Puh bll

We recently gave Jack a puzzle he'd received for Christmas. It had a few smallish pieces and we weren't sure he was ready for it at the time he got it. Pretty sure it came from his aunt Robin, since there's a sticker on the back saying it was made in Ireland. It's a puzzle of polar bears, penguins, and seals frolicking on a patch of ice, while whales swim about in the water below.

So I opened the plastic on the puzzle and he instantly took out all the pieces, which made putting it together kind of difficult since there wasn't a picture guide and I didn't remember what it looked like. But after several hours of work I managed to assemble it again, just so Jack could again destroy it.

Early on it was clear he had a certain fondness for two pieces (one of which, I'm sad to say, has since disappeared to parts unknown.) One is a little baby polar bear, riding on its mommy's (or daddy's, who knows, they're polar bears) back. The second is the smiling HEAD of the adult polar bear, who shall remain gender unknown. I'd build the puzzle, he'd wreck the puzzle, and then he'd go running off through the house - he's basically started running, about three weeks after starting walking - with one of these pieces in each hand.

As you can imagine, Jack digging the puzzle out from where we kept it underneath his bookshelves, scattering its pieces across his room, and then running through the house with two of them, wasn't really conducive to putting him to sleep as part of his bedtime routine. So yesterday, we tried putting it away - I hid it in the back office while Emily gave Jack his bath.

Later, I'm working, and Emily is getting Jack into his pajamas and ready for bed, when I hear, faintly, him saying "puh bll.....puh bll....puh bll...." Emily informs me he's down on the floor, looking under his bookshelves for the puzzle. "puh bll....puh bll..." How could we resist that? We bring out the puzzle, he lights up, grabs his two favorite pieces, and he's happy.

The question (among others, like did we give in too easily to his plaintive cries) is, is he saying "Puzzle," or "Polar bear"? Because we've referred to it as a puzzle, and to the polar bears as polar bears. And even if he IS saying "Puzzle," does he think he's referring to the polar bears?

If you'll excuse me, I have to go try to find that other piece.

Scary phone calls

The phone rang around midday yesterday; it was Jack's daycare. "We've had a little crisis, not a big crisis," said Mary, the director. As I freaked out, she explained that Jack had fallen on the playground and hit the back of his head, and she described the wound as a "puncture." This of course did not have me freaking out any less, and she hadn't even gotten to the part about the blood.

"He didn't even cry, and was walking around afterward, but after we cleaned up the blood he seemed kind of sleepy. Now, it's near his naptime, so maybe he was just tired, but we want to make sure it's not a concussion." I said, we'd be right there, hung up, called the doctor, frantically told them the story, wanted to get him in for an appointment, and they said, well, what we have people do is go and get their child, and then call us from there, because sometimes what people hear from the daycare isn't 100 percent accurate. So go get him, and then call us."

I called Emily's office, because she's about 5 minutes away from Jack's daycare, and got voicemail. Called her cell, got her, and she said she was on a conference call and could she call me back? I said Jack fell at school and one of us had to go get him. She said Okay! Bye! and presumably got off the conference call in seconds flat. And then we talked again as she headed over. I left out the word "punctured." I asked her to call me with the details and said I'd meet her at the doctor.

The next 10 minutes really were the longest of my life. I paced, I fretted, I looked daggers at the phone, I lamented the fact that Jack cried when I dropped him off that morning, and hugged my legs - it happens sometimes after a long weekend, which he'd just had with us. I ran through scores of worst-case scenarios. I tried to will the phone to ring. I called Emily and left a message.

Finally she called. Jack was fine, normal, happy. Just a cut on the back of his head, probably a rock. She'd called the doctor from there and they'd told her that we should keep an eye on him and let them know if any problems. Last night Emily brought Jack home, he was happy and smiling, I think he bonked me on the forehead at some point with one of his toys, and then he went to sleep, ultimately, and we all had a good night.

And I vowed to go out with him Thursday to get him a new pair of sneakers, ones that he maybe won't be as apt to fall in.

I don't get scared a lot. I usually just figure things will be okay and work themselves out, or at least I try to believe that stuff. But I guess there's not much scarier than a scary phone call from somebody watching your child.

I'm going to go listen to him sleeping.

