Week 17 Day 5: Gavin-Claude Van Damme

Parenting pro tip: Don't let your 24 lb. baby stand on your throat. It fucking hurts.

Let's see you find that in any parenting book. I do, sadly, speak from experience on this one (as opposed to everything else I've written in this here blog, which consists of conjecture and lies). He might well have a career ahead of him as a kickboxer (which is, mind you, not my first choice of potential occupations for my son. In fact, kickboxing combines two things I am not fans of: violence and feet. More specifically, causing violence with your feet).

Lest you think that Gavin is dangerous and in need of anger management, let me explain. We were playing in his room, and one of his favorite things is to stand up while holding on to my hands. He gets an especially big kick out of standing on top of me. So there I was on the floor and Gavin is standing on my stomach and I'm holding him and he's wobbly but things are fine when he suddenly lunges forward. Now he's standing on my rib cage. I'm still holding his hands so no one's in any danger here, or so I thought. My ribs are steadier ground than my stomach (I do not have abs of steel to say the least) and he's less wobbly, so he doesn't need as much support from me so I loosen my grip a little bit, but I'm still holding on. And the next part is all heat, whirlwind and flash, as they say, but he does another lunge that's really more of a stumble and even though I'm still holding onto him, he plants his chunky bare (also bear) paw right on my throat while trying to get his footing, thereby shifting the bulk of his weight to my larynx -- or it could be my trachea, I don't know, I'm not a body scientist. But from the diagram on Wikipedia, it looks like the correct area is my larynx. Regardless of anatomical correctness, the result is a sore throat. Not a "gosh, I could sure use a cup of peppermint tea" kind of sore but a "damn, I think my throat is bruised internally" kind of sore. Needless to say, Gavin is on punishment.

Kidding. Also, what does "on punishment" even mean? I take issue with the use of "on" in this instance. Perhaps "on punishment" is married to "on accident." I hope they never have babies.

In non-injury news, my friend Matthew came over today and we went on a stroll with Gavin and Henri. I hadn't seem him in a long time, not since before Gavin was born. Gavin really liked him. Well, he liked Matthew's facial hair and glasses, at least. But he also didn't cry when Matthew came in, which is good. Gavin's doesn't freak out when meeting all new people, but he does have a case of Stranger Danger, which is appropriate at this age. But Matthew is a pretty cheerful guy and doesn't have a deep booming voice and I think that helps. I sadly forgot to take a photo of Gavin and Matthew, which is generally my policy with visitors, so Matthew is going to have to come back again soon. Not just for the photo, of course, it would be good to see him again.

Gavin took a crappy afternoon nap yet again today. Someone needs to have a Come to Jesus with him about sleeping for only 45 minutes when in reality he should be sacking away two hours, hour and a half a minimum. Crappy naps always make the second half of the day feel a lot longer because a crabby Gavin is not so good at entertaining himself or holding interest in anything for very long (since, you know, babies have super long attention spans to begin with). So by the time Stacy came home I felt wrung out. Not to mention the unpleasantness of talking or swallowing. So TGIF and all that shit. And of course I mean the restaurant. I'm going there right now to get drunk.

Please note: the author of this blog doesn't drink alcohol. So she is really just going for the Sizzlin' Chicken Mexicali, something she only eats when sneaking out while her wife and son are asleep.

Please also note: the author of this blog is a vegetarian. She is also in her pajamas right now (not that pajamas aren't appropriate attire for a T.G.I. Fridays). The only place she is going is to bed.

Week 17 Day 4: Puff the magic Gavin

Another day, another bruise. Or two. Or three. Or four. Or five. Actually, two are new bruises I think, both on his forehead right above the nose between the eyebrows, one is an old bruise on his cheek that is fading to that sickly yellow color as bruises do, one is a red mark of indeterminable origin on the right side of his forehead, and one is a drool-induced chapped cheek. Oh, and I forgot the cat scratch across his hand. So I guess we're totally six injuries right now. And, really, "injuries" is not the right word. More like he's displaying the cost of doing business as a 9-month-old eager to explore the world beyond his physical capabilities to do so.

Speaking of cheeks, my mom came over today to babysit for a couple hours while I went to an appointment. When I came home Gavin was waking up from a sadly truncated nap. I went in to try to soothe him back to sleep and saw that one of his blackout curtains was on the floor and that the blinds weren't closed on either window. Needless to say, it was a lot brighter in there than it usually is, which may be why Gavin woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I hung up his curtain while my mom checked his diaper. She declared it all clear and attempted to put his diaper back on, but she was thrown off by the fact that these particular style of diapers have a picture on both sides and put the diaper on him backwards. He was truly freaking out on account of hating to be horizontal and not having a good nap and so she just said, "Oh well, still works," and fastened the tabs. I tried and failed to get him to nap again and when I brought him out to the living room and zipped him out of his sleep sack, one entire baby butt check was hanging out of his diaper. Now, I'm not a diaper scientist, but I have a feeling that both cheeks need to be inside for it to work properly. I am very thankful that Gavin did not test that theory during the brief, but no doubt uncomfortable, time he wore his assless diaper chaps.

Gavin had a small motor skills breakthrough today during lunch. My mom sprinkled his tray with some baby puffs while she made up the rest of his lunch, and he actually picked them up and put them in his mouth and proceeded to eat them. When my mom told me this I said, "Wait, he ate what?" because he has never done this before. We've been giving them to him since Feb. 27 (I know, because we have a video of the first attempt) and he has never been able to pick them up before. He's managed to get them stuck to his hands, but even then he couldn't get them into his mouth. The first time I put a puff into his mouth he wrinkled up his nose and pursed his lips just like when we first gave him peas. The majority of the puffs were actually eaten by Henri after they fell out of Gavin's pants when he was lifted out of his highchair. But sure enough, after his nap fail my mom sprinkled a few puffs onto his tray while he was exersaucing and he plucked them up nearly effortlessly and popped them in his mouth like, "Oh cool, snacks." Think of it as our Hellen Keller at the well moment, if you will (actually, don't. Don't do that at all).

It's amazing to see him grasp little things. Like his toy cars (well, only the taxi is a car. The others are a dump truck and a caterpillar with wheels). They existed largely as things to put in his mouth until very recently. He's seen Stacy and I roll them toward him enough times that he now tries to roll the cars as he crawls. He pushes the thing along on the floor because he gets it. Because he's a genius. And that's the way he rolls.

Week 17 Day 3: Step on the gas

Poor little dude woke up screaming at 9:00 tonight (he went to bed at 7). Not just crying, screaming. I hightailed it in there and could see him sitting in the middle of his crib in the near-dark. When I picked him up he settled down immediately, put his head on my shoulder and fell back asleep. Then I felt the farts. One after another, I could feel a percussive release of gas on the arm I was using to hold up his rear. "Ah ha," I thought. "Gas. That explains the screaming." Then I remembered what he'd eaten for dinner: lentils, hommus, and broccoli. My God, are we trying to kill him? Why not throw some soy bacon in there, too? (I actually don't know if that would cause him gas, but I do know from sad firsthand experience the diabolical effects soy bacon has on a certain greyhound's digestive emissions. Yes, Emma, I'm talking about you.) Stacy came home from Parent Club at this exact moment and I held the little vial of gas drops we keep in Gavin's first aid kit out to her. She dosed him and I put him right back to bed. Let's hope he stays asleep and his guts stays ache free for the rest of the night.

Hey, speaking of gas, one of the places I took Gavin today was the gas station to fill up the van.  He didn't get out of the car or anything, so I don't know that this really counts as a place Gavin has been to. But I did make faces at him through the window while I pumped. He enjoyed this very much, though he also liked to watch the cars go by on Woodward.

Our actual destinations today were Cartridge World for more printer ink and Ace Hardware for some mulch. I know what you're thinking, "D'Anne, slow down. You have a kid now. You can't just drag him to places like that. It's not safe. " To you I say, "It's my life. Don't judge."

Cartridge World is actually not a fun place to go, though if Gavin could talk he would probably say otherwise. The last time we were there we were rung up by a 12-year-old boy who I presume was the owner's son. And I guess I should say the last time I was there, since Gavin wasn't born yet. In any case, I guess I kind of expected this family tableau to play itself out again, but instead of a little boy a hulking man emerged from behind a closed door. He lumbered over to the counter, his face ruddy and his shirt very, very stained with what I presume to be ink and foodstuffs. It's possible that I interrupted him while he was in the middle of eating a heart attack sandwich. The store also smelled like cigarette smoke. This would ordinarily cause me to turn around and leave, but it didn't smell like someone was actively smoking, just that someone has in the past and probably will again. Also, I don't plan to wear, eat, give to my son to play with, or save forever the ink cartridges I bought today. (They do, however, sell cookies from a little BallCap Bakery display on the counter at this particular Cartridge World. The in-store smoking pretty much renders them ashtray cookies. Such a waste.) The man was very taken with Gavin and got some smiles out of him. I gave Gavin the receipt to hold which pleased him greatly. On my way out the man complimented Gavin's handsomeness again and then asked, "Is he your only one?" "Yep," I said and headed out the door to some fresh air. It was a weird question, I think. Why would it matter to this guy with yellow, magenta, and cyan stains all over his shirt whether or not I have more than one kid? I choose to think his asking was his way of saying, "You have a really cute kid, you should make some more." Not that this doesn't churn up internal conflict.

