Halloween

What’s great about a 9-month old’s first Halloween?  He can’t eat the candy (oh delicious Reese’s Pieces…).  We opted not to take him trick-or-treating for that very reason, but that didn’t stop us from parading him for a short time through the neighborhood’s warm breeze in a fuzzy turtle costume.  I’m not sure there is anything cuter than a baby in a snuggly animal suit.

 

Little turtle heads up the stairs

Hey...I worked *hard* for those chocolate bars you're eating, Mommy!

On a side note, although we didn’t have too many kids show up at our door this evening, we apparently won “best candy”.  The Nerds Ropes are always popular with the 6 and up crowd (::pats self on back::).

 

 

First Word

It seems much nicer to write down in Jack’s baby book “duck” as his first word, rather than a wailing “NAH NAH NAH NAH” (aka NO) during a baby-sized tantrum on the diaper change pad.  Jack has been using consonants for several months now (dadadada, mamamama, babababa, tititititi and this guttural, back-of-the-throat sound that could be mistaken for Hebrew) and I can tell there is so much he wants to say.  He understands far more than he is able to vocalize.  But as he splashes around in his bathtub and I tell him the words for the plastic, water-squirting animals he chews on, he does say “duck” quite vehemently (his starfish and his frog are also “ducks”).

This weekend while visiting relatives in Pennsylvania, Jack showed off his new word by calling my uncle’s dog a “duck”.  As long as he doesn’t refer to his parents as quacking fowl, I think we’ll be fine…

Comprehension

At Jack’s 9-month wellness visit today (okay, so I’m a week late), his pediatrician made note that he was extraordinarily aware of his surroundings for his age.  Although he’s highly energetic, he is also focused.  His exploration is methodical.  When I watch him play, although he moves from toy to toy quite frequently, he does so with alert and graceful calculation.  His eyes are constantly absorbing, patiently interpreting.  The depth of his desire to understand is moving for a mother.  My pride overflows.

When we first moved to Virginia on the cusp of Jack’s 8th month, my lazy little brainiac had just barely taught himself to crawl.  Within days of our relocation, he was climbing up the stairs and now, he is already on the brink of taking his first steps.  He pulls himself up and stands for several seconds unsupported with a toy in each hand.  He walks himself around the rim of our kitchen by fingerprinting each drawer handle along his journey until he reaches the electronic, beeping touch pad of our stove, presses some buttons and bounces up and down gleefully.

He’s also never far from my heels (or Kent’s).  Like both of his parents, independent Jack entertains himself with no problems (we can leave him contented in his jumper for upwards of an hour), but he’s also incredibly social and prefers to play in a room that is occupied by people.   It’s easy to get ready for work in the morning because he’s as happy in the bathroom as he is playing with his toys downstairs.  A few weeks ago when Jack’s preschool-induced congestion was particularly bad, we brought him into the shower with us in the morning to let the hot mist drain his passages.  Now he’s adopted the morning shower as part of his schedule and crawls directly in with one of us as we start our routine.  He sits under the streaming water and bangs my comb around the basin until it’s time to dry off and get dressed.  And once out, he follows us from bath mat to closet to sink, admiring our every preparation.  He is absolutely fascinated by the flossing and brushing of teeth and will stare hypnotically at me for the entire mouth-cleansing experience.  It’s really quite adorable.

That Jack is so busy and mobile has naturally and expectedly contributed to a slowing in his weight gain, despite how much he eats.  He has only gained 2 and 1/2 pounds since his 6-month well visit, but has moved into the 75th weight percentile for his age.  His 30-inch height, as it has been, is 95th percentile for his age.  My giant lil’ buddha is really still quite lean, which bodes well for his metabolism.  Besides the few no-nos like eggs, cow milk, honey and shellfish, Jack literally eats everything we give him.  No more face-making over cauliflower, or fake-choking on peas or chicken.  Kent and I simply scoop a sample of whatever we have for dinner into the blender, be it curried pork, scalloped potatos, beef stew, eggplant parmigiana, or spicy stir fry with cous cous and serve it to Jack the next day.  He hasn’t rejected a solid or shown any adversity to new flavors since we’ve moved.  That’s my kid.  Active and hungry.  Always.

Only A Mother

• Would rescue a gooey snot rocket from the caverns of a baby nose with her fingernail, or wipe a draining nostril onto her own sleeve, to facilitate her congested child’s breathing.
• Without a burp cloth in arms reach, would wipe a chunk of pureed sweet pea that misses the parted lips and lands on her child’s cheek/forehead/finger/pants and put it into her own mouth for disposal.
• Would slide her finger happily into her child’s pants-crack to test for a soiled diaper.
• Would hold her cupped hand under her child’s chin at the slightest hint of a liquid burp to prevent regurgitated milk from hitting something more difficult to wash than her own hands.
• Would wash her hands so frequently that even the skin between her fingers begins to crack.
• Would not be able to go to sleep at night without first venturing into her child’s room to ensure he is in peaceful slumber.

