Week 22 Day 1: No America Cake for Bear

I would say Happy Memorial Day, but that just doesn't sound right considering the operative word is "memorial." Today you're supposed to remember and honor folks who have lost their lives fighting for our country and you do that by grilling cheese-product-infused hot dogs, drinking cheap beer, and eating America Cake.

We didn't really do any of those things here. For one thing, Gavin is too young for cake, America Cake or no, and he and I are vegetarian (we're working on Stacy, although she doesn't eat meat very often and doesn't eat any red meat or pork) and no one here drinks beer. Especially not cheap beer. We did, however, have an impromptu vegan nachos get-together with my sisters Amanda, Christine, Laura and her girlfriend Jamie. We were also joined by our bearded friend Brad who blew a bike tire in Detroit on the corner of 7 Mile and Woodward and called Laura and Jamie to rescue him. And Brad, Laura, and Jamie did, in fact, get beer, but it wasn't Naty Light, it was Red Stripe. And Christine drank some kind of weird apple beer. I don't know. Personally I think beer tastes horrible. Like carbonated nail polish remover. I'll stick to Slurpees (which Brad and Laura were oh so kind to get for me on their beer run).

I think Gavin was a little in awe of Brad's beard, though possibly a little freaked by it, too. I don't think he's ever seen someone with a beard before -- and anyway no one has a beard like Brad's. While Brad was all game for Gavin to grab his beard, he never did. Brad, by the way, is the designer of Gavin's Baby 2 Momz logo, which started Gavin's rep as the baddest ass baby rapper in Detroit. Just about everyone in my family including Gavin has a t-shirt of, as does Brad. Men's size small, preferably v-neck because he likes to show off his hairy chest, in case you ever want to buy Brad a t-shirt.

It amazes me that Gavin could one day be a hairy dude like Brad some day. Though I suspect he'll be a bigger dude. But we are raising him as a lover not a fighter, so Brad has nothing to worry about.

In other meeting-new-people news, Gavin also met Rachel, a friend of Stacy's. They were out of touch for awhile, but now that they're back in touch a meeting between Rachel and the Bear had to be arranged. I think he made a pretty good impression, even if he was a bit crabby during dinner (he did not dig what Stacy was feeding him. The kudzu was especially unpopular. Granted, Stacy wasn't really feeding him kudzu, it's just what I call the Japanese green she bought at the farmer's market. The lady selling the stuff couldn't even pronounce it, so I have no idea what it's called. Personally, if someone's hawking some weird plant they can't even pronounce, my first instinct isn't to buy it, purée it and feed it to my son. But that's just me). Mostly he put on the charm and cuteness, which is pretty much his default mode. He even did a little showing off. Stacy and I were sitting on the floor of his room with him between us taking turns encouraging him to walk back and forth. At one point I stood him up and Stacy held out her hands and he walked four and a half steps, his new record. We have Rachel as a witness in case there are any doubters (read: haters) up in here.

He also walks all over the house using his walker. I never would have gotten him a walker since I have only heard bad things about them, but this was a hand-me-down and he really digs it. And I don't think we're damaging his walking development. He still prefers to crawl if he wants to get somewhere in a hurry. The walker is just for fun. And by walker I don't mean an exersaucer with wheels where your baby sits in it and scoots his feet to propel himself down the nearest flight of stairs. I mean something that looks more like a little lawnmower he walks behind and pushes around the house. In fact the other day he was pushing his walker and Stacy said he looked like a little bald dad mowing the lawn. The fact that he was wearing a plaid button down shirt and khaki shorts certainly didn't hurt the look.

Week 21 Day 5: Secret monkey mail

I got mail today addressed to Gavin's Mom. It was from an in-state address but one I was not familiar with. The back of the envelope said, "Love ya!" I didn't know which one of Gavin's moms it was meant for, but since I was the only one home at the time I decided I got to open it. Inside was a monkey-face bookmark, so it was obviously for me. Who it was from, however, I did not know. I Googled the address and Nancy Drew style (because of how Nancy Drew was always using Google) and came up with an out patient drug and alcohol treatment center. Knowing my friend Matthew works at such a place, I put two and two together. I am a super sleuth. I love to get mail so it was a nice addition to the day. Thanks, Matthew! :)

Stacy came home at noon today so I was only flying solo for part of the day. Gavin was very happy to see her and her breasts.

Gavin's Aunt Christine also came in today from Los Angeles where she is the Performing Arts Director for Heart of Los Angeles (HOLA). She is all about kids and music and I know it kills her inside that she lives so far away from Gavin and cannot groom him to be a professional musician every day of his infant life. This actually kills us a little inside, too. But she is helping kids discover music and how to make it and stuff and we are very proud of her.