Funniest. Kid. Ever.

I think of all the things we were told and not told about having a baby, the one thing we were never told is just how much he would make us laugh. For example....

1. We frequently toast each other at meals with a clink of glasses, and it wasn't long before Jack wanted to join. Now when we raise our glasses, Jack lunges for his cup of milk and breaks out into a huge smile. And we toast each other and drink.

2. Tonight I taught Jack this thing one of Emily's co-workers was doing at a Happy Hour last week, knocking fists and "blowing it up" - pulling his hand away afterwards with his fingers splayed out wildly. I did this with Jack, and he cracked up. Repeatedly. Causing us to crack up, repeatedly.

3. In the evenings, as Jack runs around burning off his evening energy, he farts a lot. There's nothing quite as amusing as Jack bending down to lift a heavy object and ripping a little toddler fart. Which he is indifferent to, of course, which makes it all the funnier.

4. We expect children to get attached to certain toys, or stuffed animals, which is why the things that Jack has so far been attached to -- his shoes, and a box of magic markers -- are pretty entertaining. He'll walk around the house holding his shoes, or our shoes -- once he was wearing a pair of my shoes on each arm. And he of course accompanies his journeys with dialogue, which goes something like this: "Shoe............................Shoe...........
........Shoes.................Shoe....." As for the magic markers, I don't really understand that one, but he likes to carry this box of 8 thick magic markers around the house, and occasionally they fall out, and he'll stop, stoop, sometimes fart, and methodically place them back in the box, then continue on his way. The height of amusement was when we had taken the box away at some point, when he was distracted, and he couldn't find them but DID find the strip of cardboard that used to be on top of the box, before it had torn off in his hands. So he walked around with the strip of cardboard for a little while.

5. He tends to like to treat me as a horsie, whether I'm ready for it or not. So I can be sitting or lying on the floor, say, and he'll climb on top of me, get into a sitting position, and then start bouncing up and down on my stomach. And he's beaming and going "AAAA! AAAA! AAAA! AAAA!" in time with his horseback riding, and I'm going "Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" as my midriff gets worked over painfully. And I'm laughing, which makes me even less braced for the bouncing. He's not light anymore.

I guess I just didn't realize I'd laugh so much, even though I feel like I'm incredibly busy, not getting enough sleep, and have way too much on my mind. So thanks, Jack, for the laughs. Keep 'em coming.

Belly of the Baby

One of the standard games we've played for a while with Jack is getting him to indentify body parts. "Where are Jack's eyes?" "Where is Daddy's nose?" "Where are Mommy's ears?" and so on and so forth. One that fascinates him of late is The Belly.

"Where is Jack's belly?" He'll drop whatever he's doing or holding and lift up his shirt so he can gaze down at his belly button. It's almost like he's surprised to see it there - raising his shirt and HEY! Look at that. It's Jack's belly!

The game has evolved to the point where Jack is amused, or intrigued, or otherwise insistent upon seeing OUR bellies, too. He'll walk purposefully up to me and grab at my shirt, so I'll raise it and say, "Yup, there's Daddy's belly." Jack accepts this information with great satisfaction, then will typically show his, and look for Mommy....This continues for a little while.

It is my fervent hope that he does not go to day care and walk around getting all of his little friends and adult teachers to show him their bellies, as well.

Five Things My Son Did This Week

1. Yesterday afternoon I was having kind of a rough day. Charlie's been kind of a challenge lately, and I had a lot of work I was trying to get done, and I was beat. Emily was a little sick and came home early, so she was watching Jack for a bit while I worked; I think she was reading him a story in his room.

Suddenly I heard Jack thumping out of his room. I looked around the corner and there he was, walking along, holding up the book "Pat the Bunny" in one hand, and pointing at me. He had come to the page where "Now YOU feel Daddy's scratchy face," and the book just wasn't going to cut it - he had to feel his actual Daddy's scratchy face. And so he did. And my day was instantly better.

2. It's not enough that Jack has started walking, now he has to carry things while he walks. His heavy, musical ball. His little musical school bus. Heavy things, in other words, that he really shouldn't be walking around with, and he typically drops, nearly on his foot. (Not yet, but tomorrow is another day.)

