developments

We had a couple of developmental steps this weekend. David actually has "playtimes" now wherein he will lay on a little quilted mat and kick and thrash, hit at toys that hang from foam bars that arch over the mat, and laugh at his farts. Playtime ends with a poo and a nap. Someday "playtime" will be replaced with "Readers Digest time". During his playtime on Saturday, I put one of his (many) noise-making toys within reach of his right foot so that it would make noise when kicked. It didn't take long for David to figure this out and started kicking rapidly with his right foot while rarely with his left foot--probably ten kicks right to one kick left. Then, I moved the toy over to the left side. After a couple of kicks, he figured out what was going on and started kicking rapidly with his left foot. However, he also kept up with the right foot. It was pretty thrilling. But it doesn't end there. He has more extremities, right?

Yesterday (Sunday), during playtime, I noticed that he was grabbing his shirt a lot. Excited by this, I put one of his toys on his chest. He grabbed it at brought to (near) his mouth! This is very exciting as being able to hold things is an important stage in his growth. He doesn't actually hold anything for very long yet, but he is the Helen Keller of grabbing things--I can grab daddy's shirt and I can grab daddy's skin and I can grab mommy's necklace and I can grab hair add a that belt and. . ..

He is ten weeks old today. According to What to Expect the First Year, he should be able to accept bribes, reverse his position according to the lobbyist in his office, and lie while smiling . . .wait, sorry, that's according to What to Expect When You are Elected.

We spent this weekend at Grandpa Gary's. David's uncle Grant and Aunt Tina got to meet him for the first time. It was great fun. I have photos but the computer is in the shop (I'm typing on Skylar's). I will post them soon, promise.

later

Blogger's spell-check did not recognize "farts" or "poo." There must not be a lot of baby blogs at Blogger.

congratulations

I keep forgetting to post a hardy CONGRATULATIONS! to our friends Glen and Rachel.  After about seven months of nesting and constipation, they will get their very own real live human baby to fret over, coo over, raise right and, hopefully, blog about.

We look forward to pregnancy posts, papa!

my son is immune

My son is now immune. He is immune to Polio and a four other little bugs that were once the scourge of humanity. For about 10 minutes, he was immune to any attempts to console his feverish wailing. He was immune to his mother's tears and his father's assurances that the world is an ok place, really.

Many of you were at the baptism and pitied his moans at being dunked a few times in warm water. You think it is just cruel to be so mean to a helpless little infant. You can just stick a sock in it because you didn't get to stand there while two nurses buried three needles into his chubby little thighs and then held them there for the length of time it takes to empty several mm of impotent viruses into him--about six thousand years by my watch. Small things can make big noises, like nuclear bombs and my son when being pierced like a Menelaus during a Trojan truce.

Prior to being stuck (three times), he weighed in at 12 pounds, 8 ounces and measured 24 inches long. I forget what percentiles those are, but they are both middlin'. So he is "height/weight proportional" as they say in the singles ads when they don't want to come off as being hung up in unrealistic body image expectations, but also don't want a fatty. Well David is going to have a hard time in the singles market because, when you are two months old, h/wp=fatty--fatty enough to bury three needles in your thighs.

I decided that our doctor's personality is similar to Dooce. That may seem like a difficult thing to determine since Dooce is an internet personality whom I have never met, and our doctor is a doctor and so I have only spent about 10 cumulative minutes with her. Let's just say that I have a gift for making quick, uninformed, and extremely accurate judgments about people's personalities and leave it at that. You will never meet either of them (or at least not both of them) so you can't say that I am wrong. She wasn't present for the sticking because she can't handle seeing babies get stuck.

We are all moved into mom's (happy, mom?) house. We now basically sleep atop a blanket thrown over a pile of boxes containing our possessions. We set up the crib and were very pleased to discover how much storage space there is underneath it. We were then more pleased to discover how much storage space there is inside of it. Those things are as deep and wide as God's Love for me. We can pretty much put all of the winter clothes inside of ours.

Jaime did a little photo shoot with Dawit recently and got some charming images. I bet you wish you could see them, don't you? Patience. For everything, there is a time.

two months

I can only take a moment, but I feel obligated to post at the two-month mark (which was two days ago).

The event was somewhat overshadowed by the fact that we are moving.

David seems to be a happy little baby and very active--kicking and flailing like mad just to let us know that he is awake and ready for . . . whatever. His grip is getting very strong--painful at times--and more deliberate. He still flails his head when he is sleepy. He gets fussy, rears his head back, slams his face into my collar-bone, and then gets this pouty look on his face like I hit him.

This morning he made sounds that were all the world like a laugh. If anything at all were going on to stimulate him, I would swear that he was laughing. But we were not doing anything. We were just watching him thrash violently and fart. Maybe he is at the stage where he thinks farts are funny--I hear that boys go through that.