Our big outting today was once again to the hospital to see Grandpa. He's doing much better. He was actually sitting up in a wheelchair and my mom was reading cards to him that people had sent to the hospital. He can't talk and his movement is limited, but my mom said he did well with the speech therapist today. Of course, I have no idea what constitutes "well" here, but it is good news and I will take it.

When we got to Grandpa's floor Christine was waiting for us in the waiting room and was super excited to see Gavin. I don't think he recognized her but he was very happy to be fawned over. It's something he's used to considering his high fawnability quotient.

After saying hello to Grandpa, Christine and I took Gavin down to the hospital patient garden, which is an indoor courtyard furnished with 100% fake flowers, grass, trees, and bushes. It was pretty hot in there since it's got a glass ceiling and it was a very sunny day. The heat really brought out the plastic smell. It's pretty much an anti-environment environment. But Gavin is a go-go-go kind of guy and we needed to let him blow off some of his NRG somewhere, and so we let him crawl around for a bit. He mostly wanted to play with his stroller. After a while my mom came down and met us there and we all just kind of watched Gavin cavort. He is a great stress reliever. Pretty much everything he does is cute. I love watching his little butt when he crawls. Adorable (and he doesn't even need ridiculous diapers).

Despite his cuteness, Gavin was super cranky after his afternoon nap today. I'm not sure why since he seemed to have slept well and for a good length of time. My best guess is teething since he is still working on teeth 5 & 6 (5 is already half way there while 6 hasn't cut through the gums yet). Of course, it might not be teething. He could just have some pre-toddler angst. But for now I will blame unexplained crankiness on teething. I realize that once he's, like, 18 I won't be able to use this excuse any more, so I want to get as much mileage out of it as I can.

Week 21 Day 4: Thug life

Gavin and I went to the Kids Zone/Romp and Stomp (I don't know what it's called at this point. I think if you're in the gym, which we were, it's Romp and Stomp, but if you're in the room across the hall with all of the toys it's Kids Zone) at the community center again today and we were accused of sneaking in. Actually all of us were (there were two other moms with kids). KZ/R&S is not free. You pay for visits in advance ($10 for 5 visits) and each time you go you scan your card at this little unmanned scanner by the entrance. The scanner makes a very loud beeping sound, which I know because I dutifully scanned my card because Gavin and I aren't scammers. So we're playing in the gym, minding our own business, and a guy who works there comes in and says in kind of a patronizing tone, "I don't have any of you up on my computer," to which I respond, "What does that mean?" And he says, "That means nobody here scanned their cards on the way in." All three of the grown ups present say that we did, indeed, scan our cards. He takes all of our names and scans us in manually, but I have to admit the whole thing irked me. I guess I just don't like being accused of something I didn't do. If you're going to accuse me of anything today, accuse me of dressing my son like a dweeb. That I am guilty of, at least for the time we were at KZ/R&S. It was super hot today and so I had him in a t-shirt, some jean shorts and his new sandals. I didn't want him crawling around on the gym floor in shorts because I didn't want him to get floor burn all over his knees. So when we got there I pulled a pair of grey sweatpants over top his shorts. So he played in sweats and sandals, happy as can be and cute to boot despite of his get up. It's just not a look a lot of people can pull off -- or should even try.

I got an email from BabyCenter.com today that informed me that babies at this age (10 months) usually have their fine motor skills working, you know, mighty fine. They can pick up really small objects now. This is very true for Gavin. He is Mr. Detritus. If there's something tiny on the floor, something an adult human wouldn't even see, Gavin will find it, pick it up, and try to put it in his mouth. "Consider vacuuming more often at this stage," offered the BabyCenter newsletter. Yes, I will consider this. I will consider this with all of my might. Thank you, BabyCenter. Thank you.

Gavin's mighty fine motor skills do make feeding time more fun, though. When we first introduced puffs to him it was a no-go. Now he loves them (he does not love the puffed rice cereal that Stacy bought for him before we got him puffs. Not even the dog will eat the puffed rice cereal). We start off each meal with a small handful of puffs so he is busied in his high chair while I mix and mash his food. We even have a little puffs dance we do. Well, I have a puffs dance that I do. He just sits in his high chair and smiles really big. Actually, that's pretty much what he always does when we dance with and/or for him. You could say it's his signature move.

