We are climbing up and down the days like ladder rungs, flying moments like kites and I am dreaming again with three and sometimes four hours of heavenly sleep at a time, curled in fetal position hugging pillows next to my boy in his sidecar bed on his belly because honest to god it is the only position he will sleep in. We are scrambling: doing laundry, laundry, laundry, growing, teething, fighting fleas on our dog, vacuuming, patting, rocking, crying, playing, making Otis laugh, trying to figure out how to make him stop crying, shuffling through leaves, trying to fit everything in around work and naps and unhappy car rides, trying to rake leaves and fix the tub and clean the gutters and empty the trash and pick up the toys and pay attention to the dog and the cat and pay bills and read about milestones and vaccines and super baby foods. We are showing up, working at teaching and massaging and building, and we are both cooking because we need to eat well for fuel- things we can make quickly like roast chicken and roast vegetables and salads and Asian meatballs and cousous stuffed acorn squash or recently this and this. We are spending time with mothers and sisters, trying to see friends, keeping track by text and facebook, the phone a life-line. We are managing vast amounts of drool and spit-up and snot and pee, changing clothes again and again, offering toys and books and textures, offering different places to lie or sit and colors and sounds, making up songs while changing and driving and bathing. We are trying to squeeze out meaning and beauty even in the bleak, marching-dirge moments, even in the tedium, we surviving; looking up, looking down.