He slept for five hours straight on Monday night which is the clinical definition of "sleeping through the night" (clinicians sleep a lot less than the average person), but he hasn't slept more than about two hours at a time since then. My conversation with Jaime yesterday:

Me: How is David?
Jaime: (sleepy, frustrated) I don't like David very much today
Me: Well, you don't have to like him everyday.

We are moving in with my parents and their two dogs and a snake. David now has the pleasure of four people watching him. I don't know what he thinks about it, but Jaime and I think that it rocks. Really, it is the only way to have kids. If you have a baby, I recommend that you just go find another couple to live with and all four of you raise it. On those days were you don't like the baby, someone else can spend time with him, acting as a buffer. He or she could grow up that way: "This is my mom and dad and these are my buffer parents for those days when mom and dad don't feel like I'm worth the effort."

Ok, if I think of anything else interesting, I'll post.

this fussy week post is brought to you in part by . . .

I see when I visit the site (yes, I visit my own blog) that there is
advertising at the top that relates directly to what I have posted.
Blogger, now owned by Google, has little programs, much like those in hit
film "The Matrix," that read my posts and then search for advertising
related to keywords in the content. So I am comforted to know that even if you are not reading this, Google is, and they could buy and sell you at this point. So I will try to post entries that are more conducive to advertising links so that we can keep this endeavor free of charge.

David, who only wears onesies by Gerber or Carter, has been particularly
fussy this week. He seems to be having sinus problems. He refuses to sleep on his back and when we lay him on his back to change his Pampers brand diapers, he fusses and his breathing is noticeably louder. We have been treating him with Little Noses saline solution and trying to suck out the snot with a Little Noses snot sucker bulb but with little success.
Additionally, he seems to be having tummy problems again, which makes him
cry for hours at a time and spit up his milk and Similac Brand Formula with Alumentum. Jaime suspects that the drainage from his nose is getting into his tummy, which is what happens when she gets a cold. And he will not sleep. In spite of all of our tricks and soothing and coaxing and cooing and dancing, he simply stays awake until his is so tired and cranky, that he just exhausts himself and can't hold his eyes open.

But when he is not fussy, he makes up for it by being more charming than
ever. He is smiling lots more, for instance. He is supposed to be
developing his social smile about now. He is so gassy that it is difficult to tell the difference between his frequent gassy smiles and anything else--when in doubt, we call it a social smile. He certainly focuses on things more--especially his mom. Several times I have seen him look straight at her and smile. His arm movements are much more coordinated. He can now successfully get his hand to his mouth seven times out of ten, which means he smacks himself in the eye much less frequently. We could hook some sort of generator to his legs and power the apartment with his constant, violent kicking. I was awakened yesterday by what felt like the U.S. Olympic synchronized swim team practicing treading on my back. I turned over to tell them that they aren't really athletes to discover that it was just David letting me know that he is hungry.

So he is fussy and charming. This is to keep us from refusing to eventually let him go while also preventing us giving him to the next person we see out the window.

Dreaming of dropping my son and taking care of four-year-olds

A friend asked me this week if I have dropped David yet. This is one of the most empathetic and insightful questions that I have been asked so far. The answer, of course is "no," but it is something that I think about ALL THE TIME. I try to take reasonable precautions and stay relaxed about it. I remind myself that, while dropping the baby is not good, it is not the end of the world. I am sure that many babies have been dropped and lived to tell about it if only in simple stuttering monosyllables. But I have had two horribly vivid dreams about dropping him. In the first, he fell out of his improperly fastened car seat as we were leaving the hospital. In another, he fell asleep on top of his mom and then rolled off on to the floor. Since he was born I have had frequent weird anxiety dreams, but dropping the baby dreams are certainly the worst.

Someday David will be four, which I think is my favorite age. Four-year-olds are charming. They have mastered communication well enough to carry on a conversation, but they are still as innocent as the angels. I have
recently been in the company of some four-year-olds at work. I read a story to one and then we wrestled. The other needed some help with the various stages of going to the bathroom and his mom was busy, so he asked me. He only knew me as the guy that wouldn't let him run in the gallery, but he couldn't get his pants back up and I have obviously mastered getting pants up, so it made sense to him to ask me. It was charming. Any younger, and he would have not had the skill to even try the potty without mom; any older and he will not need the help and will know not to ask strangers. It is sad. I love talking to little kids, and I really want my son to be able to talk to strangers, to feel comfortable sharing and asking for assistance, but I know that it simply is not a safe proposition. I know that sometime around age four, I will have to teach him not to talk to strangers, but I am very glad that when these little boys needed attention from someone, I was the stranger at hand.

jaime's first mother's day--jason battles dingos

I am thinking about paying my mother-in-law to live with us. Grandma Susie is packing up to return to Colorado and we shall miss her. She has taken good care of David and Jaime while I was living at the Museum, and she is great with the baby. We have gotten really spoiled--sleeping more than the average parents and dealing with a crying baby less. When he really gets going and we just don't want deal with it, we turn on the bat-signal and grandma comes to save the day (night). No more. Now we have to go for a whole week of parenting by ourselves before we move in with Jaime's mother-in-law.