Yesterday morning during our walk Stacy said Gavin looked like a bully in the photos from the Parent Club picnic. Parent Club, as I have mentioned, is a group of parents with babies Gavin's age organized by the hospital. I have attended exactly one of the meetings and Gavin has attended, I believe, two of them. Stacy attended the majority of them solo. The problem was that the meetings were at 7 p.m. on Wednesdays. Gavin just doesn't stay up that late. He's almost always unconscious by 7:00 every night. It quickly became obvious that dragging him to meetings, even meetings where he would get to interact with babies his same age, was a no go. This past meeting, however, was at 5:00 on Saturday. It was the last official meeting so it was a picnic of sorts at one of the organizer's houses. Basically we all sat on towels and blankets on her lawn and the babies crawled around and parents swapped kid stories and notes (there was supposed to be swimming but the pool was too cold). Gavin got a lot of attention since no one had seen him since he was a wee little thing in a baby sling sleeping through the first couple of meetings. We got a lot of comments about how big he is. He's the biggest baby in the group. As you might expect, when you get a bunch of 10-month-olds together there is bound to be a lot of variation in growth and development. One little girl, for example, already has 8 teeth while others only have a couple. Nobody is really walking yet, though at one point I was showing off how Gavin could stand and he walked to me, maintaining his two and a half step record. People were pretty impressed and I can't say I didn't swell with pride a bit myself.

So yes, back to the bully comment. Anne, a woman in the group, posted some pictures on Facebook that she'd taken at the meeting. Gavin is in several of these photos (I, too, took some photos, but am only just now getting around to putting them online). Stacy said that while looking at Anne's photos she thought that Gavin looked like abully and that we needed to be careful about that so that he didn't grow up to be one. "What the hell are you talking about?" is probably how I responded. She said that, for one thing, he's bigger than the other babies and that in a lot of the photos he's taking toys away from other kids and to top it off she said he was dressed like a bully with his little tank top and sunscreen slicked faux hawk. "You are being insane," is an approximation of what I said at this point. I also pointed out that size does not determine whether or not someone is a bully. And furthermore Gavin was hardly the party thug snatching toys away from the other hapless babies. All of them were freely taking toys away from each other, always wanting whatever toys they didn't currently have in their hands. This is pretty typical 10-month-old play behavior. And in defense of Gavin's sartorial emsemble, I personally picked out his tank top and shorts and he looked damn cute. You can see for yourself in this photo that I took. I then told her she was "projecting and being weird," which I am fairly certain is in the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

This bully thing has never occurred to me. I mean, yes, I have thought about bullies and want very much for my son not to be one, but I have never thought that Gavin was a burgeoning Nelson Muntz. I really don't think that Gavin even has any bullying models to go off of at this point. It's not like he watches his moms beat each other up or anything. We're raising him to not be a bully. I haven't studied bully psychology intently or anything, but I don't think kids just decide to become total abusive assholes to everyone one day. The kid who lives across the street from us who hears his dad call his mom a stupid fucking bitch all the time? He's in bully training camp, I think. Gavin, not so much.

Week 21 Day 3: Electric avenue

Gavin woke up at the ass crack of dawn again today (5 a.m. in fact). I had a really hard time sleeping and so I actually didn't mind him getting up so early as it was a good excuse for me to get out of bed and stop trying to fool myself that I had any possibility of falling asleep.

With such an early start to the day we had time to go for a walk before Stacy left for work, which was good because the weather report said it was going to be 87 degrees later. Not good walking weather. I don't think I've ever been on a walk at 6 a.m. before. We had to coax Henri out of his bed to get him to come with us. He was not all about our dawn stroll. He really likes his sleep. He's like a furry, stinky, 13 lb. teenager in that way.

Gavin was also sleepy on the walk (note the photo Stacy snapped of him yawning). In fact, he was tired all day. Both his morning nap and his afternoon nap sucked ass. This left him very clingy and short-fused all day and as a result left me exhausted and without much in the way of a break.

I did, however, take a moment to call my cell phone company to activate my new Blackberry per the instructions stickered to my phone. For some reason I thought this would be along the same lines as activating a credit card where you don't necessarily talk to a real person. But I did talk to a real person. I don't remember his name, but his voice sounded just like the movie trailer voice guy. Not the guy who died, but the guy who came after the guy who died. In any case, the guy walked me through this involved process of setting up my phone which took a lot longer than I'd anticipated and Gavin was not at all happy that I was on the phone. I ended up giving him my old cell phone to play with and that made him temporarily happy, but he soon realized that I had two phones, the home phone and my new phone, and he wanted those, too. I had to ask the guy to hang on multiple times so I could tend to/try to distract Gavin. It's ironic considering the fact that I told a friend's mom that I was getting a Blackberry because I'm always looking for new ways to neglect my son. Mission accomplished. Mom of the Year, here I come.

