, Erin’s mom, is a cancer survivor.) Erin started having more serious contractions around 1 PM right after finishing the walk.

These contractions did not stop Erin from coming home and doing several hours of gardening work. I am at this point reminded of the diaries of pioneer women on wagon trains with entries like “washed clothes, cooked dinner, had baby, fought Indians, fed kids.” Erin gardened with alacrity—a phrase that doesn’t come along very often—the last few seeds not being as precisely planted as the rest, before coming into the house to tell me it was time to go to the hospital.

Apparently a good cure for food poisoning is adrenaline. I had felt unwell on both ends of the spectrum if you take my veiled meaning, but as soon as Erin said it was time to go, I am happy to report that much of my queasiness dissipated. Some events you just don’t want to miss, and apparently sometimes desire counts for a lot when it comes to physical well-being.

When we got the hospital we learned that we’d come at a busy time. The previous Monday night when Erin’s body had tricked us into thinking it was ready for delivery there’d been maybe four expectant mothers on the whole floor. Now, the place was teeming with them, all in various stages of delivery. Erin was checked out first thing. Cervix at 6 CM. Hurray! We get to stay and not go home. And hurray! She’s doubled since the doctor visit this morning.

We worked through steadily increasing contractions over the next hour or so. Erin had some fentanyl which was supposed to take the edge off the pain, but ended up just making her a bit loopy and faint more than anything else.

She was checked again around 7:45 PM and had made it to 9 CM. Baby coming soon!

Our pain management plan was roughly the same as it was for Elisha: Once Erin couldn’t do anything other than scream her way through contractions, it was time for meds. She sat up on the side of the bed for a spinal block—there wasn’t time for a full-on epidural. As she did that and got the shot, she had a contraction and her water broke. This was later to result in several days of a so-called “epidural headache” wherein spinal fluid leaks from the hole in your back and causes mind-crushing headaches whenever you stand. All happily resolved now.

To return to the action at hand: Things began to get a bit fast-paced. The delivery doctor was in the room now, and everybody started moving tables, chairs, and equipment around trying to get ready for the baby, because Erin was ready to go. The doctor told her to try not to push yet—nine months of waiting, and this is what she hears—as he was busy helping set up the bed for delivery, something that the nurses usually do, but baby was coming faster than anticipated.

The medical staff got everything set up, and Erin pushed with the next contraction. I was on her side holding her left leg in one of the leg rests, and I could see baby crown with Erin’s push. Most of a head of black hair was out. The doctor said, “One more push and you’ve got a baby” and he was right. With one more thrust, Erin brought a daughter, Jillian Elizabeth Davison, into the world.

Whether it was premeditated (which I doubt) or part of the emotion of the instant (which seems more likely), Erin chose this moment to switch into speaking French. She had, of course, spoken plenty of it to Jillian when she was in utero, but seeing her for the first time face-to-face, Erin launched full bore into a dialogue (monologue?) with Jillian which I, with my limited French, only partially grasped and which moved most medical staff in the room into something approaching a stunned silence. So unexpected was this lingual transition that they were probably wondering if she’d had a stroke or were somehow reliving a past life. Jillian seemed fine with it, though, and gradually the medical staff came around to it too once they realized everything was all right.

I think that all fathers are smitten with their daughters. At least I know I am. So I don’t want to make too much of this next bit, but after they wrapped up Jillian and laid her on Erin’s stomach, the doctor asked if I wanted to cut the umbilical cord. I’d cut the cord for Jonah and Elisha, so you bet. The doctor handed me some surgical scissors and pointed out where to cut. As I went to sever the lifeline, Jillian reached over and grabbed my fingers and part of the scissor handle with a vice-like little grip.

It’s tempting to read more into this than a newborn blindly grasping about in her new environment. The humorous interpretation is something along the lines of Jillian saying, “Hey there, Pops, I’m not ready for you to be cutting that.”

But I prefer to think that in her first moments in a completely strange and utterly new reality, having rushed her way down the birth canal into the light of the unknown, Jillian reached out instinctively or not for some suggestion of safety and connection and found me there ready and waiting. In some measure, I imagine that we, neither of us, shall ever let go.

Tags: Jillian