We spent Jaime's first mother's day with family in Kansas City. It was a rare opportunity for four generations to be together. Company included David's second-cousin, Sam. I was remiss in not posting the news about Sammy's birth less than 48 hours before David was born. He was born to Jaime's first cousin Michelle, and her husband Cary. But I have an alibi for my neglect--namely a bill that proves I was busy at the hospital for a couple of days myself. The two babies are pretty cute together and when they are both crying, it's a lovely concert.

A story about Jaime's very first Mother's Day present:

Unbeknownst (sp?) to Jaime, I snuck off to the Mall one evening after work to get the present she told me that she wanted. I knew that she and her mom were on the West side of town at the same time that I was at Penney's. Well, I could guess that anyway. I think they spent more time in Sam's Club than at the apartment these last three weeks. However, I didn't think they had any need to go to the Mall. Just as I finished paying for her gift, I heard a baby cry. The hair on my neck stood on end and I went into hyper-alertness. That was not just some random crying baby; that was My Son. I took up my spear and headed off towards my offspring's distressed cries ready to battle dingos to save his life, if need be. I spotted him across the housewares department. Dingos didn't have him, thank God. Grandma Susie did. She saw me and I motioned for her to keep quiet as I snuck away before Jaime saw me.

I just thought it was very cool. I grew up on a rich diet of programs like "Mutual of Omaha's 'Wild Kingdom.'" Plain's grazers in Africa and momma bears in the Rockies can always distinguish the cry of their own offspring. So if a dingo goes after the calf of some Africa Gazelle, it will cry out and the mother can immediately know that something is amiss because dingos are an exclusively Australian species. So chances are the distressed calf is just crying "dingo" to get attention. I think that must be what David was doing.

go dad!

It loses some impact online, but the Museum made the cover of the weekend A&E guide. Check out the article, then come to the museum.

I don't care how far away you are.

chin chin chin chin chest

Earlier in the week, I was going to post a follow-up to the previous whining about how my son doesn't like me. I was going to tell you that the Thrush has persisted and that the Phanar of Flatulance is showing more symptoms and that is probably why he is so fussy. Jaime noticed persistent whitish stuff on his tongue and she has been experiencing continued pain while feeding him. I was going to apologize for casting aspersions on his ability to show me the love and respect that that he owes me as my son.

Thrush, however, is not the problem. The Big News this week is that Poops-a-Lot and Leaks-a-Lot do not have thrush anymore. They went to the doctor who examined them thoroughly and told Jaime that there are no signs or symptoms of Thrush. As it turns out, the whitish stuff is normal and mothering just hurts sometimes. Who knew?

This medical opinion of course contradicts the opinion our our synod of Lactation Consultants with all their womanly instinctual earth-goddess wisdom. They were disappointed when we called to cancel the leeching.

I am thrilled. No more boiling everything all the time. No more feeding Froggy Toes medication that could make his liver look that of an aging alcoholic.

Of course it leaves me with my original hypothesis that Squirmy is an unappreciative twerp.

The Dough-boy has topped eleven pounds. Jaime tried to count all of his chins but gave up after she got to the top of his diaper. The Doctor says that his weight is in the 57th percentile. This is the same percentage of people who would rather "hold it" than use scratchy, public restroom toilet paper.

Grandma Suzie got the stains out of the baptismal gown. Thank you Grandma Suzie!

As many as have been Baptized into Christ

"Many Years" to the Newly Illumined Servant of God, Joachim! And to his Godfather, Jason Huck!

It was a good baptism and churching. I have posted a couple of photos at the photoblog. If you were present and took pictures, please send me copies, thank you.

I was very pleased with the number of relatives that attended. Jaime and I are the only Orthodox Christians in either of our families but they came out in full force. The place was packed with people who didn't know where to stand. Thanks to all of them.

Our strategic feeding scheme didn't work out, so David was crying and hungry during much of the ceremony, but not terrible. There were a couple of times that it was clear he didn't understand that his Godfather is only good for spiritual food. Just before the immersion, while Fr. Michael was blessing the waters, we had to strip him and change his diaper so that he would have a clean one to be pulled off at the last minute. It took three of us--one changed a diaper, one pulled off his clothes, and one held a bottle in his mouth to try to calm him.

The actual immersing was great. Three times under and then a sort of startled silence like he was double-checking "did you just do what I think you did?!?!" and then a cry that I haven't heard before--loudly indignant. It was the very same tone he will use five years from now when he sobs to the bully on the playground "wait'll I tell my mommy!"

You will see in the churching photos the beautiful baptismal gown that he is wearing. Grandma Suzie made that, finishing it just a couple hours before this photo. By the end of the night he had christened the gown itself with just about every fluid a baby can produce. He has this new trick of pushing raw umber poo out the top of the back of his diaper. Nasty.

Because of extenuating circumstances, it was a slightly more stressful day than it needed to be but it ended well--an exhausted David and two exhausted parents resting in bed together content to let the Big World turn for awhile. A very good day. Thank God.