We had an electrician come and move an outlet for us in the living room. We're trying to make the electricality (not a word. I made it up) of our house more baby friendly. This new outlet eliminates an extension cord (baby death trap) in our living room and relieves a very crowded outlet. Unfortunately while we solved one problem, Gavin made me aware of another. In his room is a outlet that has nothing plugged into it so we have those little plug guards in there so Gavin doesn't stick his tiny baby fingers (okay, they're actually pretty fat, but still) in there. Well today Gavin decided to bypass the plugs and instead grabbed the top of the outlet plate and pulled the whole thing away from the wall. I nearly had a heart attack. But thankfully neither of us was harmed.

Stacy just came into the living room and whispered, "Gavin's bedroom door is open. I think we should go peek at him." I thought this was a fine idea, though I was worried that we would wake him up and I've already said his sleep quality today as been sub par. But he looks really beautiful when he's asleep and it's something that Stacy and I don't get to see a lot any more. When he was a wee newborn thing he would fall asleep anywhere and everywhere. But now he's Mr. Go-Go Gadget Thunderpants all the time. The only time he passes out in daylight is in his car seat, which doesn't happen all that often because it's something we try to avoid (We find that car seat disco naps really F-up his next nap because he's been tricked into thinking he's already had a nap). In any case, I am happy to report that we didn't wake him up. I couldn't see his face really clearly because, you know, dark. We didn't want to turn too many lights on obviously so we only flipped on the hall light. But his face looked both serious and serene, his usual sleep face. He's wearing his pink ladies nightgown (actually a pink sleep sack. Laura came up with the name. And no we didn't buy a pink one to make him gay. The pink one was for whatever reason half the cost of the blue one and I'm a girl who likes a savings. Plus it's for sleeping. It's not like I put him in magenta glitter jelly shoes and take him to the mall). he's on his stomach with one arm tucked underneath him and the other flung out to the side. He's facing out. He is, literally, dreamy.

Sometimes I am amazed at how much noise Stacy can make at night considering we have a sleeping baby in the house. Like just now I swear it sounded like she was wrestling with the metal garbage can in the bathroom. All I can say is I hope that she won.

Week 21 Day 2: Some assembly required

Something I neglected to mention yesterday (and was also beyond the scope of yesterday's post since it has nothing to do with sandals): Gavin and I went to the Royal Oak library and he played in the kids' section. There are Duplo blocks and hand puppets and stuff. While we were there a girl (and by "girl" I mean maybe 18. I suppose I could say "young woman," but that makes me sound really old) asked how old Gavin was and I told her 10 months (the truth) and she looked at him and then looked back at me and said, "He really looks like you." And so of course I explained to her that he wasn't biologically mine and how he was born using donor sperm and in vitro fertilization and how much money that costs and how long it took along with very detailed information about my wife's reproductive organs. I'm kidding. I would never do that. I just said thank you and said that a lot of people say that and I take it as a compliment.

I just put Gavin's bike together. Except it's not really a bike, it's kind of a big wheel on rails so it can move like a rocking horse. Later it can transform to a big wheel with a handle sticking out the back so I can push Gavin down the street. And later that handle can come off and Gavin will be on his own, free to cruise up and down 8 Mile as he pleases. So long as he isn't over 50 lbs. by then, since that is the weight limit. It's supposed to have Backyardigans stickers on it, but Stacy and I didn't want to put those stickers on because they're ugly and dumb. So instead I cut up a SASHA Farm bumper sticker with a drawing of a monkey covering his mouth next to the words, "The fourth monkey: Eat no evil." So Gavin's got a little vegetarian trike, which is appropriate.

His trike had a lot of parts. And required a lot of screwdriver use. After I was done I opened my hand to show Stacy and said, "I've got a blister from so much screwing," and Stacy gave me a very pitiful but sweet look and said, "That's what she said." Nice. Truth be told I would have said the exact same thing to her. Which is the why she said it to me in the first place. I bring these things on myself.

A tip for parents: when assembling complicated and confusing toys for your child, do not attempt to involve your child in any way. This will only result in you trying to keep the small parts out of his mouth and taking the screwdriver and hammer out of his hands multiple times while saying, "No, not for babies." It's also likely that your child will learn some swears.

