Yesterday was a perfect day in Maine: sventy-five degrees, blue skies, a few wispy clouds floating by on a warm breeze. Perfect. So I took Calvin outside to enjoy it with him but he was a wreck. Since the multiple and lengthy seizures on Tuesday, and the subsequent antiepileptic medicine increase, he’s a cooked noodle, not even an al dente noodle—a veritable wet blanket.
So yesterday he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—walk by himself (as I hold his harness) or by holding my hand. I had to pretty much support his entire flaccid weight myself. He’d take a few wobbly steps then put his hands out to sit, or he just all together fell. Then I tried holding both of his hands as I shuffled wide-stepped behind him but he just planted his feet firmly and leaned forward. He was only content lying on the grass attempting to eat it and trying to stare at the sun, in which case (which is always) I must cast the shadow of my body over him or he’ll burn his retinas out like the dude with the milky-white eyes on Kung Fu.
Calvin tries anything and everything to catch a glimpse of the precious rays ... through the dappled cover of leafy trees, reflections off of windshields and chrome in the grocer parking lot, even the point of light refracting through the back of his eyeglass lens when the sun is behind him. You name it, he finds a way.
Hats don’t work because he simply lifts his head. When I carry him—which I try to do as little as possible—I prop him on my hip facing away from the burning orb, but he cranes his neck and leans way back to catch a glimpse. He’s mesmerized by that yellow ball of fire. When I take him for walks in the stroller, if the sun is low and shining under his canopy, I have to push him backwards so he doesn’t fixate on the white light.
All this beam-gazing hinders Calvin’s walking. If he’s trying to get his sun-fix he doesn’t look where he is going. And as if his balance wasn’t already sucky enough, good old Mr. Sunshine throws a monkey wrench square into my son’s wandering eyes every time.
Perfect day? On second thought maybe not.
So yesterday he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—walk by himself (as I hold his harness) or by holding my hand. I had to pretty much support his entire flaccid weight myself. He’d take a few wobbly steps then put his hands out to sit, or he just all together fell. Then I tried holding both of his hands as I shuffled wide-stepped behind him but he just planted his feet firmly and leaned forward. He was only content lying on the grass attempting to eat it and trying to stare at the sun, in which case (which is always) I must cast the shadow of my body over him or he’ll burn his retinas out like the dude with the milky-white eyes on Kung Fu.
Calvin tries anything and everything to catch a glimpse of the precious rays ... through the dappled cover of leafy trees, reflections off of windshields and chrome in the grocer parking lot, even the point of light refracting through the back of his eyeglass lens when the sun is behind him. You name it, he finds a way.
Hats don’t work because he simply lifts his head. When I carry him—which I try to do as little as possible—I prop him on my hip facing away from the burning orb, but he cranes his neck and leans way back to catch a glimpse. He’s mesmerized by that yellow ball of fire. When I take him for walks in the stroller, if the sun is low and shining under his canopy, I have to push him backwards so he doesn’t fixate on the white light.
All this beam-gazing hinders Calvin’s walking. If he’s trying to get his sun-fix he doesn’t look where he is going. And as if his balance wasn’t already sucky enough, good old Mr. Sunshine throws a monkey wrench square into my son’s wandering eyes every time.
Perfect day? On second thought maybe not.
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| Halloween sun 2007 |
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