Gavin helped Stacy and I in the yard this evening. I was spreading the mulch I bought and Stacy was wrangling Gavin and pulling weeds. We put a big blanket on the grass for Gavin but he didn't stay on it for long. He was crawling all over the yard. In fact, I am afraid to look at the knees of the pants he was wearing because they're probably all grass stained. Oh well, it won't be the last time, I'm sure. Gavin was most interested in getting the weed bucket and eventually Stacy stopped trying to keep him from it. The result, pictured here, was a baby with a lap covered in uprooted dandelions and other yard debris. And while he looks disconcerted in the photo, he actually liked it very much. God, I hope he doesn't have allergies like mine.

Week 17 Day 2: Smiling at old people

Old people love to smile at Gavin and Gavin loves to smile at old people. This is the conclusion I've come to after a survey I have not actually been conducting over the past two days. But it is something I notice. Maybe it's a grandparents thing. I once told my youngest sister Amanda when she was probably around two that when old people smile at you it means they want to eat you. She still remembers this. Thankfully she no longer believes it. I don't think.

Today at CVS (I know, I know. I go shopping too much/I go to the drug store more than anyone else you know) an old man with a cane waiting at the pharmacy, probably for a prescription for his angina and gout (because, you know, old people! Says the 32-year-old who gets heartburn from eating bread), chatted Gavin up while I was buying my allergy medicine. Gavin was just flashing his gap-toothed smile like crazy for this guy. I love it when he does that. I mean, for one thing, it makes me look good. :) For another thing, his smile totally lights up my life, so why not spread some of that goodness around? The man told us a little about his granddaughter and how he can always get her to smile for him and how it makes her other grandfather jealous. But hey, what's a little spirited competition among grandfathers?

Then at Borders a man and a woman came into the store while Gavin and I were in the lobby checking out the bargain books. Well, actually I was checking out the bargain books. Gavin was busy with the "Quacky Duck" book or whatever it was called I'd given him to play with (and bought, mind you). I had Gavin facing slightly away from me in his stroller to keep him out of the sun which was coming through the windows and making me sweat like mad. "Oh, look, a baby we can buy," the woman said upon seeing Gavin. Part of me enjoyed the attention lavished on my son, while another part of me wondered if she wasn't criticizing me for the two foot distance between me and my child while I looked at books because I am clearly a mom who loves bargains and reading more than her son (don't tell Social Services). "Well, you're going to have to buy this book for him," I said, pointing to the duck book he was chewing on. "So he'll cost you at least three bucks." They laughed and I laughed and then the woman said, "Well you come home with me and I'll spoil you. Your mom won't." I know that spoiling children is actually not a good thing, but I couldn't help but interpret this comment as another nod to Gavin's abject neglect. "Oh, I spoil him," I said as if in my defense. "And I get chastised for it." Who says that? I do, apparently. Later, on the second floor of Borders (to which we had to take the elevator since I had Gavin in his stroller. Gavin did not like the elevator at all. Though it should be noted he has been in an elevator before without incident. I, however, also don't like elevators, so this is yet another thing he probably gets from me) an elderly man and woman stooped over Gavin's stroller to coo and smile at him. He ate it up. "Are you shopping for books?" the woman asked. "We just saw this cute baby and had to say hello." Again, can't blame them. He's pretty irresistible.

I should mention that I styled Gavin's hair in a fauxhawk today using a dab of water and a dab of aloe vera gel. This made him extra irresistible. I can't believe he has enough hair to actually be manipulated. This is very exciting to me. Mind you, it was a tiny fauxhawk, but still. When I was little I was never into dolls and playing dress up. I thought Barbie was retarded, not to mention tedious (have you ever tried to pull on a pair of skin-tight polyester pants over pliable rubber legs?).

Yesterday on our walk (and by "our" I mean me, Stacy and Gavin) we were stopped by a heavy-set older man in a motorized cart who traded smiles with Gavin. He also showed us his leather legs (frost bite, Korean war). He said he had several children, one around 50, one 36, and one he'd lost last year to cancer. He then told us that the reason no cure has been found is that people keep donating money to different cancer organizations. "Stop donating and see how quick they cure you," he said. He'd spent nearly every dime on his son's medical treatment. It was a sad story. He then told us his address and offered to babysit. He said that he and Gavin could watch TV and get down on the floor and wrestle. Something tells me he is not the right babysitter for us. One: Gavin is not allowed to watch TV. Two: I don't know that this man does much wrestling, let alone getting down on the floor. I have my doubts that he'd be able to get back up unassisted. While he and Gavin have that largely in common, I don't think that's a mark in this man's favor.

Week 17 Day 1: Black bean Bear

We're in a state of mourning at our house. Lisa and Brenden have gone back to California. Alas. Today was our first day in a week that we had to fill all by ourselves.

Or not exactly by ourselves since my sister Amanda came over today. She brought a bag of spinach. We made salad. She watched Gavin while I went to pick Henri up from the groomer. It was a pretty wild day.

Henri is, of course, my miniature poodle. I say "my" because that's what Stacy (a.k.a. my wife) would say if you asked. And Gavin is too young to assume co-guardianship. Regardless of what the cat, who is fond of "marking" Gavin as his own, thinks. Wait a minute, I just realized that "marking" when it comes to cats means peeing. Jasper doesn't pee on Gavin. Jasper is really a great cat in a lot of ways (he did not maim my son when a baby-sized handful of fur was torn out of his side today), but that would be a dealbreaker.

I have a bad habit of calling Gavin "Henri" and Henri "Gavin." I've also noticed that I tend to give Gavin the same commands I've been giving Henri for years. The other day he was reaching for the computer cord and I said, "Leave it!" This is the same thing I say to Henri if I want him to, well, leave something alone. I've also referred to Gavin's crib, more than once, as his "crate." I also say "good boy" to both Gavin and the dog, which has at times caused some confusion on the dog's part where he'll come over to me all happy thinking I've just invited him to play, usually at the same time Gavin is, say, reaching for the computer cord and I tell him to "leave it" causing Henri to skulk off. Please don't put this information on the form when you nominate me for Mama of the Year.

In addition to Spinach Amanda brought over a gift from my dad. It was, of course, a stuffed animal. As I have mentioned, my father loves to buy stuffed animals. Now that he has a grandson, he has a place to channel this energy. It's cute, but there are only so many stuffed animals a guy needs. This latest addition is a little groundhog. Not sure if there's any significance in the choice of species. Maybe he bought it back in February.

Since I've had Gavin I've noticed myself saying things that I would never have said out loud in my "old" life. For example, the other day I said to Gavin, "Are you taking a dump? It sure looks like it." It's just not the kind of thing you can say to an adult outside of a terribly sad situation for everyone involved.

I just finished reading a book called Hungry Monkey: A Food-Loving Father's Quest to Raise an Adventurous Eater by Matthew Amster-Burton. What intrigued me about this book is that the author is a stay-at-home dad and I can relate to that. I also would love Gavin to be an adventurous eater, something his Mama D is decidedly not. Stacy is, though, which has caused much frustration on her part and sometimes mine in the course of our relationship. Not that she's ever brandished an onion at me and yelled, "Eat this or we're getting divorced!" For one thing, Stacy's not a yeller. And while I don't want to say I hate onions more than I love her, I'm sure she realizes how silly it would be to have to get divorced over an onion, which is the only option in this thankfully hypothetical scenario.

Unfortunately, Hungry Monkey doesn't exactly lay out a game-plan for getting your kid to be an adventurous eater. Basically what I took away from the book is that if you want an unpicky kid you need to put lots of different kinds of food down in front of them. Some they'll like, some they won't. Another thing he stresses is to not freak out that since your three-year-old hates vegetables he's destined to get rickets and/or die of malnutrition. All you can really do -- aside from force-feeding them, which seems like a really bad idea for numerous reasons -- is keep offering them a healthy diet and letting them explore tastes on their own. Another thing I was left thinking after reading this book was, "Man, he sure does feed his daughter a lot of meat." Granted, I don't eat meat, so reading about a small child wolfing down duck and lobster and ham and beef and chicken and mackerel and bacon and on and on seemed like a lot of meat to me. Also we plan to raise Gavin vegetarian, so getting him to eat fish eyeballs isn't a concern of ours.

Still, I was inspired by the book to not fear introducing new things to Gavin's diet. Today, in fact, I gave him some black beans to try (cooked, of course. I'm trying to feed him not kill him). He seemed to be kind of neutral on them, which I see as a good sign. The problem, however, was that he couldn't pick them up and transfer them to his mouth. It's a fine motor skill he still working on. Granted, if I put, say, pebbles or pain pills or pieces of lead on his high chair tray he'd probably have them all picked up and swallowed in record time.

Week 16 Day 5: Dudes They Are A'Changing

Teething is a bitch. Not that I remember it. But it's now clear that Gavin's recent grumpiness and overall sleep interruptedness and runny nose is probably due to the two new chompers he has slicing through his gums. They're cuspids, or canine teeth or eyeteeth or whatever you want to call them. I don't know why teething didn't occur to me sooner. I thought he was getting sick. And anyway, he already has four teeth and I've gotten so used to those that I guess I kind of forgot that he wasn't, you know, done. I'm sure he wishes he was done, but I am glad he isn't for his future's sake. The future Gavin who doesn't want to look like a meth-head. It is, I think, what all mothers wish for their sons.