I'm glad I put the trike together tonight because I needed something to focus on and stay busy. Today's big outting was, unfortunately, to the hospital to see my grandpa who had a stroke over the weekend and is not doing well. Stacy had taken today off and that ended up working really well because she and Gavin were able to come to the hospital with me. Laura also came and she entertained Gavin on the way there and on the way back. My grandpa is at the same hospital where Gavin was born and where Laura and I were born, too. I hadn't been there since the day we took Gavin home from the hospital and I got lost on the way from the parking structure to the building and left Stacy and Gavin at the curb where the hospital volunteer who'd wheeled them down stairs and to the curb to wait for me regaled Stacy with stories about how he used to have a mistress. Then he asked if Stacy and I were sisters. So it was a weird feeling to be back there, especially with Gavin in tow. Since we had him with us we couldn't stay long since Gavin has a limited window of patience with not being able to crawl around and destroy things. But we were there long enough to say hello and talk to him a little bit and say goodbye. Gavin was a little squirmy but overall very well behaved. I am very lucky that he is my son.

Week 21 Day 1: The longest story featuring sandals since the New Testament

If you've ever wondered how many Payless shoe stores I would go to in order to get my son a pair of sandals, the answer is four. I realize that this is insane, but Gavin was along for three out of four store visits and he enjoyed himself very much. Mostly. Pulling shoes off of shelves is great, great fun. Never mind that Stacy was also with me those three times. Gavin still managed to wreak a little havoc wherever he went. Where there's a will there's a way, after all. And he's pretty willful. Oh yeah, and those three visits were all done today.

I know, I know. You are on the edge of your seat wanting to know what happened and how it all turns out. Keep your pants on, I'm getting to it.

It all started at the Twelve Oaks Mall when I dragged my friend Amber into a Payless store to look at baby shoes. Because there is something wrong with me and also because I wanted to get Gavin a pair of sandals. After examining and dropping each pair (and I really did drop every single pair I picked up, some more than once. Amber can attest to this. I swore to the saleswoman that I was not drunk, but I am not sure she believed me), I decided to get him this cute little pair of navy blue fishermen sandals because they had a soft, flexible sole. Wearing shoes isn't really great for babies because they need to learn to use their toes and stuff for walking, but with the weather getting sunnier here in Michigan Gavin is spending more time outside and he's crawling up a storm. So I want some sandals that cover his toes to prevent him from turning his feet into hamburger. The largest size they had was 3. Having no real idea what Gavin's size was, I bought them knowing that if they didn't fit I could bring them back.

Alas, they didn't fit. But I thought, "No problem. I'll just take them to a different Payless and exchange them for a size 4." Well that, it turns out, is easier said than done. Since it was too hot to take a walk when Stacy got home from work today, we went on a family adventure to the Payless closest to us. No dice. But it just so happens there is yet another Payless only a couple of miles down the same road. So we go there. Even less dice. At this point I'm planning to just return the shoes and call it quits. But the woman behind the counter asks if I'd like her to check the inventory at other Payless stores and even though I don't actually want her to do this because I'm totally not going to go to yet another Payless, I say sure because she is trying to be helpful and she's being really nice and I have a hard time saying no in such situations. It turns out three nearby Payless stores (they're everywhere!) have the sandals in a size 4, the nearest being the Northland mall, which is very near, indeed. So now I kind of feel obligated to go there for them even though I have Stacy and Gavin in tow and it's getting closer and closer to 6:00, which is when he starts getting ready for bed. But Stacy, who is having great fun watching Gavin have great fun crawling the aisles (he's going to get hoof and mouth disease, I know it), is all, "Why not? Let's go." And so we do. Only I've never been to Northland before and Stacy has only a vague idea where it is, she just knows it's really close by, near 8 Mile, in fact, right on the border of Detroit. It's also not a mall that many white people go to, even though Obama's president now and we live in a post-skin color world where racism is no longer a problem because it doesn't exist. We are not afraid, besides we have Gavin to protect us (he is really strong!) and we also are on a very important mission because they are holding Gavin's size 4 sandals for us. I decide to park outside of Jeepers, that little kid nirvana that smells like sweat socks and pizza grease and has the ugliest monkey in the world as a mascot, because I want to remember where we parked so we don't get lost in the mall. Parking here turns out to be genius because as it so happens Payless is right next door. I couldn't have parked closer without crashing our van into the building. So in we go. Time is of the essence! Gavin's bed time is rapidly approaching and he's still barefoot! But like I said, we're right there! How long could this take?