Spazzmodo

The latest of Jack’s nicknames; particularly when he’s bathing.  The ratio of seconds that his butt is actually touching the bottom of the bathtub to seconds his butt is up in the air while he crawls around the basin chasing his floating alphabet is about 1:100.  The average number of times I say “sit down Jack” per bath?  14.  He slips around the tub like a dog chasing his tail; grabbing the letter A, taking a bite, splashing with frantic excitement, then moving on to the letter F (each one apparently more delicious than the one before it).

Although many parents don’t, we give Jack a bath every evening.  It’s been part of his nighttime routine since he was 3 weeks old and the last of his cord fell off.  He’s a little fish who adores the spastic water play that burns the last of his wild energy before long hours of sleep.  Although he scoots around his bedroom floor like a tumbleweed in a wicked desert wind, and it takes me ten minutes to transform him from naked noodle to lavender-scented slumber bug, by the time we slip the last of his delicious, warm milk into his hands, his entire body relaxes into pure calm.  I tend to hold him selfishly for a few moments while he sits patiently sucking on my lap, because this is almost my favorite moment of the day (second only to being awakened by his conversations with his crib toys and bringing him into our bed to share his morning bottle with his groggy daddy).  Jack gives me hundreds of hugs and kisses each day, following me around the house, climbing up my pant legs, swatting my face, burrowing his nose into my shins, flashing his flirtatious smile; but Jack is no longer a cuddler and hasn’t been since he learned to roll onto his tummy from his back.  There is always something else he needs to look at, touch, feel, taste and that something else does not exist in the curve of my elbow.  So I take what I can get from Lil’ High Speed and savor those few moments that he amenably lets me hold him.

Country Living

A dear friend swung by the new abode this afternoon to spend some time with the mini man of the house.  Upon departing she astutely remarked [something to the effect of] “Besides being beautiful, you know what I love most about your house?  How happy you seem here.”  She knows me well and put simply into words the elation that has been more difficult than usual for me to express.  The community in which we purchased our first home together as a family is a hidden gem; a 300-house, spacious enclave nestled away from the bustle amongst hundreds of acres of conservancy greenery in which plentiful numbers of deer, frogs and crickets roam our lawn at dusk.

During my parents’ first visit East to help us christen our home, my Mom and I sat on our stoop under a full moon, beer in hand and arms entwined.  We savored the stillness of the crisp, fall evening air while Mom grinned from ear to ear; thrilled that, even though it kills her not to be within driving distance of her grandson, Jack has been provided with an absolutely perfect place to grow up.

I thought about what my friend said this evening as I stole a rare moment with Jack at bedtime.  He was less squirmy than usual, so instead of putting him to bed with his last bottle of the night, I held him, in the same rocking chair in which my Mom used to coax me to sleep, while he drank his milk and his eyelids grew heavy.  I smoothed his hair, kissed his forehead, hummed along with his Beethoven lullaby and let him burrow his head into my shoulder and fall asleep.  The bright moonlight shone through Jack’s unshaded window, illuminating the street below in which absolutely nothing stirred.  His sweet breath tickled my collar bone and with his finger curled around the nape of my t-shirt, in our mother-son embrace, in his new bedroom in our new home, I understood heaven.

A Day in the Life of…

Morning:

Noon:

And Night:

Mommy and Daddy

Parenthood is work.  But at the end of the day, the bliss of loving someone so wholly is not something I would ever trade.  My life is complete.

All Boy

What makes Jack laugh the hardest?  Watching me get bonked in the face by one of his toys.  In fact, during his diaper removal mayhem of fury these days, I’ve resorted to pretending to take a headbutt from the plastic key ring that I place in his hands to distract him from the woe that is the powdering of his tooshie.  It’s much more joyful to wipe poopies from the bottom of a baby vibrating in giggles than one who is flatlining in an anger strike.  Despite his pure love of bashing, smashing, clanging, gnawing and pounding, on the brink of his 9-month birthday, his movements are still quite gentle.  His outstretched index finger exploring the lid-covered cavity of my eye socket moves curiously slow and tender.  He is simply a boy becoming cognizant of his aggressive boundaries.  As long as we teach him the difference between playful roughhousing and inappropriate hurting, I don’t feel like we’re indoctrinating any bad habits.

Here Jack plays his favorite game: Disassembly Line.  I make it, Jack breaks it.  Really, this could go on for hours.  From the moment he slipped into the birth canal, there has never been any question that my son is all boy.

Innocence

It doesn’t matter how exhausted, how frustrated, how burned out.  When your child looks up at you with pure innocence and adoration, saying “teach me” with his eyes, everything else disappears.