Today felt extraordinarily long. This was due in large part to Gavin's feeling crummy. He was very clingy and demanding all day, except I could not figure out what he wanted. Playing by himself for longer than 30 seconds at a time was out of the question. He'd grab onto my pant legs and pull himself up and whine, I'd pick him up and he'd try to heave his body out of my arms toward some toy on the floor. So I'd put him down. Tears. I sat down on the floor to play with him, he pulled himself up to standing using my shoulder and flung himself toward me. I picked him up. Temporary satisfaction. Then more whining. I put him down. Cue tears again. And on and on to infinity. (Okay, not to infinity because he's asleep now and demanding nothing of me right now.)

He also has a couple of little wounds on his face. A small bruise on his cheek and a tiny scab on his forehead. Learning how to be mobile is dangerous stuff. No wonder you can buy baby's knee pads and helmets. Or you could always get one of these.

Even Lisa and Brenden coming over in the afternoon wasn't much of a distraction for Gavin. Brenden for some reason likes to smack Gavin on the head. He did this on the first day Gavin and Brenden met and Gavin was largely unfazed. Today, however, Gavin's skin was much thinner and Brenden's roughhousing made Gavin cry. More than once. Lisa doesn't know why Brenden likes to smack Gavin around so much. It is probably all of the violent baby video games he plays.

Lisa and Brenden leave to go back to California on Sunday. This will be very heartbreaking. I mean, it's always sucked that Lisa lives so far away, but it sucks much worse now that we both have kids. Lisa, who I usually see twice a year, doesn't change drastically from visit to visit. Brenden, on the other hand, will be a whole new person with new tricks the next time I see him. Gavin, too. Alas. This is a big reason why it's so important to me to get photos of Gavin every day and post them on Facebook. So Lisa can watch him grow. And his Aunt Christine in Boston. And his Uncle Brian in Arizona. And his Granny Marilyn and Great Aunt Carol and Great Grandma Ina in Florida. And Amanda in Florida. And Stacy's friends in Washington D.C. He's got a national fan club going (for awhile it was international as Christine was in Venezuela). And, hey, I like looking at photos of my handsome son, too. Especially when he's crabby. All I have to do is look at a photo of my smiling man to remember, "Hey, he isn't always like this." But, of course, nothing beats the real thing.

Week 16 Day 4: A clean Bear of health

The numbers are in: Gavin weighs 23 lbs. 10 oz. and is 30 inches long (he also has a big head, but I can't remember the measurement right now). This explains why my back hurts so much. I've been carting around a little sumo wrestler in my arms.

All in all, Gavin's 9 month check up went A-OK today. My Bear is healthy as a bear. As healthy as a healthy bear, of course. Hopefully healthier than that one bear we saw at the zoo yesterday missing most of his fur and rubbing his sides repeatedly against the rock wall, presumably to quell some kind of mange-related itch.

Lisa and Brenden accompanied Gavin and I to his appointment. Brenden, who is six weeks older than Gavin, didn't dig being there so much. More specifically, he didn't dig being restricted by his mom while there. He wanted to tear up magazines, pull down lamps, turn the lights off, overturn the instrument cart, and yank plugs. For some reason Lisa restrained him. Clearly an infringement on Brenden's freedom of speech. Because if the Supreme Court says that corporations can "express themselves" via campaign contributions, surely the actions of the pre-verbal must also be protected.

I think it's also safe to say that Gavin didn't dig being there so much. He doesn't like being horizontal and being at the doctor's requires a lot of that. And while he doesn't mind being naked, he doesn't appreciate getting undressed or redressed (that whole horizontal thing again). He also doesn't like shots. Today he only had to get one (Hep B, y'all), but previous visits he's had to get as many as five stabbed into his little thighs. I remember that was the first time I'd ever seen him bleed. It was just a couple of little beads forming where he had some of his shots, but it made me feel woozy. Not because I'm the kind of person who passes out at the sight of blood (full disclosure: I did pass out while having blood drawn once, but it wasn't because I was freaked by the blood, it was because I hadn't eaten that morning as instructed and my blood sugar was all "fuck you" to that), but because seeing my little dude bleed made him seem even more vulnerable and, well, human than before. I think that's the hardest thing about being a parent, the parts where you are rudely reminded that your child is a mere mortal.

Speaking of which, Gavin is having a rough night. He just started whining again. This would be wake-up #4 since he went to sleep a little after 6. It's 9:35 now. Since Stacy is sleeping and I'm, well, doing this, I'm going to make the call that it's my turn to get him back to sleep.

Week 16 Day 3: Zoogenic times were had by all

Here is my advice to the future sixth graders of America (including my son): If you are at the zoo and you are holding, say, a pencil, don't be an asshole and throw it over the glass down into the gorilla enclosure. Because so help me god if I hadn't been distracted by my baby and I had seen you do that I would have gone all Angry Mom on your ass.

So, yeah, we went to the Detroit Zoo today and I did, indeed, watch a gorilla eat a pencil that some idiot kid tossed into his enclosure. Unfortunately I didn't witness the kid throw in the pencil because I was preoccupied by my beautiful baby boy. But I did hear someone in the small cluster of the boys gathered there say, "Who threw that?" The gorilla waited until after the boys left to get the pencil and he promptly started munching on it. I reported it to a zoo employee and she said she would "call it in," as she picked up her radio or whatever. But it's not like a zookeeper is going to jump into the enclosure to wrestle a broken #2 Dixon Ticonderoga away from a gorilla. I just hope he doesn't get a perforated bowel or something.

This reminded me of being at the zoo on an elementary field trip when a kid from my class whose name I no longer remember and who is probably now in jail, was spitting at the seals below us. It was not a difficult target as the large animal was directly below us and not moving so he was very successful in this endeavor. I was extremely disturbed by this but felt powerless to do anything. After all, I didn't want him to turn around and spit on me. I did not understand why someone would want to do that to an animal. I still don't. I think that's when I started to find the cruelty of children to other children more understandable than cruelty of children towards animals. I still feel this way, though the cruelty is no longer limited to children.

Not to say we didn't have fun at the zoo. And by "we" I mean Gavin, of course, and Lisa and Brenden and Lisa's mom Dale. The boys weren't much into the animals, but that's largely because they couldn't see them most of the time. I mean, if you're a 9-month-old (10-month-old in Brenden's case) and a lion walks right up to your stroller, you're going to notice it. But if that same lion is asleep on a super tall rock ledge you're not. There's no frame of reference to know what to look for. I'd say the boys liked the flamingos the best because they could see them from stroller height and there were a whole bunch of them moving around. Hard not to notice. Gavin also really liked the peacocks they have wandering around loose at the zoo because he could get right up close to them without leaving the confines of his ride. He may have also liked the ape house, but it's possible he just liked the glass I was holding him in front of and didn't even notice the apes on the other side.

Gavin took his afternoon nap at the zoo. A stroller-nap is not the highest quality nap a dude could want, but he did sack out for about an hour. He woke up when we got to the red panda exhibit and we stopped strolling while a docent lady pointed him out to us way up in a tree. She was very nice and very into red pandas. I think she might have been slightly offended when Dale asked if there were any real pandas at the zoo (there aren't). But a red panda hardly looks like what one would call a panda in the first place. They look like a cross between a raccoon and a fox. They are adorable. No doubt some guy in Virginia is breeding them as pets right this very minute.

Tomorrow is Gavin's 9-month check up. We'll get an accurate weight for the first time in months. I'm guessing he weighs at least 23 lbs. He's a heavy little dude. My back is killing me. I think I need to build him a chair lift inside the house.

Week 16 Day 2: A mown lawn

Gavin is 9 months old today. To celebrate, he decided that sleeping is for babies. Big boys refuse to take naps and are whiny and high maintenance all day. (Actually, from what I've heard from a lot of my lady friends involved in the heterosexual lifestyle, this isn't necessarily that far from the truth.)

Considering Gavin skipped his morning nap entirely (and by "skipped" I don't mean, "Gee, he was never tired and didn't even need it." I mean, "He was tired but fought sleep with every fiber of his being, spending the majority of what would have been nap time standing up and hollering from his crib") the afternoon wasn't all that bad. He was a little bit cranky, but not much. I even managed to drag him to Target where we had a fine time.

Speaking of Target, it has been brought to my attention that I seem to shop an awful lot. That hadn't really occurred to me, but I realize that is, indeed, true. And while I don't really think of myself as someone who loves to shop (when I picture someone saying, "I love to shop!" it's a woman with a maxed out Macy's charge card and hundreds of pointy shoes in her closet), I guess I kind of do. But I don't spend lots of money really. I love myself a good bargain, that's for sure. It's also fun to take Gavin shopping because he really digs it. Though he gets grabbier and grabbier each time wanting to touch and hold whatever is on the shelf nearest him. And in my defense, one of the reasons I go to the store so often is that with Gavin in tow, my time to get any shopping done is limited and I can only get so much at one time. Before he was born I could go to Trader Joe's, Whole Foods, Target and CVS all in one day. Now I can pick one of those and am lucky if I get everything on my list.

Sadly Gavin also skipped his afternoon nap, which is usually "the big one" that allows me to get things done like eat or write or do laundry. Not today. He fell asleep super fast and yet only slept for about a half an hour, an hour shy of what would be considered a good afternoon nap (2 hours is ideal). Alas and alack.