A pretty long time it turns out. There's only one register and the clerk is dealing with a customer who is trying to return a pair of toddler shoes that she didn't actually buy at Payless. She's swearing up and down that those are the shoes that came in the box that is, indeed, from Payless. This is after she'd given a very long and drawn out story about how hard it is to find shoes that fit her 18-month-old and all the different sizes and brands they've tried and even mentions some of the shoe colors and how she would go to Stride Rite but she doesn't want to pay $30 or $40 for a pair of baby shoes although she would pay $50 if they actually fit (I'm not a math major, but I had a hard time following her monetary logic). The manger isn't budging even though the woman "spent $130" the last time she was at Payless, albeit a different store. The shoe box the non-Payless shoes are in is clearly grease-stained, which is suspicious, as is all of the unnecessary information she's giving the employees and it's pretty obvious to me that she's lying and meanwhile Gavin is trying to chew on a silver purse we have no intention of buying after trying to eat a bracelet while Stacy was looking at the hot Payless bling selection. While we're waiting the manager, Shelley, tells Gavin how pretty his eyes are and then asks if she can have his eyes, which is kind of a creepy thing to say. Then she measured Gavin's foot using one of those metal shoe store foot measuring vices and when she tries to take his bare foot and place it on the ruler he pulls it back and looks at her like, "WTF?" But with Stacy's help he relents and Shelley announces that he's a size 4, which we'd already figured out, but thanks for helping.

When the lady has finally decided to pack up her operation she turns to leave along with her daughter (I presume) who is probably 8 or 9. I ask the clerk if she has size 4 sandals on hold for D'Anne and the scammer's daugher turns around and says, "D'Anne? My name's D'Anne." Only it turns out that's actually her middle name and I ask her how it's spelled and she says a series of letters that is mostly incomprehensible, though at one point she says "slash" and makes a slashing motion in the air so I'm thinking maybe her name is D/Anne, but her mom says it's DeAnn and I give them the thumbs up sign and say, "Good name," when what I really want to say to the girl is "don't be a scammer like your mom."

When the clerk puts the box of sandals on the counter between us I explain that I just want to exchange them for the size three ones I bought that don't fit, and even though this is 100% true I feel like the clerk doesn't really believe me since she's been tainted by the scammer lady. This makes me feel a little guilty even though I'm not doing anything wrong. But I have my receipt and everything, so she starts to process the return and then asks if we want to try the sandal on Gavin since, you know, it'd be good to know if it fits and all. At this point, no, I do not want to try the shoe on. I don't even care if it fits. We'll use them as decorations if we have to, but she stops processing the return and says she'll just take the next person in line while we try them on and so Stacy and I wrestle one of the sandals on Gavin's very fat foot and Stacy is not convinced that it fits but I declare that it does and we wriggle his foot around a bit more, which he is not fond of because although he has been a super shoe store trooper, he's really reaching his limit. All he wants to do is crawl around on the floor and get hoof and mouth disease, but the carpet in this Payless looks dirtier than the carpet in the others, so Stacy has to keep him entertained, which is getting increasingly difficult. There is only so much time a 10-month-old can sit still and look at socks or chew on a big silver purse.

So the clerk finishes processing the return and then checks to make sure that she's got two size 3's in one box and two size 4's in the other, which is standard protocol in the shoe biz. But then she does it again, lifting each show up in slow motion. After the return receipt prints out she checks yet a third time and after it's been overly determined that we do, indeed, have two size four sandals in our possession, we finally leave the store.

When we get home Stacy puts Gavin to bed. A little later she, too, goes to bed. And finally I am going to bed. Amen.

Week 20 Day 5: All bear, part monkey

Little Dude is hollering from his crib right now. It's almost 11 p.m. He's been asleep since 7. I'm hoping he goes back to sleep on his own. No doubt this is what Stacy is hoping for, too, since she's already gone to bed.  So now I'm sitting in the living room with "should I stay or should I go now?" rumbling through my head. He might actually need me. Or he might not. He's not crying especially hard, and there are no desperate wails to be heard. Mostly soft crying with some hollering. He definitely doesn't sound content, but nor does it sound like an emergency. Then again, as far as I know he could've soaked through his clothes and be covered in poo. Or have an earache or, more likely, a teething ache. Or a fever. Or manged to get his head wedged in the corner of his crib and is too tired to figure out how to back out of it.

That's the hardest part of having a baby, I think. The not knowing. All of the guesswork. I mean, if Stacy started crying soon after she went to bed I wouldn't even hesitate to go check on her and ask her what was wrong. Well, assuming that I wasn't watching something really good on television. But first commercial and I'd be right there.

