Our Week With Silas

 Let me set the scene before I get into this particular post since it might provide context and give Pam and me at least the slimmest cover from accusations of being helicopter grandparents.

The week of Thanksgiving was to be a cozy event featuring all seven members of the family being together with Silas, and notably the little guy’s first Thanksgiving. As many of you know all of our plans were torpedoed by a raging stomach bug that ran roughshod through the Manchester household in the days leading up to Thanksgiving. To make matters worse, this was followed by colds that afflicted all three of them. In the midst of the angst felt by everyone on account of such a lost opportunity for memory making Pam made the off the cuff suggestion to Kaitlin that maybe we could come down the following week and look after Silas while they went back to work, keeping him out of the Petri dish convention that is the day care industry. Notice that Pam didn’t first run this idea by me to see if I was on board with the idea for the perfectly understandable reason that she knew that I would say “YES”.

So, we piled in the car and went down to Columbia, South Carolina last Sunday morning and arrived back home Saturday afternoon. As soon as we pulled out of their driveway Pam looks at me and said, “Its December 6th and I have not bought one single Christmas present.” She thought that since she was retired this Christmas would be a leisurely frolic through Christmas websites as she did her shopping on her laptop in her pajamas while sipping hot cocoa, unencumbered by the pressure and constraints of the calendar. But those fanciful dreams were before the arrival of Silas Nathaniel Manchester. 

Our week with them was no picnic. Being in charge of a six month old baby experiencing sleep difficulties ie…when he should sleep he disagrees after the first 30 minutes…is not for the faint of heart. Moreover, listening to a baby crying for ten minutes while they attempt to fall asleep makes you feel like a monster, deliberately withholding love and comfort from the sweetest little human on Planet Earth. But, other than his aversion to taking naps—something I should point out he will love when he gets to be his Pops’ age—he was about as perfect a six month old as was ever dreamt of being in our wildest hopes and dreams.

The schedule was relentless. He wakes up in the morning. We get his parents out the door to work. We give him bottle #1. He destroys it like he hasn’t eaten in a week. We change his diaper. We play with him for 2 hours at a variety of very cool play-stations strewn throughout their home which before his arrival was already smallish, but now resembles an obstacle course designed by Willy Wonka. There’s a standing play circle, two activity centers that feature various dazzling attractions hanging just out of reach—a diabolical scheme which I don’t fully comprehend but the little guy is intrigued. Then there’s story time where Pam and I read him a selection of truly wonderful books for little ones, many of which feature animals making noises. These books never grow old for him or us. Then its time to pick out his outfit of the day since up to this point he is still in his adorable pajamas from last night that Pam can’t bring herself to remove since it was one that she bought for him. But, we finally find a stunning new Carter’s special that was all the rage on the Gerber catwalks last fall, one which my wife could not possibly resist buying back when he was two days old. He looks like a million bucks and I make a mental note to see if Carter’s is a publicly traded company. After the new outfit is in place its time for his first nap of the day. In this tricky exercise we are aided in no small way by modern technology. First there is this clever night light/noise machine which turns on and off with a mere wave of the hand. Then, of course, there’s the surveillance camera above the crib that sends live pictures and sound to our cell phones (and God knows where else). That way not only can we hear him crying, we get to have the fully immersive experience of watching him in agony. I am told that this represents progress.

Anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and 45 minutes later, he wakes up and gives us a ridiculously irresistible smile…and it starts all over again until mercifully between 5:00 and 6:00 in the evening his parents get home from work to find me trapped on the floor playing with little man since I have no choice but to be down there because I can’t get up off it without assistance and Pam is busy making dinner! We had five days of this. Was it hard? Yes. Does it sound exhausting? Sure. But it was also quite surprisingly energizing. In five short days I wrote the last three entire chapters of the novel I’ve been working on since May the first. Somewhere between sleep training, diapers, and teaching Silas to throw left handed, I had enough creative energy to write the hardest 12,000 words of the story.

At this point I should say that Silas’ parents are killing it. Everything is brand new to them and they are rolling with the punches like seasoned vets. When they look at him you can see it in their eyes, this deep and abiding love. They overwhelm him with this love because it’s the only thing that feels equal to the moment.

Before we left I told my daughter that there was no place Pam and I could have been, nothing that we could have been doing this week that was more important than this. I meant every word.