So now I had a sleep-deprived but very much awake baby on my hands and a big chunk of time to kill before Stacy came home. When Gavin is tired he is very clingy, unable to entertain himself for any good period of time. Which means non-stop mama action from me. Which is exhausting. So I decided that he and I, with trusty poodle in tow, would go for a walk. It would do us both some good to get out of the house into the sunshine. We took a much longer walk than any of us wanted, but we needed it, especially me since I had that whole bag of chocolate Chex mix for lunch. By the time Stacy came home I was all, "He's all yours. Have a nice life." I'm kidding. Kind of.

In all seriousness, he was actually pretty adorable today and we had a lot of fun. In fact, I made him laugh harder than I've ever made him laugh before. I took his little crab rattle in my teeth and made growling sounds and he totally lost his mind. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but we played this game - me taking the rattle, him taking it back, me trying to grab it again - for a good long while, both of us laughing super hard. It was one of the best times of stay-at-homedom so far. And yet, by 4:15 today, I needed a break. Not from him so much, but from being a mom.

And so I handed him off to Stacy and went outside to pull dandelions from the yard. I've been pulling the dandelions by hand for a couple of years now and I have to say, our yard has the fewest of any of our non-weed killer using neighbors despite the fact that everyone said I was insane to bother. I refuse to use weed killer or fertilizer on our lawn because it makes no sense to me to put poison into your lawn so that you can eventually drink it from your groundwater. Nor does it make sense to put poison on the lawn my son plays on. Not to mention the fact that my lawn is basically various weeds to begin with. If I sprayed that sucker with Round-Up all I'd have is a dirt patch. Plus I find pulling weeds to be a very calming activity. Especially dandelions. Getting one of those sons-a-bitches out with the entire root intact is terribly satisfying.

Eventually Stacy and Gavin came outside to join me and he was a super happy Bear with a belly full of milk. They hung out on a blanket spread out on the lawn -- the very lawn, by the way, that Uncle Jamie cut for us today. Not only that, she did all of the edging. My yard has never looked so nice and neat. And all because Jamie answered my request for someone to wrangle Gavin so I could mow the lawn today saying she would be happy to mow my lawn while I wrangle Gavin. Because she hates my son.** But she clearly loves my yard. And that's what really counts.

(*Uncle Jamie is my sister Laura's girlfriend. Laura jokingly referred to them as "Aunt Laura and Uncle Jamie" and that kind of stuck.)

(**She doesn't.)

Week 16 Day 1: Christmas every day

Toes are super fun. For babies, I mean (yes, yes, I know they are "super fun" for some grown-ups, too, but that's their business and this isn't that kind of blog). Specifically for Gavin. This might explain why we can never keep socks on him. Just about every time we go somewhere in the car, by the time we get there he only has one sock on. Today I could see him in the rearview mirror, fingers laced with his toes, kicking his foot up over and over. Even though we've lost lots of socks this way, I still think it's adorable. Although I hope it's something he'll grow out of because it won't be so cute when he's, say, 14. Or 30.

Speaking of Gavin's toes, we did a side-by-side comparison of Gavin's feet with another baby his age, Brenden, my best-friend Lisa's son. They are visiting from California and that fact makes me happier than I can even describe. In any case, it appears that Gavin's toenails are not normal. Either that or Brenden just has exceptionally well-formed nails. Gavin's are kind of, well, scaly, for lack of a better word. His big toenails are especially gnarly. In one of the myriad baby books I read before or soon after he was born, I remember something about how baby toenails were really thin and took longer than fingernails to start looking like real-people nails. And maybe that's all that's going on with Gavin, but I don't know. I Googled "scaly baby toenails" and the first thing that comes up says, "Down Syndrome." Perfect. Thank you, Internet. Thank you very much.

So yes, Lisa is here with her son and watching Brenden and Gavin play together has been awesome. "Play together" is maybe not exactly the right way to put it. I believe the baby books call it "parallel play," where the little dudes each do their own thing independent of one another. And they do a lot of that. But they also interact, like when Brenden reaches toward Gavin's mouth with his pointer finger and Gavin opens his mouth to allow Brenden dental access. Or when Brenden slaps Gavin upon the top of his bald head as if Gavin's strawberry birthmark were a bull's eye. Or when Gavin grabs the copious amount of hair on Brenden's head. Basically their BFFs now.

Today Gavin and I met Brenden, Lisa, and her mom at Babies R Us. It was fun, but it was clear that Brenden and Gavin do not have the amount of shopping stamina as the three grown-ups in their company. Since the babies were hungry, we headed over to Panera to eat. It was Gavin's first time eating at a restaurant. He's been to restaurants before, but never, like, put in a boxy wooden restaurant high chair and spoon fed as we eat. I've always tried to time our outtings in between brunch and lunch. I brought one jar of baby food (Earth's Best Summer Vegetables Dinner, in fact) intending to buy him a jar of fruit of some sort at Babies R Us, but I forgot.

Luckily for me, though less luckily for Lisa, Brenden would not eat the peach oatmeal baby food she'd brought for him because he wanted to eat Lisa's mac and cheese. Gavin ended up eating both jars of food as well as some bits of cantaloupe I tore up for him, a rather successful foray into chunky foods. I also gave him a couple of baby-spoonfuls of my mango smoothie, but don't tell Stacy (she'll have to learn it here like everyone else). Especially since yesterday she said to me, "Reading this book about what you should and should not feed your baby is stressing me out. I think I'll just nurse him until he's 15." Good luck with that, Honey.

Oh, and my dad showed up at Panera, too. It wasn't, like, a surprise visit or something. He'd called me earlier and said he was heading home from Detroit and wanted to stop by the house to give Gavin something. So I told him I'd be out and he said he was passing by there so he called and I told him where I was and... Never mind the rest. You get it. Everybody relax. In any case, Dad bought Gavin a muscle shirt with a bulldog on it that I believe is for a five-year-old toddler and some toys for the bathtub. My dad also wanted to see Lisa, as he hasn't seen her in years, and meet Brenden. And my dad told us that he now has five gold crowns in his mouth worth $4,000 each. I'm not sure why he felt the need to tell us that. And I probably shouldn't be posting it here lest he get mugged and have his teeth stolen. In any case, Grandpa Mike's got bling in his mouth.

On Saturday morning Gavin had us up bright and early (it actually wasn't bright at all) and I was really dragging ass having a hard time fully waking up. Gavin was in his Baby Fun Jail (a.k.a his play pen) standing up and looking out at us and talking to us and generally being super cute. Stacy said, "Having a baby is like having Christmas every day. You get up really early and you have this present. And you get to play with him and he's wonderful." It made being awake much less painful.

Week 15 Day 5: Baby on board

So I accidentally waterboarded Gavin today. As I've mentioned, he's not very wild about the whole sippy cup thing (just like I am not wild about the whole "sippy cup" name. Why do so many things for babies sound like they were named by babies? Is there some kind of under 5 focus group that's consulted?). Getting him to ingest liquids during his meals is very difficult. And so today he had a sippy cup and was playing with it, chewing on the drinking spout part, making that teeth against rubber squeak sound, which he very much enjoyed. He was sitting on my lap facing me. At one point he put the cup in his mouth in an "I'm going to drink this" way, but he hasn't quite gotten the whole "tip it back to receive liquid via gravity" yet. So I tipped him backwards so that the back of his head was on my knees, basically forcing water down his throat and said, "Now you're drinking!" In my defense, I thought there was only a little tiny bit of water in the cup and that he'd get maybe a mouthful at most. Thankfully Gavin is smart and turned his head so that the water stopped gushing into his mouth and instead got his pajamas soaked with water. And the coughing. There was plenty of that. My mom and sister Amanda were there as witnesses, so I feel it is only right for me to come clean about this now, lest they decide to go public. As for Gavin's sippy cup issues, I've probably set him back years.

When I told Stacy about the waterboarding incident she said, "You didn't waterboard him," as if there was somehow any question in my mind about whether or not I was torturing my son or engaging in hyperbole.

Mom and Amanda came over this morning to babysit so that I could drive to school and sign up for what classes I'll teach in the fall. It felt good to be back in Ann Arbor, though kind of sad since some of my favorite people aren't there any more. But some are, like Meg, who bought me lunch for my birthday and listened to me talk and talk and talk about Gavin. It's hard not to. It might even be impossible.

When I got home they were all out for a walk and when they rolled up the driveway I went outside to greet them and see my boy. And I noticed that they had dressed him like an escapee from an old folks home. He had his sun hat on, which is normal, but he was also wearing these old hand-down pajamas that look a lot like red long johns but with red, white, and blue striped cuffs. He had white sweat socks pulled up over top of his PJ feet, and to top everything off he had on his bathrobe. My mom said she wanted to put him in a lightweight sweatshirt but couldn't find one in his closet. So she just put him in his bathrobe, plopped him in his wheelchair, and pushed him around the garden while he soiled himself and babbled incoherently about Ladybird Johnson and "the war."

Despite the crazed get-up, he did look mighty cute. But then, he looks cute in everything.

We're still working on standing unassisted (well, he is. I had that down months ago). Today he very nearly beat his five second record. He stood for almost six seconds. Maybe five and a half. Staying still for any length of time is not his strong suit and an overall general wiggliness paired with a fleeting relationship with balance is a tough combination.

