I have some of my best days everyday, most filled with much laughter evoked from Max’s antics and just being himself. He loves to sing and bop around, and has made up his own songs. They sometimes go like this, “Ma-maaaaan, ma-maaaan, ma-maaaan….Pa-paaaa, Pa-paaaaa….” and eventually trails off into his own Esperanto. The ones that begin with “Maman” are totally my favorite.

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Toward the end of bath time, I cue him by saying, “Ok, let’s go.” He leans over and hugs the water - yes, hugs the water - and shakes his head, “No, no.” He proceeds to manipulate me, desperate to stay in, by buying himself some time by busying me. He points to the duck on the little shelf, and asks for it by name that he knows for all birds. “Uack, Uack.” Not quite “Quack, quack” but getting there. Having received it, because Mama’s a sucker, he points to the first boat. “Bateau?” After I plunk it in the water, he asks for the other, pointing. “Bateau?” Then “Bub-bles?” And I am so fascinated, that this little boy, who used to sleep for upwards of 20 hours a day over a year ago is now too busy for bed time, that he gets away with it all. And I lower my”get-out-of-bath” criteria to a mere “when the water gets cold.”

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I look through the the 26th floor window of the office next to mine - lots of glass - and think, “I’m in a high rise just like I used to be ages ago!” And it still feels a bit like the top of the world, where the people below are mere ants.

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I don’t have smiles for everyone, anymore, and I feel that this is somewhat sad. Friends who visited recently couldn’t get over how nice everyone is. Imagine that. It’s all for a different post, because I’ve encountered the nastiest people I’ve ever come across here in Paris. From young girls eyeing one another head to toe, or old women who have told me, “Bougez vous.” I’m typically so surprised, certain that I heard wrong, that I don’t react. Until an hour later, after playing over the alternatives in my head, after realizing that there probably aren’t any that fit the scenario that I think, “I can’t believe that bitch said that!” And ‘vous” was not in the polite form - Max was in his stroller.

I have some thoughts on this type of attitude, that I’ve encountered more than a handful of times. Most of it comes from old women, but I also believe that selfishness and the French sense of entitlement plays a big role. What confuses me slightly, though, is that so many of the French that I know are so proud of their Socialist leanings; “all for one and one for all” and all that. Yet, they can’t be bothered to spread just a bit of cheer.

I told a friend yesterday that in San Francisco, I’m more surprised when I encounter unfriendliness from strangers. In Paris, I’m always surprised when I encounter someone who is genuinely friendly. Maybe it’s me, like my recent visitors say, as they adjust their European Vacation colored glasses. And one day, it might be, as I have decreasing tolerance for people here. For the time being, though, I know it’s not. One of my fears, though, is that I’ll import this horrible attitude back with me to San Francisco.

Untitled from hey, max on Vimeo.

New camera…not sure how to slow down the video…

UPDATE: And about an hour after this post, he took his first solo steps. What timing. It’s been amazing to watch the ongoing process of Max learning to trust in his own balance and coordination…. His own abilities. And I marvel at all the times in the coming years that I’ll witness this uncertainty, only to watch his natural progression as he tackles each challenge, on his time; when he’s ready, as we allow him to summon his own strength, and as we encourage him gently from the sidelines, waiting to celebrate his successes.
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Since he was about 9 or 10 months old, Max has been standing and cruising very well, so we naturally thought that he would walk fairly soon. No pressure, no rush, no expectations. Neither of us are around other babies too much, so it was a natural assumption.

He began to climb up and down off of everything about 2 months ago, and became so adept so quickly, that we thought walking would follow right behind. Really, no pressure and no rush. He’s a mad crawler, good talker, and I love to hold him, so I have no qualms about his development. Walking means a longer way to fall, and he’s more likely to encounter table corners on his way down, from upright.

It finally occurred to me that if he doesn’t begin to walk in the next few months, that I may be stuck with 2 children in my arms. And now, REALLY, still no pressure, but I’m finding myself with a little more hope and I’m in a little bit more of a rush. Luckily, he’s beginning to show more interest.