Ode To The Container With The Green Lid

It lived in our kitchen. Snuggled between the fruit and the bread.

In the beginning, I thought it would be on the next shuttle to Dumpsterville. But it took up residence instead.

Several times a day, it occupied center stage. Letting us draw deeply from its bounty.

I loved it. I hated it. My independence. My failure. All twisted together in my head.

It made me worry, often, if my child was being short changed.

It made me do a little dance, when I realized I could fit into clothes from which I had sadly become estranged.

It was nourishment and comfort. The start and finish of each day.

It represented my son's babyhood.

And I could have done it a month ago... but today I threw it away.

Sock It To Me

When we found out that we were having a baby, a million things went through my mind. Is it healthy? Is it a boy or a girl? Will I be a good parent? Will I know what to do to make sure my child stays safe and happy? How do you bathe them? How many times a day do they eat? Are you really not supposed to take them out of the house for 30 days, or is that just an old wives tale?? Are they a drip dry or a towel dry item?

I think every new parent has a lot of questions, and we were no different. So I made sure that we had answers at our fingertips, by purchasing a variety of basic operating manuals. (One really should just pop out at the delivery, but alas that's not the way it works. I personally think it's a real failure by the packing department at the baby factory and someone should definitely talk to them immediately!) I made sure that we were set for diapering, breast feeding, fevers, shots, evaluating milestones and the full spectrum of poop, amongst other things. But little did I know, that all my wonderful guides and charts would fail me in one very particular way... they were all for babies, but not specifically for boy babies!

People should warn you. I mean it. Seriously warn you, that boy babies are different (DIFFERENT!) than girl babies. (And I'm not just talking about their nethers.)

I remember, before Dashell could even crawl, going to a playgroup and watching how the girl babies would just sit there so quiet and content with a single toy, and Dashy would want to look at this thing, and that thing, and the other thing. Always wanting to be handed something new and exciting, or he would begin to pitch a fit.

And once he could crawl, he was everywhere in the blink of an eye!! In the kitchen cupboards pulling out the tupperware. In the bedroom terrorizing the cat. In the bathroom working hard to flood the toilet. Meanwhile back at the Double X Ranch, the girls were politely sipping tea and delicately eating crumpets while musing about the virtues of stacking cups.

And now that he's walking, I expected a little of this...



















...and of course some of this...














(I mean, who doesn't expect to see their dirty-handed baby flashing gang signs?!)

But instead of being content with a casual stroll to examine this, that, and the other, he's, well actually, he's running. And tripping. And, well, running and running and running. Oh yeah, and did I mention tripping?! Which leads me to this...

Months alive..............................14.5
Trips to the Dentist.....................4
Trips to the Emergency Room...2

Yep. You read that right...2. TWO trips to the emergency room in the first 14.5 MONTHS of life!

Let me just recap the last few months for you:

- 1 dislodged tooth
- 1 chipped tooth
- 1 second degree burn
- 1 GIANT LUMP ON HIS FOREHEAD

On Friday Dashy ran, tripped and hit his head on the foot of one of our dining chairs and got this...
Which originally (I took this picture two days later) looked like he had decided to have half a plastic Easter egg surgically implanted under the skin of his forehead. Patricia, our nanny, called me in a panic when it happened, and drove over to the stage, where I was shooting, to let me have a look at the victim. She was on the verge of tears. He was smiling and giggling!


Since the giant goose egg on his forehead looked a little crazier than anything I'd seen in a long time, I thought it might be best to have him checked at the hospital for a concussion. So Dave, Patricia, and our unlucky sprinter headed over.

The doctor recommended that Dashy sleep with his head elevated on a pillow that night. (Are you kidding me?! The kid sleeps in a crib and spins around like a carousel all night long.) And, that we wake him every 3 hours to make sure that he is still alert. (After letting that recommendation sink in, let's all repeat rule number one: Never wake a sleeping baby!)

So all night long we slept (first Patricia for 3 hours, then Dave for 3 hours and then me for rest of the night) in the glider with Dashy in our arms. Not very comfortable for him, or for us. But all I could think was, what if something happened, and I was asked, "why did your child slip into a coma?" I would have no other response but, "Oh, I was uncomfortable sleeping in the chair all night, so I laid him down and, well, the rest is history."

So there we slept. And he slept. We woke him up every three hours, so he could smile brightly and go, "hi!" And then look around his darkened room and go, "wow!" And point to his books and ask to be read to. And then try out my pillow. And then squirm around on my lap. And then look around the room. And then notice something on the floor that looked, in the dim light, like it could be Ducky or Sheepy (his lovies), and ask me to pick it up for him. And then cuddle it and rub it on his face in delight. And then rub it on my face so I could enjoy it too. And then, finally, fall asleep in a position that kept the object pressed directly under my nose so I had no choice but to breathe deeply its distinctive scent and realize...

...that I would be stuck sleeping in a chair, all night long, inhaling the oh, so delightful fragrance of Dave's dirty sock!!