On Sunday morning Lisa, my best friend from California, is going to be here with her son Brenden, who is six weeks older than Gavin. Brenden and Gavin will be meeting for the first time. And I will be meeting Brenden for the first time. And Lisa will finally meet Gavin. Brenden is, like Gavin, super adorable. I am fearful that having so much cute in one room could be dangerous. There could well be some kind of implosion.

Week 15 Day 4: Soothe, soothe, repeat

Today was Gavin's first onesie free day in, well, maybe his whole life. Or most of it, anyway (we're not counting the nine months in the womb). It was 80 degrees today, which is not the most common April temperature (on my birthday, April 9, Gavin, Stacy, and I went for a walk wearing our winter hats). So I dressed Gavin in a t-shirt and shorts today. Navy blue sweat shorts, to be precise, and he looked mighty adorable, as only someone his age can in sweat shorts. And he was wearing one of his baseball t-shirts, in honor of Amanda Carver and baseball season. Well, really just for Amanda. It was strange to pick him up and see not the fabric of a onesie, but his bare little Buddha belly when his shirt rode up. It also made it terribly difficult not to kiss his tummy every chance I could get.

Last night was a rough night. He woke up at 4 a.m. crying. And then he got up again at 6. He has been sleeping through the night, 7-7 ish, a lot so when he diverts from that it's not only hard on his sleeping moms as far as us being spoiled, but it's anxiety provoking because It's not clear why he's getting up or having a hard time getting to sleep. Growth spurt? Teething? Existential angst?

He had a hard time getting to bed tonight, too. Usually Stacy put him to bed at night, but he went to bed a little later than usual and she was worried she was going to miss her yoga class so after one failed attempt to get him to fall asleep and stay asleep it was my turn to soothe him. After one failed attempt myself, I went back in to resoothe him and he was standing up in his crib (I have to try really hard not to call it a "crate," which is what the dog uses, but to be fair, Henri has been here a lot longer than Gavin and a crib really is a crate for babies, isn't it?) looking and sounding quite miserable. In fact, it was the same as earlier this afternoon when he started crying after a little more than a half hour of his afternoon nap, a nap that usually lasts and hour and a half to two hours. Stacy and I both think that part of the trouble he's having sleeping is the fact that he's more mobile now and thus just sacking out on his back and staying that way isn't the way he rolls anymore. And I really do mean "rolls" as he frequently rolls over onto his tummy to sleep, but then from the tummy position he has mastered sticking his butt in the air and walking his hands up to get into a sitting position. From this position it is easy-peasy for him to scale the bars of his baby crate in order to stand. But then he can't really figure out how to go from, "Hey, I'm standing at the crib rail," to "Hey, I'm comfortably on my stomach and falling asleep.

Some kind of motorcycle/dirt bike/trash on wheels just went down the street sounding like a giant asshole bumble bee. Really, Dude? Really? Tearing through a neighborhood and breaking the sound barrier after 11 p.m.? Classy. Really classy.

Speaking of classy, I watched a shirtless dude visiting the neighbor across the street from me pretend to roundhouse kick a little girl in the head. Super funny! A totally normal adult/child interaction. The thing is, the little girl wasn't even paying attention to him. She was riding some kind of plastic pony with wheels. The people who saw it were his friends on the porch, for whom this had clearly been intended as entertainment. It's a shame Stacy and I didn't meet this guy before picking our donor.

One successful trip to Trader Joe's, and then another to Walgreen's Another action-packed day. After Stacy got home we all went for a walk. At one point we passed a tree with really large pink flowers that smelled really good on it. Some of the petals were on the ground below so I scooped one up and handed it to Gavin. He promptly crumpled it in his fist and tore it into pieces. So much for Grandpa Gary's nature lesson.

Week 15 Day 3: Drugstore fever

I've got this article open on my desktop about abortion and I just can't bring myself to read it. I've skimmed enough to know that it's about Obama's health care reform cave in re: abortion juxtaposed with a woman's firsthand account of her own abortion. Not reading it makes part of me feel like a bad feminist because I know abortion is a very important issue, etc. etc. Then again, the reusable bag I keep in my purse says CHOICE across it in large silver letters -- though the political message, in my opinion, is lost once you put that word on a shopping bag in an uber-consumerist capitalist culture. Add that to the fact that I didn't buy this bag, it was part of a gift basket Stacy won from Planned Parenthood at a concert we were at. But I think the reason I can't bear to read it is because I don't need convincing that abortion is a hard choice to make and that women don't do it for fun or because they hate babies or whatever. I'm already convinced. Especially now that I have a kid of my own. So maybe that's why I can't/don't want to read about abortions right now. Somehow I can't separate it in my mind from the idea of losing him. Even though there is no logical reason to connect the two.

Which reminds me of this baby t-shirt I've seen that says, "Now That I'm Safe I'm Pro-Choice." Very classy. The perfect shower gift for sure.

My mom and grandpa came over today, a.k.a. Grandma Kathy and Great-grandpa Chuck. My mom had mentioned them coming over awhile ago but I had totally forgotten so I was really surprised when they showed up. Gavin was just waking up from his afternoon nap when they arrived, I hadn't even gone into his room yet. When I went in to get him he was standing up and smiling at me. I took him out in his fuzzy yellow sleep sack (or "sleepy sack" as Amanda Carver adorably calls it), his face still flushed from sleep. He was surprised but happy to see my mom, I think, but startled by the presence of my grandpa since he's only met him a couple of times before. Plus Grandpa is a dude and Gavin is much more freaked by dudes than ladies -- and no, not because of his man-hating-lesbian moms, but because it's common and developmentally appropriate to fear strangers, especially big hairy ones, at his age. Though my grandpa would hardly qualify as big and hairy. He lost so much weight when my grandma died (and man do I wish she could have lived to meet Gavin. Definitely the saddest thing in my life).

Gavin did eventually warm up to Grandpa. He even let Grandpa hold him and Gavin didn't seem to mind. Mostly Gavin just wanted to take his glasses off. Because Gavin is way shallow and materialistic.

The music and play table I ordered for Gavin arrived today. It's not as tall as I would have liked, and I'll have to attach some sort of non-slip material to the legs so it doesn't slide on the carpet when Gavin leans on it. But other than that it seems great. Gavin was really into it. He'd push a button or move something to make a noise and then look up at me or my mom and grandpa and smile like, "I did that!" or "Did you hear that?" I'm glad he likes it and for the people who shook their heads that I used my birthday money to get my son a toy, rest assured it is definitely a present for me.

Gavin and I went to two different drug stores today, Rite Aid and CVS. I'd only planned on going to Rite Aid but they, much like the CVS I went to yesterday, don't process rolls of film any more. But the lady at CVS yesterday told me the other CVS further up 9 mile still does. I was hoping to get everything done at Rite Aid since I had a prescription to pick up there, but no dice. So off to the other CVS we went to drop off the film. When Stacy came home the three of us, plus Henri, went to pick up the pictures and take a walk in the neighborhood by the store, a much nicer part of Ferndale than where we live. After we got home I turned around for a solo journey back to the non-photo-developing CVS to get Henri's prescription filled. So I went to the drug store a total of four times today, three of those with Gavin. Amanda claims I go to the drug store more than anyone else she knows, so let it be known that today was a record even for me.

Lisa and Brenden arrive on Saturday! I am so excited for Gavin and Brenden to meet. Granted Brenden is six weeks older and thus the elder statesman of babydom, but hopefully he won't find Gavin to be totally immature. I have a strong desire to kidnap them both. "Them" being Lisa and Brenden since Gavin already lives here.

Week 15 Day 2: Grown ass woman

Apparently morning naps are for babies and Gavin is too old for that shit now. Because he wasn't having it today. No way was he going to sleep between the hours of 8 and 10 just because he was clearly tired and yawning and crabby. Such is the logic of an 8 month old.

And so we were crabby. Maybe me more than him. It's hard to tell sometimes. Actually I wasn't that crabby, just tired. Being awake is hard regardless of your age.

So after his no-nap I gave him some grub and loaded him in the car for CVS where I'd planned to get the photos we took on Sunday at Grandpa Gary's developed. Except the one by us doesn't do that any more. They only deal with digital photos now. They looked at my little disposable camera and told me to go back to the 80s. So no grandpa photos yet. I would have tried going somewhere else but Gavin screamed like a mad man when I put him in his car seat after we left the store. He cried when I put him in his car seat before we left the house, too. While he was quire good in the store, very happy to have his own sale circular to crumple and hold (though not to put in his mouth because his mom is a total drag). But I didn't want to push my luck.

So that left me at home on a rainy day with a no-nap baby, hours to go before his next feeding and scheduled nap. We played in his room with toys. He scaled everything he possibly could, including me. It's like, "Dude, that's my face, not a hole in a rock wall." He also stood by himself today completely unassisted, no hidden wire or strings, for five full seconds. That's our standing record. I will let you know when he beats it. We also went for a walk today and I got an earache from the wind even though I had cotton in my ears. It was too warm for a hat (for me, not for Gavin. He had a little skull cap and his hood on). It wasn't a bad earache or anything, but I hate that even warm summer breeze can tie my eardrums in knots. I would like to state for the record that I hope Gavin has hearty ears that can withstand wind. And hail. And fire. And all elements natural and man made. Amen.