Gavin, on the other hand, can have his entire night's sleep derailed by an unnecessary visit from one of his moms. Conversely, if he really does need us and we want too long to go in and check on and/or soothe him, he can also have his entire night's sleep derailed. Which means, of course, that our sleep is derailed as well. And Stacy and I both love Sleep. Admittedly our relationship with Sleep isn't entirely healthy at this point. It's kind of an on again off again kind of affair. That largely started when Gavin was born. But we want Sleep to know that we still love her and there will always be a place for her in our hearts. We appreciate her willingness to always take us back at a moment's notice. Nights without her are very, very long.

Good news: Bear is now quiet again, back to sleep. No intervention was required. Let's hope he doesn't wake up again until tomorrow morning. And by "tomorrow morning" I am hoping for 6:30 at the earliest. 7:00 would be great. This morning he woke up at 5:00. That is way, way too early. It's like, "Dude, this isn't prison. You're allowed to sleep in."

So I finished installing Gavin's car seat today. Once I figured out how to get the LATCH belt installed actually getting it in the car wasn't that hard. Tightening the belt was the toughest part. It basically takes every ounce of strength you have -- and let's be honest, I'm not exactly a powerhouse. But I feel pretty confident that it's secure. Now I need to put the seat we'd taken out of my car and put into the van back into my car. Then both vehicles will have their very own carseat and we will never have to take them out again. Ever. Even after he outgrows them. He'll just have to sit in a different seat. Because these car seats aren't moving, Buddy. Except, of course, when he gets too big to use them rear facing and we have to turn them around. But then, then they're forever. And ever. Amen.

Gavin and I went over Rosemary's today to visit with her and her kids. Stacy met us there after work. Gavin digs being at other people's houses and playing with other kids' toys and it's good for us to be out. Best of all was having Rosemary's girls and my son all in the same room, something that doesn't happen nearly often enough. It's hard to coordinate. It seems like every time Gavin and I are healthy someone in her family is not. None of us ever seem to get colds at the same time. And her girls are in day care part of the week, which means they're exposed to more kids and more germs as a result. But thankfully it worked out today. Her youngest seems like a totally new little girl with the curliest hair ever. Like I said, it's been too long. And kids grow so freaking fast. Rosemary remarked about how much Gavin has grown, too. And she called his feet "practically four dimensional" because they're so fat. He really does have chunky feet. He had a lot of fun watching the girls romp around and crawling in and out of their igloo tent. I dressed him in jean short overalls and he looked like a little country boy, especially since he was barefoot. At Rosemary's house in between the living room and the dining room is a step, so the dining room is slightly elevated. Gavin was crawling along and just crawled right up as if he'd been encountering stairs all of his life. There was just no hesitation on his part. Just one hand up, other hand up, first knee, second knee, continue on... As I mentioned yesterday, climbing is his new thing. And he is not tentative about it at all. He may be a Bear, but he's definitely part monkey.

Week 20 Day 4: What do you have in your mouth?

Confidential to the person who wrote the instructions and/or drew the diagrams in the instruction book for the Cosco car seat I bought: Seriously, what the hell is your problem? I love how you make sure to remind me on every page that failure to properly install this car seat "can result in injury or death," and yet when it comes to telling me how to install the LATCH hooks you're all, "Oh, reach under the seat pad and fumble around a bit and pull it through a hole somewhere." Even better is coupling this with a diagram of a red arrow and red dotted lines that I can only assume are pointing to the inevitable "injury or death" of my child. Can't wait to take the new car seat out for a spin. Thanks for your help, and by "help" I mean "fuck you."

In other news, I had my first, "What do you have in your mouth?" moment with Gavin today. He was sitting pretty quietly and I could see his jaw working ever so slightly. "What do you have in your mouth?" I asked while simultaneously crouching down next to him and grasping his chin. His reaction was to steel his jaws shut. Whatever he had in there he wasn't letting it go without a fight. Thankfully I am still stronger than him (which is something I expect will continue until he's, say, four or five) and I wrenched my pointer finger in there (the absence of any molars in his mouth was very helpful) and did the standard mouth sweep. Out popped a very slimy piece of dog food, which I immediately picked up and gave to Henri who was waiting near by. He was happy to accept. Perhaps this was Gavin's first rebellion against his vegetarian diet. More likely it was just the intersection of curiosity and a messy poodle.