Aaaah, parenthood. Apparently, it really is the gift that just keeps on giving (me an ulcer!)

p.s. Both the dentist and the ER doctor said that they would bet money that we will be back again before he turns 2!

p.p.s. I'm thinking about calling him "Crash" from now on. What do you think?

As The Night Passes

In the dark of the night, I creep into the quiet house. Like the changing of the guard, the keeper of his days passes me the monitor and we nod a silent good-bye.

Click. The image of him sleeping, so peacefully, lights up the screen. My angel, I missed you so much today.

But, now, I am tired. Exhausted. My body hurts. I must lie down and close my eyes too.

Oh, blissful sleep. A seeming luxury, a true necessity. How long can I continue without you as my companion? I lie here waiting for your comforting arms to envelop me.

A cry. Whimper. Crying. Fumbling. Click.

He cries softly to himself. I watch him. I wait.

Silence.

Again, a cry.

I ache to hold him but exhaustion pulls me tight to the bed.

And, silence.

A wail is uttered. A whimper. A cry.

A decision.

I stumble through the black of his room and lift him gently. The weight of his tiny head on my shoulder gives solace to me. And him.

In the dark we settle. Comforting each other.

Outside the misty veil of morning pushes night back into its lonely corners.

His eyes lie beneath the heavy drapes of sleep. His sweet breath rhythmically keeps pace with the passing time.

I try to memorize every detail. Each beautiful eyelash. Each wisp of hair. The set of his sleeping lips. Soon he will be gone from my arms. Soon, too soon, I will be gone too.

Silence.

Breath.

He laughs.

Oh, to have the dreams of children.

I smile and know why there was no reservation when I was beckoned tonight.

For this, I longed.

This is my dream.

It's a thingy, of course!

Conversations in our house, these days, go kind of like this...

"Aaah-ba. Aaaah-ba."

"That's right Dashy, water. The cow, moo moo, on that page is drinking the water."

"Woo-woo! Woo-woo!"

"Yep, that's a train. Woo-woo. It's going past the cow. Moo. Moo. See the boy on the fence waving 'hi'?"

"Hi," Dashy waves, turns the page, and signs for bird. "Vroom. Vroom."

"That's right there's a bird and a car. Vroom. Vroom. Very good."

If anyone was listening outside, they would think that we were complete loons! But lately, Dashy's been getting his ideas across in a mixed language of words, signs and sound effects. (Is it the animators in Dave and me that brought the whole sound effect thing to the table, or is that normal? You tell me. I'd love to know.) And it seems to be working for everyone so far. Dash has been picking up on things quickly, so I've been trying to give him all the options to identify an animal or an object whenever possible.

Like cow, we're working on the sign, but I keep giving him the word and sound effects as backup options. (Who doesn't like options, right?!) But, then there are things like turtles. They don't really make any sound and "turtle" is a pretty hard word, so we've been working a sign for it (since Dash has developed a bit of a facination with turtles.)

Tonight in tub we were working on this sign. I helped him model it a few times and then he pointed to his turtle and tried to model it himself. But I think that he knew he wasn't quite getting right, because he grabbed my hand as if to say, "help me model it mommy." So I helped him again and he tried again and then grabbed my hand again. And we did this a few times until he moved onto his boat. (Turtles can only be interesting for so long!)

So here's the thing...

Dash has this lovely boat that he got for his birthday (thank you Lauren, Rebekah, and Bryan!) He kept pointing to the anchor and saying, "Ooo dat?" So I would say the word. And then he would point to the window and I would say the word.














And for a while we went round and round talking about the window and the anchor.

Then he pointed to this...



















...and I got all flustered and said, "Fan! Oh, no, wait, um... propeller. Yep, propeller! I think." (It looks like a fan, right?!)

And then he was back to the anchor and the window for a while and I started to relax until...

...suddenly, out of the blue,...

...he pointed to this...















"Ooo dat?!" he exclaimed.

"Um... uuuummm..." was all I could come up with.

I mean, what heck is that called??! I don't know.

So I said, "Turn-y thing-y."

And Dash just looked at me like this...



















Sorry kid. I think I just let you down.

What can I say? I was at a loss for words. I totally did not expect to be in this predicament yet. Isn't this supposed to come next year when they start asking, "Why? Why?!" I have been bracing myself for the why's; I just hadn't prepared for the, "Ooo dat?!"

So now, I'm going to have to start spending all my free time going through the house figuring out what everything's proper name is, because the kid obviously seems to know when I'm fakin' it!

In The Fullest Sense Of The Word

In case there were any doubts, about our grasp of "moon", after last night's post...



















Yep. I'd say we get it.... full moon that is!!

(btw, the hat was totally Dashy's idea. He kept signing for "hat" over and over until I put it on his head. Honest!)

I love you to the moon... and back.

For about a week or so, Dashy and I have been talking about the moon. Pointing it out in all of his books. Comparing different illustrative interpretations of it. It's amazing how many children's books have pictures of the moon in them. (Maybe this is because it is darn hard to find a children's book that is not about, or resolves at, bedtime!) And like a lot of things at this age, you think he gets it, but you never really know. (For instance, while we were learning the word "eye", he would announce very proudly "Eye!!" while pointing to his... ear.)