Tonight I got to go on a date with Rosemary. She bought me dinner for my birthday (Rosemary is a long standing practitioner of the Extended Remix Birthday). It was nice nice nice. Grown ups! Eating warm food! Talking without worrying about other peoples' butts. I'm hoping we can do it again before my next birthday.

Week 15 Day 1: Deer tracks and woodpecker holes

Last night was a hell of a night. And I don't mean that in a "why am I asleep in my car and where are my pants" kind of way. We don't roll like that around here. Our night-o-meter is pretty exclusively measured by how well Gavin sleeps. Thankfully he usually sleeps really well. He goes to sleep around 7 and quite often stays asleep until 7 the next morning. Sometimes he wakes once or twice to feed, but he really is a good sleeper. Not last night, though. He was up and down from 7 until after midnight. I don't know what the deal was, either. He'd wake up crying really hard and one of us would go in, soothe him back to sleep, and soon after he'd wake up again. And I always found him sitting up in the corner of his crib closest to the door, holding onto the crib slats. Stacy said she read somewhere that some babies practice their newfound mobility skills when they're supposed to be asleep and we thought maybe that's what he was doing, but I am not so sure. It was not at all normal behavior for him. We finally guessed that he might be teething and gave him some baby Tylenol, some teething tablets, and swabbed his gums with Oragel. I don't know if that solved the problem at all, but he did go to sleep and stay asleep soon after that.

So needless to say I was tired today. And I am still sick. Much better, mind you, but still sick. So, awesome.

Our big outting today was to go to AJ's Cafe in Ferndale to see Ellen Cogen Lipton, our representative in the Michigan House but also someone I know personally. I really wanted her to meet Gavin and I'd gotten an email saying she was holding neighborhood office hours or something along those lines at AJ's today from 10-11, but when we got there at about 10:45 she wasn't there. Alas. So Gavin and I went for a walk around downtown Ferndale instead. We went to the dollar store (his first time. A very special moment) and to Naka, an indie boutique store I really like. The owner is really nice (and, okay, very cute) and there's a store dog, too, which I whole heartedly support. They have some cool baby stuff, most of which is much too expensive for me to buy for Gavin, but they had some books there and, well, I'm a sucker for books and so we left with one. I mean, we paid for it and everything. Not trying to make it sound like I'm turning Gavin into a shoplifting accomplice. I got him a book called Touch and Feel Town, which is exactly what the title describes. There's a page with a brick wall that's rough to the touch, and another with a sidewalk. What sold me on the book, however, was the cover, which features the grill of a car made out of some kind of corrugated cardboard material. Gavin is really into scratching things and experiencing different textures, and when I held out the book to him he moved his little fingertips across the grill and then looked up at me with a big smile like, "Wow. Cool."

Speaking of new textures, yesterday Stacy, Gavin and I went to Grandpa Gary's (Stacy's dad) and we went for a walk in the woods behind Gary's house and Gavin got to feel moss under his bare feet and dried leaves, too. He got his little feet dirty and I, who think dirty bare feet are disgusting, thought it was the cutest thing ever. Gary even took Gavin up into his deer blind, which Gavin loved. We took lots of pictures, but I don't know if any of them turned out because they were taken with a disposable camera I picked up at Meijer on the way there because we'd realized we forgot ours. Gary lives over two hours away, so we weren't exactly going to turn around and go back for it. The funny part is, when we got home we got the stroller out of the trunk and the camera fell out of it. So we had it the whole time. In any case, Gavin also got to reach out and touch the pine tree needles on the trees. He's very much a city boy so this was very cool and is what I always kind of imagined hanging out with Grandpa Gary would be like for him. Of course, Gary doesn't know that we're raising Gavin as a vegetarian and that the only time I want him in a deer blind is with a pair of binoculars, not a gun. But Gary is a big nature lover, too, and I think he'll be happy showing Gavin deer tracks and woodpecker holes and taking him for rides on his 4-wheeler (when Gavin is older, of course. Much, much older. And not without a helmet. But that conversation comes later, too).

Week 14 Day 5: Happy Birthday to me

Today is my birthday and this morning I woke up to the sound of Gavin crying. Super loud crying, in fact. Wailing, even. I took some NyQuil last night so I wasn't quite fully conscious when I first heard it. And I even tried to go back to sleep. I figured Stacy was up and dealing with it. He was probably getting his diaper changed, something that frequently causes him to pitch a fit. Not that he minds the diaper part so much as he really minds the being horizontal and not able to climb everything in the world like it's a jungle gym part. He's all about his new mobility and he'll be damned if soiled drawers are going to stop him.

So when I finally get out of bed I come in the living room to see Stacy working on the computer. Gavin is in his room crying like a madman. "What's going on?" I ask Stacy. "Oh," she says, irritation in her voice, "he wants me to rock him for another hour and I'm waiting to see if he'll go back to sleep." I should mention it was time for his first nap. I'd slept through his morning awake time. It was very clear to me that Gavin was not going back to sleep by himself. It was also clear to me that Stacy was not in her happy place and she needed to not be the one to go and soothe him. So I headed into the bathroom to pee and to gargle, two things that were crucial before Operation Soothe Gavin could commence. Ordinarily I would gargle AND brush my teeth, but this was an emergency. Brushing my teeth would have to wait.

When I entered his room he was sitting up in the front corner of his crib, one sleep-sacked foot hanging out, hands clutching the bars. I unzipped his crib tent and lifted him out. I don't know what I said to him, but it was probably something along the lines of, "Quit crying, Mama's trying to watch her stories." I'm kidding. It was more like, "Hey, Bear. You're okay. You are okay," with plenty of back patting and swaying. While Gavin was sick we got back into the habit of rocking him all the way to sleep because when the poor dude would cry it would put the mucus factory on high alert and he'd end up super stuffy and unable to breathe properly and, thus, unable to sleep. So letting him cry it out for even a short time was counterproductive. Thankfully he's over his cold now, but he rather likes being rocked to sleep so it's been a tough transition for him. I like rocking him to sleep, too, but he's a chunky little monkey and his mamas aren't body builders.

But my birthday wasn't all screaming and crying. Stacy and Gavin gave me some pretty awesome presents, including a book for Gavin and I to share and some monkey chopsticks. But best of all, Stacy made me a "How To" book modeled after a book I bought for Gavin called No No Yes Yes, except she used pictures of Gavin throughout the book. So, for example, there is a page that has an image of a monkey washing his face and it says NO NO on the page, and the opposing page is a photo of Gavin with food all over his face and it says Yes Yes. Because Gavin does not like having his face wiped. It is really awesome. She even laminated it and spiral bound it at school.

Gavin got lots of presents for my birthday. Laura and Jamie gave me the Chicco DJ Remix Piano I've been coveting forever and I did, indeed, use part of the Amazon.com gift certificate from my mom to get Gavin the Chicco Music 'N Play Table. I hope it arrives before Lisa gets here (next weekend!!!!) so that Brenden can play with it, too. I have to say, I really like Chicco brand toys so far. Gavin has several of them (including the DJ Guitar, which I got super cheap on eBay) and they're all pretty cool. Well, most of them. He has the Adventure Backpack, which I picked up 70% off at Borders after Christmas, which is kind of dumb. I mean, it's a backpack, but it doesn't open. So what's the point of making it a backpack? It doesn't really do that much and the removable parts of the toy, a walkie takie and water bottle, are really cheaply made. In fact, the so-called "water bottle" doesn't look like a water bottle. I think it looks like a hand grenade and Stacy says it looks like a bottle of sun screen so we've taken to calling it a lotion bomb. It does, however, play music and, like the other music-playing Chicco toys I've encountered, it has really good music for a children's toy and the sound is pretty decent to boot. So there's that.

In any case. I didn't do much baby watching this week since I was sick and Stacy was home. It sucks that I was sick her entire week off. And it sucks to still be sick on my birthday. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow healthy again. Who knows? But a couple of NyQuil certainly won't hurt.

Oh, and today I got an offer letter from the University of Michigan to teach in the fall. So it looks like starting September Gavin will be back in day care at least part time. And that I'll have a job.

Week 14 Day 4: Mr. Sweats

You know, it takes an awfully adorable dude to look cute in sweat pants, but Gavin certainly does. He was dressed in sweats today before his first nap and then we just never bothered changing him out of them. I told him that right now sweat pants are fine and he can even wow the ladies in them because he is a baby and is super cute, but that as he gets older sweat pants will be much less cute and if he want to dazzle the ladies whilst in sweats he'd better be doing something athletically impressive. As my mother in law said while she was visiting, I pay more attention to how I dress Gavin than to how I dress myself (uh, thanks), so I definitely am fearful that one day when Gavin is able to dress himself he will emerge from his room in Florida Gators sweat pants with a Detroit Red Wings t-shirt paired with, like, Crocs or something. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with the possibility that he might like sports or be partial to specific teams, but orange and blue paired with red and white obviously don't go. Please let my son be able to see that.