The other day I heard him walking in the next room, saying "AHHRRR.....AHHHRRR...." I looked out, and there he is, walking, carrying his Fun Fair, which is about half his size. He then dropped it. Not on his foot. He paused. Sighed. Then stooped over to pick it up again.

3. Sometimes he likes to stand in the front door. I lock the storm door, but he can still stand there and look out the window at the cars, trucks, people and dogs. So on Tuesday he was standing there, looking out the window, saying "HI!" as people walked along the sidewalk approaching the house, and "BUH BYE," as people walked along the sidewalk away from the house. "HI! HI! HI! ...... BUH BYE....BUH BYE....BUH BYE...."

4. I'm not going to push him toward sports any more than is a father's primal instinct and, yay, solemn duty to do so, but I'm happy to report that he's developed a certain fondness for the object known as Ball, or as Jack says, "Bawwwh." Pictures in a book: "Bawwwh!" His plush, soft soccer ball, which he walks around carrying. "Bawwwh." And of course the little plastic balls from the Fun Fair, which roll underneath every piece of furniture as if sucked in by a magnet. So frequently I'll walk into the room and he'll be half underneath his crib, or the dining room table, or some other piece of furniture, stretching forward, his little butt sticking out, and from under the piece of furniture, his little muffled voice, saying "Bawwwh.....Bawwwh...."

5. As I was writing this, I heard the thump thump thump thump of little feet. My son came bursting into the computer room, clad only in a new diaper, hair dripping from the bath his Mom had just given him. He stood solidly, facing me, glowing with happiness and pride, either because he'd walked so far on his own or looked so cute, it's hard to say which.

His Mom arrived behind him. "Jack, we need to get your pajamas on."

Jack: "BUH bye! BUH BYE....!" And then, as she walked him off to his room, hand-in-hand: "Nigh-Nigh....Nigh-Nigh...Nigh-Nigh..."

Nigh-Nigh.

Walking and Talking

Ode to Jack Walking (sung to the tune of "But Not the Hippopotamus"):

Jack and his snack are walking forth and back
But not his hippopotamus.

A boy and his toys are making some noise
With his walker, a hippopotamus.

Now Jack and his snack are walking out back
With his toys making noise like he's more than one boy.

With yes, his hippopotamus.

I think some small part of us - Emily, anyway - was a little concerned when Jack, more than 15 months old, showed little inclination to walk. We kind of figured he'd be a little slow since I, allegedly, didn't walk until I was 18 months, which strikes me as untrue, but I was too young to be certain.

People told us to enjoy his pre-walking days while we could, because once he could walk, our lives would be a lot more difficult. That hasn't really been the case yet, but he's certainly walking, and there's no stopping him now.

Now that he CAN walk, I don't think he spent as much as two seconds crawling today. Put him down on the floor, and he immediately stands. If he wants out, he walks away. Even though he's not going very quickly yet, he's clearly very proud of his new-found ability, striding along, lifting his little feet up and down, slightly bow-legged, with his elbows kind of sticking out and his hands reaching forward like he's the Frankenstein monster, a little smile cracking his features.

His walking is augmented by talking, as he's frequently walking toward something of interest. Like a ball, even when that ball belongs to another child, like the one we saw at the park today. Every time we put him down and tried to steer him in another direction, he'd pivot and head right back toward that ball. "Bawh! Bawh! Bawh? Bawh."

Then he'll stand in the doorway and wave at people in the street as they walk by. "Hi! Hi!" And then, as they disappear: "Buh bye! Buh bye!" Really, it's classic.

He says Mommy and Dada so often while walking we're convinced these words have multiple meanings in his mind. He'll walk across the house, walking right by his Mommy, saying "Mommy? Mommy. Mommy?" At the park he'll point toward random strangers. "Dada. Dada." Which as you can imagine is something I'd sort of like to discourage in the future.

Seeing him walk is filling me with weepy nostalgia about the early days, when he couldn't even lift his head, followed by him being unable to roll over, followed by him being unable to sit up, and then unable to crawl, and now...well, again: car keys. It's only a matter of time.

But if there's half as much fun in everything else as seeing the little grin on his face as he bobs and bounces on his little bare feet across the living room floor, well, I guess I can handle it.