So this past weekend, while we were walking back home, after digging in the dirt of our neighbor's garden for quite a while (thank goodness all of our older neighbors are smitten with young Dash!), it took me by surprise when he pointed up at the sky, in the direction of the moon, and exclaimed, "Nana!" [Note: Lately, this is the word he uses as a substitute for any word he is working on, but has not mastered yet.]

I praised him (of course) and said, "Yes, yes that's the moon." But being the dubious person that I am, I wasn't fully convinced that it was actually the moon he was pointing at. After all, there were several large trees and a bird in the general vicinity. But, he continued pointing and proclaiming "Nana! Nana!" as we made our way down the street.

Suddenly some of the tall trees obstructed our view of the moon, and Dashy became very agitated. This is when I began to suspect that maybe I should have had a little more faith in my son's mastery of the whole "moon" concept. Because as soon as we cleared the trees, and could see the moon again, Dashy calmed down and was back to pointing and declaring "Nana!" (And this time it was only thing in our line of sight.)

So yes, yes young Dashell, I do believe that you have begun to understand "moon".

It's things like this that you want to remember. That make your soul sing. That make you just want to hug the little bugger 'til he pops!

So, here I commit it. Here, I will remember it. Here, this moment will not be forgotten. (Because Dashy has a baby book, but hell if I've ever written anything it! How's that for being a Class A mom?!)

Animal Instincts

Most animals are born with a survival instinct. They naturally (and rightfully) fear annihilation and death. And consequently, enact behaviors to protect themselves from any potential danger at hand. Puppies, kittens, babies (and pill bugs!) curl up into the fetal position when frightened. And adults? Well, we run like hell in the opposite direction! It's natural. It's sensible.

So why do we question that behavior in our young, when we place them in situations that we know have a bit of a danger factor, and that, consequently, they might instinctively view as detrimental to their well being?

Why do we question it when, instead of being content and happy and going along for the ride, they scream and protest and try to high-tail it away from the perceived danger? Hmmm...

Maybe we should celebrate the fact that these children have a deep-seated survival instinct.

Maybe instead of thinking, "Oh, why is my child not as easy going as Baby XYZ?"

I should be thinking, "If a big, hungry bear showed up tomorrow my child would probably do something wonderfully instinctual and survive, whereas Baby XYZ would just crawl on over and offer themselves as the main course for dinner!"

Or....

...maybe I'm just trying to come up with an excuse as to why it took soooooo long for my child to enjoy (sometimes, periodically, on occasion) being thrown up in the air, jiggled and bounced around. Or why, after watching everybody have wonderful beach experiences, ours did not go exactly the way I had imagined it would.

I haven't had many preconceived ideas where Dashell has been concerned. I had no dreams of a perfect, magical, natural birth experience. (Thank goodness!!) I had no fantasies about when he would crawl or walk or talk or even what that would be like. (Or, for that matter, what he would be like.) But, I did think that the boy would like the beach.

I mean, all the pieces were there... Dashell LOVES his sandbox. And the beach, well, is just a really big sandbox, right? And he LOVES water. All water. The kid isn't picky in the least. (Unless you count not liking wet grass. But who the heck likes wet grass?!)

So, it definitely took me by surprise when this was his reaction to the beach...


I'm not sure if it was the loudness of the waves breaking, or the size of the breaking waves in relation to his size, or the general size of the ocean, but the beach was definitely not where he wanted to be and he made it very, very clear.

And, just in case you are wondering... no, it did not get any better longer we were there. I don't think Dash could have pointed toward the exit more times in an hour than he did! We did get him to play in the sand by himself for a few brief moments...



















... before he quickly demanded to climb back into my lap.



















And proceeded to cling to me like a baby monkey while being tempted every so often by his overwhelming desire to crush Dave's sandcastles...














...and then coat me in sand.

































We tried to show him the planes and the birds and the boats to get his mind off the fact that the ocean is obviously (given his reaction) a scary, scary place that would love to gobble up little children for breakfast, lunch and dinner! (Ok, I admit it, maybe there is a grain of truth there.)

But looking back at the pictures I don't think he ever really, truly relaxed the whole trip.















































Well, maybe that is not entirely true...

On our way home from the beach we stopped at a very well known Tiki restaurant that Dave and I use to frequent quite regularly before Dashell was born. This particular restaurant is known for their ribs, their potent tropical drinks (the accoutrements of which definitely helped Dashy get into the spirit!)...














...and their fish... tanks, that is. They have tanks of fish everywhere. One on both sides of every booth...



















...in the waiting area (where their star attraction is Rufus, who has been featured in a lot of movies)...














...in the bar, behind the bar, in the hallways, on the way to bathroom. Like I said, EVERYWHERE. And Dashy loved it!

So I don't know how soon we'll be back at the beach, but I think we might be dining out again in the very near future!