Of course, I've already had the conversation with him in my head. The one where he wants to go out wearing an atrocity like the one mentioned above and when I express my concern he asks, "Who cares? Why does it matter?" I have the answer to the first one: "I care." But to the second one, "Because I don't want you to look like an asshole" isn't going to suffice. I mean, it's a pretty loaded issue. It really shouldn't matter what he wears as long as he's happy. And yet, I want him to look good. I want him to look like he owns a mirror and isn't colorblind (unless, of course, it turns out that he is colorblind. It's too soon to tell). And it's hard not to sound shallow while saying, "Because it does matter what you look like. It will always matter what you look like, and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying or delusional." Or, "Because I didn't pick out and pay for a really handsome donor so you could wear flip-flops to church." Not that we're likely to ever go to church. But you get my point. And then there's the whole "because when you look good it makes me look good" aspect. I was not a very good looking kid growing up. The late elementary, junior high years were very rough. And no doubt this embarrassed my parents. Hell, it embarrassed me. When I look back on pictures of that time I think, "Woah, where was my intervention? Why did my parents let me go around like that?" I am sure that as he gets older Gavin will have many things to blame be for, but I hope my effort to make him look mighty handsome isn't one of them.

I have a sinus infection, as I might have mentioned yesterday, so I felt pretty crummy all day. I even skipped my daily walk with Stacy, Gavin and Henri (luckily Stacy took Henri anyway so he didn't have to miss a walk on my account). I tried to take a nap while Gavin took his first nap but that didn't go very well. It's hard to nap when you can't breathe and there is a constant torrent of snot marching out of your face. But I did get many smiles from Gavin, which are the best. He is very quick to smile and being on the receiving end of one of his gap-toothed grins is really awesome.

I had to go to a concert tonight with Laura for our Wonder Twins column (The Drive-By Truckers at St. Andrew's) so I couldn't accompany Gavin and Stacy to Stacy's friend Lisa's house for the weekly party there. Mind you, I don't usually go to this party anyway, but I would have liked to go this time because Stacy was taking Gavin to show him off. When I came home from the concert she was already in bed but she told me that Gavin really liked being at the party, but that by the time they got home it was past 7:00, which is past his bed time and so he was really tired and had a hard time falling asleep. Poor dude. I would have liked to see him in action at the party. I am sure it was more entertaining than the show I was at. Which, by the way, did not help my sinus infection.

Speaking of the show, I was a little late getting to Laura's tonight because I took a detour to Babies R Us to get Gavin a phone. I hope he likes it. He's become kind of obsessed with the home phone here and so I figured it was time he had his own. Besides, it'll be good to know that I can always reach him wherever he is. I just have to figure out how to set up his voice mail for him now.

Week 14 Day 3: A stand up guy

Gavin is totally crawling now, textbook style. He's toyed with it before, but now if he's motivated to get to something, he trucks on over on his hands and knees. Mind you, the desired object (usually the cat) can't be too far away or he'll give up. Not that I can blame him. I don't like crawling on my hands and knees. Shit's labor intensive. Walking is the way to go. And Gavin is sadly aware of this. He really wants to do it. He loves, loves, loves pulling himself up on stuff and standing there, scooting (I don't know why they call it scooting. Scooting is what an animal with impacted anal glands does) around said object and even transferring to another nearby object. He breathes quite heavily as he does all of this. And while there are moments of the pure joy of accomplishment on his face, he is quite often looking very serious, very intense. You can see his eyes move from, say, one dresser drawer handle to the next and then see his hand reach out for it. It's like reading his mind. "I have this dresser handle, and there's another dresser handle. I can have this one too now."

I am fairly certain that my mom is giving me an Amazon.com gift certificate for my birthday and I plan to get Gavin this Chicco music and play table thing. As I said, he loves to pull himself up, but then he doesn't usually have anything to do while he's there (unless it's the dresser drawers. He was very excited about finding his shoes in the drawer today and chewed very voraciously on one of his Airwalks). I think he'd really like it. Moreover, I think I'd really like watching him play with it. He's getting more into his toys these days. Things that did not interest him before do now. Understanding cause and effect helps. So now if he has a rattle he will study it and shake it rather than only putting it in his mouth.

Dude still isn't wild about eating anything with texture in it. Likes his food as smooth as possible. We've been giving him some stage 3 baby food from the jar that supposedly has texture, but it really doesn't have much. He'll begrudgingly eat it though. I guess you have to start somewhere. And I can sympathize. There are some foods I just can't eat because of the texture. Oranges, for example. I love the way they taste and love the way they smell, but I can't stand to eat them. Orange juice, however, is fine. It's not something I drink a lot, but I can do it.

Stacy and I took him to the Ferndale Community Center today so he could play in the kids' room. It rained all day so it felt like a good day to get out of the house. I actually thought there would be other kids there but Gavin had the whole room to himself. When we got there the place was a mess. Clearly kids had been there. Toys were all over the place. While Gavin played I tidied up, putting things away and making the place look neat. I am not a fan of messiness. Plus whenever Gavin is the only kid there (it's happened one other time) I always have this fear that the reason no one else is there is because we aren't supposed to be there. So I figured that if I at least clean the place up and leave it much better than how I found it then we'll be square. Gavin liked pulling himself up on the little people chairs. And he dug this bead thing they have there, though when he tried to pull himself up it tipped over. Thankfully Stacy was right there and was able to right the ship so he didn't fall. What he liked most of all was this little tow truck because it had this little piece attached by a string (the tow part) which he was hell bent on putting in his mouth. As Stacy pointed out, the truck had decals on it that said "Police" and then a symbol on the doors that said, "American Police." My best guess is that this toy was not made or designed in this country.

We also took Gavin for a walk, or more accurately, a stroll since he just gets pushed around. It was rainy and it rained on us a little, but we try to take a walk every day. I'd say the family member who liked today's walk the least would be Henri, our poodle. He doesn't like to walk when it's wet outside. He walked way behind us the entire time, there was hardly any slack on his leash. Stacy said he doesn't like the way wet ground feels on his paws. "He's a texture queen like Gavin," she said.

Week 14 Day 2: Wake up call

It's nice having Stacy home this week, though I'm afraid I'm getting out of practice re: stay at home mom-dom. Come Monday I won't know what to feed him or when to put him down for a nap.

Gavin is almost totally unsick now, and I'm trailing behind him. I am predicting major wellness for him by tomorrow and for me in a few days. Maybe I'll stop coughing up pieces of my lungs in time for my birthday. Which is in three days. I'll be 32, a very momentous year in any woman's life. Or something. I really don't care about my birthday this year. Usually I do, but I guess since I have a baby now my focus is really all on him.

I'm also really excited about Lisa and Brenden coming here so, so soon. That totally eclipses my birthday. I can't believe that our sons are almost 9 and 10 months old and they have never met. And I have never met Brenden. And she has never met Gavin. We have a lot of catching up to do in the 12 days that they'll be in Michigan. Why does California have to be so far away? I really wish no one I love lived far away. Unfortunately that is not a wish I get to have come true any time soon.

Stacy and I watched the movie Precious last night. That was a hard movie to watch. Especially when she had her second baby. The scene where her mother throws the baby on the floor and then she's fighting with her mother and she's running away and falls down the stairs with the baby. Jesus H. Christ. It made me feel sick to my stomach. Both Stacy and I said we felt a strong desire to wake Gavin up so we could hold him and make sure he was okay. I remember when Rosemary said I would be more sensitive to bad things happening to babies once I had one myself (not that I was ever in any way heartless re: bad things happening to babies). This was definitely a stark instance of that phenomenon. Because I love my son so much and want to keep any kind of pain I can from him it's difficult to fathom how someone could feel the precise opposite for their own child. Or for any child. I mean, you don't have to love all the babies in the world or anything, but you certainly shouldn't want to maim them either. Gavin is, no doubt, adored. That there are babies in this world who aren't is enough to kill anyone with a working heart. Which is why, I guess, a working heart doesn't always feel like an asset.

Yesterday morning Stacy brought Gavin into our bed to nurse him and he fell asleep while nursing and she said that when he woke up, and he wasn't asleep long, he saw Stacy and gave her this huge smile like, "Hey, you're here!" And then he turned toward me and gave me the same awesome look. Only I was sacked out since I'd taken NyQuil the night before and I smiled at him but when he started poking me in the face with his fingers that was more than I could take. So I turned my head and he just pulled my hair instead. I don't remember much else but that's how I fell back asleep, with Gavin pulling my hair. I love how happy he is when he wakes up. And I love that he has another Mama when I can't be properly roused into consciousness.

Week 14 Day 1: Within the glass

We bid farewell to Granny Marilyn today. But not to my cold. Or Gavin's. But we're so much closer to fine, not to make an Indigo Girls' reference or anything. We're over the sick hump, if you will. Eww.

Marilyn's visit was pretty damn good, I must say, and not even just by mother-in-law standards. It's amazing what a baby in the mix can do. Everyone has common ground, everyone has something to talk about and focus on. And while at times she was a little crazy making (like when she insisted that Gavin's first word was "No" and that it was said to her or when she insisted that she knew what Gavin wanted or asserted herself in some way that felt a little too much like "anything you can do I can do better." But these moments were few). Gavin and Marilyn get along swell and that's what matters. And how we all love, love, love that boy.

