M. spent the morning at her grandparents' house today. When I arrived to pick her up, she was just waking from a nap. After a few minutes cuddling with Grammy to shake the cobwebs, she hopped down onto the floor, started grunting and pointing around the corner, and then took off towards my father-in-law’s office. “You’ve got to see this,” he said. I followed her into the office and found her sitting in front of an old, electric typewriter.
I had put this list of M.’s latest tricks and treats together over the weekend, expecting to post it Monday. I haven’t edited for dating, so if anything is odd about tenses etc, my apologies. One addition, we were at the grocery store Tuesday and put her on the mechanical horse for the first time. A penny buys about a minute of ride time. She loved it! Laughed, screamed, smiled. She was so entertaining that some random woman came over, gave us a penny, and said, “She’s having too much fun to stop.
In recent weeks, I’ve been eating a lot of meals on my own. Changing a lot of diapers by myself. Spending a lot of evenings alone in the basement with the TV on, the laptop open, or a book in my lap. Read after the jump to find out the cause for all these oddities. No, S. hasn’t left me. Rather, like our two friends named Jennifer in Kansas City who also had children in July 2004, we are expecting our second child in May 2006.
M. went in for her 15 month check-up today. No real changes, but here are the numbers. 24 lbs, 6 oz. Still 75th percentile. 29 3/4 inches. Still 25th percentile. Head circumference 49 centimeters, still 95th percentile. Of course, she’s in the 99th percentile with the hair. A smooth, regular rate of growth on her little chart. Where’s that growth spurt at? In the spirit of completely jinxing her for her booster shot in four weeks, she did wonderfully with her MMR and flu shots.
Ahh Portland. Fair city of books, beer, NPR listeners, and misty days. I’ve had the good fortune to travel there many times in the last few years. This weekend was the first time S. was able to tag along with me, along with M. who got to meet her god-parents. Some highlights below the jump. First, and perhaps most importantly, M. traveled like a dream. She got some help from the magic solution known as Benadryl, but that has failed in the past so it was no guarantee.
Allow me to state, for maybe the millionth time in my life, that vacations don’t last nearly long enough. We arrived home safe, happy, yet tired this afternoon from our trip to Portland. M. travelled phenomenally well. Almost good enough to trick us into taking her on another long plane trip, until we remembered our next trip won’t be in the spacious luxury of First Class. I bet her moods and behavior would have been radically different had we been packed into Coach seats.
It was 30 years ago tonight that Carlton Fisk knocked a pitch off the left field foul pole at Fenway Park, ending one of the greatest baseball games ever played. Shockingly enough, ESPN Classic has devoted most of its daytime programming to the event. First, they aired the game in a slightly condensed version (“We’re skipping ahead to the top of the 8th inning, with Cincinnati leading 6-3…") followed by a feature on Carlton Fisk and then one about the series as a whole.
I was drafting a post about how it was a tough night for my many St. Louis friends when I got a strange feeling. The Colts had just extended their lead over the Rams to 11 points. I closed the draft, set the PowerBook aside, and flipped the picture-in-picture so I could focus on Albert Pujols, who was batting for the Cardinals. Down two runs, two outs, two on, top of the ninth.
During the third quarter of the USC-Notre Dame game Saturday (PHEEEENOMENAL game, it should go without saying. It provoked massive use of picture-in-picture, a blister on my remote thumb, and my biggest yell for a college football game my alma mater wasn’t involved in since Kordell went deep against Michigan in 1994) it was time for M’s afternoon snack. I sat her in her high chair, positioned some mac & cheese and green beans on her tray, made sure her sippy cup was full, and slipped into the living room so I could continue to watch.
We went to our local<a href=“http://www.carters.com/">Carter’s store Friday to buy M. some cold weather pajamas. It seems the days of her sleeping in just her diaper and a t-shirt are over, at least until next spring. There’s a little play area for kids to occupy themselves while parents shop, so M. and I hit that while S. checked out the latest in sleep-wear trends for toddlers (Bunnies and Duckies are the new black).
I’ve never been big on wearing sports jerseys. But the unveiling of the new Pacers gear last week got me thinking, for a moment, about purchasing one. I was thinking more of something in M’s size but still, I was in that ballpark. Even when the Cowboys were at their height in the early 90s, I never thought of buying an Aikman, Smith, or Irvin jersey. Now a Haley or Woodson one would have been sweet, but still, the thought never crossed my mind.
M. decided not to nap on Tuesday. We attempted to put her down six times over the course of the day. Only two were successful, and each of those turned out to be very brief naps. The process of getting her down for what should have been her morning nap but turned into a midday nap ended up being magic, though. After two attempts, S. was spent and was trying to get a nap of her own on the living room couch.
Some kids on campus called me “Sir” last week. I thought my short hair made me look younger, too. Since I had M. to myself Friday and Sunday, I ended up watching more of the President’s Cup than I cared to. I came to the conclusion that there’s nothing in sports sillier than fans at these “international” golf tournaments. Actually, I should clarify that it is generally the American fans at these events who are silly.
I haven’t given a detailed update of M.’s doings in several weeks. Part of that is because we had our first extended rough period with her a few weeks back. In fact, the Saturday before Labor Day was by far the worst day I’ve ever had alone with her. Nothing seemed to please her during that stretch. Not Motrin, not food, not naps, not playing. Happily, it seems as though she’s gotten through whatever her issues were and is back to being her normal funny self.
As I wrote about last spring, it’s always a little disconbobulating adjusting my expectations for the academic world today as compared to how it operated when I was an undergrad. When I was finally finishing up my bachelor’s degree, e-mail was just beginning to become a form of staying in touch with your instructors and other students. Today, e-mail is often the primary form of out-of-class communication. IUPUI has, and I imagine most schools do, a rather formal method for putting classroom resources on-line called Oncourse.
Writer’s block is a weird thing. I’m fortunate in that I can almost always sit down at the keyboard and start tapping out thoughts. Where I struggle, though, is getting beyond that first writing session. One of the great things about blogging is that it is largely a first draft medium. Have some thoughts on the Super Bowl, politics, or a stupid TV show? Sit down, crank them out, post them.
As if there was any doubt about M’s paternity, over the weekend she demonstrated a new trick that sealed it. For several weeks, she’s been able to turn the portable stereo we keep in our three season room on-and-off, using either the remote or the main power switch. We ended up having to take the batteries out of the remote, because she also discovered the Volume Up button. We’d be in another room, hear the stereo come on, then quickly crank all the way up, followed by screaming.
It’s been very difficult not to be affected by the video and stories coming out of the Gulf Coast. When I first heard the comparisons to either the Asian tsunami or Hiroshima, I thought it was an utterly ridiculous analogy. As the shocking video began to roll in on Tuesday, though, it seemed increasinly apt. I believe that I, like many well-meaning people, viewed the events of last December through the prism of living in suburban America.
It totally freaked me out this morning when M. came walking around the corner on her own.
Being married to a pediatrician, I’ve learned that developmental milestones for infants/toddlers are very fluid. For every kid that does something right on schedule, there are two who do it early and two that do it late. Despite my knowledge of this, it has still been a little disappointing that M. hadn’t started walking yet. After all, her boyfriend Big Sam B. was walking at what, nine months? Seven months? Six months?