We dropped Marilyn off with her friend Connie at a McDonald's in Hartland. We were meeting Connie halfway or something. I don't know geography. On the way home Stacy, Gavin and I went to the Twelve Oaks Mall to let Gavin play in their playpit. He LOVED it. And he was a hit with the other kids. He was swarmed as soon as we put him down. A boy who was probably 3 or 4 had his dad's cell phone (at least I'm assuming it was his dad's) and stood there taking photo after photo of Gavin. I don't think he really knew how to work the camera phone feature, but he was sure trying. It was a little strange. When I took out my camera a little kid ran up to me and asked if it was a Nintendo something-or-another, thinking I'd just whipped out my handheld video game system. I told him that, no, it was a camera and he asked me if he could take a picture with it. I told him thanks for asking, but I would just take the pictures myself. Kids in Novi are weird. Also weird is the playscape there. Gavin was playing on what were obviously larger than life toy blocks off to the side, but the bulk was confusing. While at the Oakland Mall they had a very clearly discernible animal theme, the Twelve Oaks Mall playscape, according to the mall's Web site, "features a health and wellness theme in which children can skip, frolic, and step along the ribbon of gauze to the mending Teddy. Healthy messages teach healthy lifestyle to even our youngest visitors!" This would explain why sayings such as, "I love my doctor" and "Don't talk to strangers" were emblazoned throughout. I highly doubt the majority of the mall's "youngest visitors" could read the messages, nor that any of them knew that they were running along a Green Giant-sized strip of gauze flowing around a wounded stuffed bear. Gavin didn't care. He had a great time standing up and moving between blocks. He had no shoes or socks on so you could really see his toes in action as he stepped around. God, I love his toes. Even his oddly angled sideways little toes. I'm in love with my son's feet.

On the way home from the mall Stacy brought up the issue of a sibling for Gavin. She really wants him to have a sibling because she really liked having a brother growing up (her brother is a year older than me, which means two years younger than her). She said that she thinks it would be ideal for them to be two years apart which means she'd like to be pregnant by October. Which, really, is like the day after tomorrow. My head exploded a little bit. There's a lot to consider. For one thing, how the hell would be fit two kids into our tiny house? "We'll have to get a bigger house," Stacy says. Yes, yes we would. But how? But setting our current one on fire? Because I don't see how we could ever sell it. (Note to our insurance company: we would never set our house on fire intentionally. Come on.) There's also the issue of mechanics, which is not at all the right word. But eggs and wombs and procedures that cost lots of money and aren't covered by insurance. There's the option #1: Stacy gets pregnant using her own eggs, which means intensive egg-cultivating therapy/harvesting/and in vitro fertilization (we aren't going to mess with IUI again since it didn't work so many times before. Straight to the big guns). Of course, the last time we did this we ended up, after all of the rigmarole, with one good egg, not the leftover frozen embryos that right-to-lifers fight over stem cell researching. Stacy is not a good egg producer. Granted, she produced the one most perfect egg ever which became our Gavin. But there's a good chance we could do it all again and get zero eggs. So. This is where my eggs come in. We could do the egg harvesting from my guts and implant a fertilized egg into Stacy's guts. Or I could get pregnant, which seems like the easiest option on the surface, but isn't really. For one thing, I don't have a stable job or stable insurance. Stacy does. Since I can't legally adopt Gavin, she wouldn't be able to legally adopt the child I carried, which means he or she would be stuck with deadbeat Mama D's insurance or whatever program kids qualify for who have parents like me. I also don't want to get pregnant. I mean, I know, miracle of life and all, but I don't have that baby-carrying urge. However, Stacy really hated being pregnant. That wasn't a fun nine months for either of us. I was terrified that she'd end up with severe post-partum depression and I'd end up taking care of her and a newborn baby myself. Thankfully that didn't happen. And Stacy has said that if she'd known it was Gavin in there making her feel sick and uncomfortable, she would have felt differently. Instead it felt like an alien invader. Maybe this time would be different. Who knows? I don't. I don't know anything. Our plan moving forward is a pretty solid, "Who knows?"

Fun fact: "in vitro" is Latin for "within the glass."

Week 13 Day 5: Mama NyQuil

I slept through most of my son's waking hours today. I took some NyQuil before bed last night and slept rather soundly all night. And when I woke up at about 8 or so this morning, I took some DayQuil. And still I felt very tired. So I thought, "Why not just get back in bed and rest awhile longer?" Because Stacy was home today, no school because of Easter -- the Passion of the Christ, the rolling of the rock, Cadbury Eggs and all that -- so it wouldn't hurt for me to "take a rest," which is what I call Gavin's naps. And so I got back in bed. And didn't wake up again until 1:20 p.m. My God. In fact, I think the only reason I woke up is because Stacy came in with Gavin to check on me to make sure I wasn't in a coma.

It was a beautiful day today, too. A shame I had to spend it sick. I missed playtime on a blanket in the backyard. Stacy said she took lots of pictures, but I haven't seen them yet. She said that at one point Gavin's foot went off of the blanket and into the grass and he started to cry. When Stacy tried to make him touch the grass with his hand he cried even more. So for some reason Gavin isn't a fan of our lawn. I can't really blame him. It's a travesty as far as lawns go. Mostly various weeds that I attempt to keep mowed. Of course, Gavin has no idea that his moms' lawn is of poor quality -- nor can he appreciate the fact that we eschew fertilizing and weed killing applications because we don't think having a golf course-quality lawn is worth spraying poison into the ground and contaminating the ground water. Call us crazy. In any case, it's a texture thing. Something new he's never felt and didn't like. Eventually he'll come around, I think, but even if he doesn't, well, there are always shoes.

In good news, Gavin seems to be feeling better. Not well, mind you, but better, which is what Stacy predicted based on the trajectory of her own cold. The cold she gave to Gavin. The cold Gavin gave to me. The family that germs together squirms together. Or whatever.

I did accompany Stacy and Gavin to the grocery store, although I probably shouldn't have gone for the good of mankind. But I wanted to get out of the house. We went to Kroger. Gavin was, as usual, adorable. He was even barefoot, which was a first for him at a public outing. I mean, he was barefoot when we brought him home from the hospital and all since it was July, but recently going to the store has always involved socks, sometimes shoes. Usually coats and hats and mittens. So this was quite a change. I love his little bare feet. Or should I say his giant Bear feet. Although in our excitement about the weather we forgot how grocery stores are always cold. But I think he was fine. He didn't seem to mind and we weren't there long.

After the store we went for a quick walk. Gavin was still barefoot and he even had dirty toes, most likely caused by his short time sitting in the grass while Stacy got the stroller out of the trunk (I was inside getting Henri's leash on and missed it, but Stacy said as soon as his feet touched the grass he started to cry again). Pretty soon he'll be walking (!) and his feet will be dirty an awful lot. I am no fan of dirty feet. Will I be able to convince a boy that clean feet are next to godliness or whatever? Or will I be scrubbing dirty boy footprints off the couch next to the dirty cat pawprints and the dirty poodle paws? I think I know the answer...

Week 13 Day 4: No foolin'

There is a woman yelling at her kids outside right now. It's almost 9 p.m. It's dark. I am thinking they're teenagers. The kids, not the mom. Although the mom might be, too. I have been watching a lot of 16 and Pregnant, so I know how it be. I am hoping she yells loudly enough to wake my sick baby. That's a joke. April Fool's! Or whatever. Also the joke part is about wanting her to wake Gavin. She really was (it is over now, I think) yelling at her kids. Or someone's kids. I couldn't understand most of it. "Get ______ now!" was part of it, followed by what sounded like sass. It's like summer outside. Perfect weather, really. So that means open windows and open mouths, which often means free entertainment and/or horrific displays of neighborhood domestic sadness.

So, yes. 16 and Pregnant. I like to watch this show. I don't like that it exists, mind you, but I find it fascinating. And sad. And sweet at times. But I think perhaps the reason I like to watch it the most is that afterwards I always feel like Super #1 Mom U.S.A. It's not like it's stiff competition or anything, but still.

Gavin woke up about 4 this morning crying and screaming his little heart out. Stacy was trying to rock him back to sleep after she nursed him and he just wasn't calming down. Marilyn and I went into the nursery about the same time to see what was going on. I was holding Gavin at the time and he reached toward Marilyn, which she took as a sign that he wanted her to hold him. It wasn't, but I let her take him anyway. He does this now where he kind of points to people by reaching out to them with one hand, and while sometimes it does seem like he wants the person he's indicating to take him, I think most of the time it's just his way of acknowledging people. In any case, while Marilyn was soothing him Stacy went back to bed and I was stressed out because I feel like I know how to soothe him and I didn't want to leave Marilyn hanging, but I also didn't want to lurk outside the door or anything. But she finally did get him to sleep and as she made her way back to her bed (a.k.a. our couch), the cat pushed open Gavin's door (if the knob isn't turned all the way when the door is shut it doesn't latch right) and started to go in. I grabbed the cat and rerouted him, but when I looked into Gavin's room I saw that his crib rail was down. His crib tent was zipped, yes, but there is now way I was going to rely on that to keep him from falling to his death. So I went in there and as quietly and gently as I could pulled the rail up. So basically I'm saying thank God for the cat. And I never say that.

So. I still feel like garbage today. Gavin is also still sick. This is the plague house. I hope Marilyn doesn't get sick, too. She was helpful yet again today. I didn't get much rest or anything, but since I feel cruddy it's nice to have someone else to take on the bulk of the Gavin care for a few days. I did manage to shower today, so hooray for me. And today and yesterday Stacy came home at lunch time to nurse Gavin, so that was nice. Got to see my wife and Bear got some grub. His appetite is kind of waning since he's sick and all so anything that helps get more nutrition into him the merrier. Marilyn left this afternoon to go stay at her friend Connie's for a few days, but Stacy has tomorrow off thanks to the Lord Jesus Christ rising from the dead and all. And I do thank Jesus for that.