And where was I during Gavin's Purina* tastefest? Peeing. I know, I know, as a mom pee breaks are not in my contract. But I really had to go. And Gavin was playing with a toy right in the hallway practically in the bathroom doorway so I thought, "Now's my chance!" But as soon as I was compromised he crawled away and out of my sight. He wasn't far away, mind you, but he was out of my direct line of vision since I cannot as yet see through walls (I'm working on that). It was only a few seconds, I swear. Of course, I realize that a few seconds is all a baby needs to wreak havoc. So my pants were barely up as poked my head out the door and rushed to intervene. And I know what you're thinking: "Wait, you were peeing just before fishing doggie kibble out of your son's mouth? Does that mean you didn't wash your hands?" Yes. That is what that means. But desperate times call for desperate measures, people. It's a glamourous life, but someone's got to live it. Besides, if I didn't stick my hands in his mouth right after peeing some kid at daycare will. I'm just helping to build his immune system in preparation.

Gavin's new thing is climbing. Or attempting to climb at least. He tried to climb the baby gate today and he also tried to climb up higher in order to see out of the window in his bedroom. I even think he tried to climb his dresser today by pulling out the bottom drawer to use as a step. I nipped that one in the bud, though, so I can't be sure of his intentions. All I knew was that I'd seen him swing a chubby foot up on the wall and the gate in failed elevation attempts. I wasn't about to take any chances.

There's been no more walking since those first steps the other day. This is in large part because I have not encouraged him to do it again. As awesome as it is to watch, it's also terrifying. I keep thinking about what that woman at the playgroup said about how walking 10-month-olds (and he is, as of today, 10-months-old) are scary because they have no sense. Unlike 1-year-olds, she said. And while a couple of months might not seem to be a big deal, at this age it certainly is. Right now Gavin is fond of, say, crawling under the kitchen table and then trying to stand up, thereby hitting his head. He does the same with his crib. Today he grabbed hold of the edge of the bathtub, threw the washcloths that had been drying there into the tub and proceeded to try to dive headfirst after them. Stacy and I now look at each other and say, "See? No sense" whenever something like that happens.

Take today, for example, when he was trying to get one of the balls from his ball popper out from behind his laundry basket. He'd lean forward to get the ball and then bump his head against the wall. He did this about three times before he seemed to realize that what he wanted to happen and what was actually happening weren't the same thing. That's when he looked to me for help. I didn't get the ball for him, instead I moved the laundry basket away from the wall so that he had a bigger area to work with and he was able to get the ball and not hit his head. I think it's good for a baby to get frustrated sometimes. Because, my god, life is often really frustrating. Sometimes you don't get what you want. Sometimes things don't go the way you expect them to. Sometimes you have to try to do something over and over before you get it. And it's my job to teach my son to be patient, to not freak out every time a yellow ball is trapped behind his clothes basket. In other words, it's my job to raise my son so that he isn't the kid in preschool who gets a toy taken away from him by another child and deals with it by biting that child hard in the face whilst bursting into tears. And I am oh so aware that he is, at this very moment, pushing another two teeth on through into his arsenal. May he please be a lover, not a fighter.


*I love my dog. I would never feed him Purina. He eats only high-end dog food (or, as we call dog and cat food in our house, brown rocks).

Week 20 Day 3: Poo Bear

Before I became a mom (and even saying that still feels a little weird. Me? A mom? And yet...) I would never in a million years have said to another person, "Are you taking a dump? Because it sure looks like it." But I can scratch that one off of my list now. Of things I never thought I'd say -- things I've never even thought to say. I have never been a fan of poo. In fact, I've always kind of thought that people who think poo is hilarious have some kind of personal deficit. Even in elementary school when the boys (and it was always the boys, especially Jimmy Tucker) would fart and crack up I was disgusted, writing them off as immature and possibly retarded. It's the sort of subject where there just aren't many acceptable reasons to talk about it that aren't medical in nature and directed at a medical professional. Rest assured, it is a part of your life I do not want or need to know more about.

And yet, here I am. When you spend your day wiping someone else's butt it changes you. Like how people who win the lotto or survive a violent attack are never the same afterward. It's exactly like that. Granted, I have hardly become a bastion of scatological humor, but today, for example, when Gavin farted quite loudly I found it both amusing and adorable.

I have limits, though. A week or so ago Stacy said in all seriousness that Gavin's poos were now more "man-like" I had to draw the line. Gross, Honey. Gross.

Today was much better than yesterday as far as Gavin's crabbiness goes. He was in a much better mood all day, though getting him down for his afternoon nap was a trial. He was screaming and crying. And I do mean screaming. I do think sound barriers were broken in this house. After the second time going in to soothe him I gave him some acetaminophen and that seemed to do the trick. He's got all the signs of teething and since I can't ask him if his mouth is hurting, all I can do is guess. I do not like to give him medicine if I am not sure he needs it, but I definitely don't want him to just be in pain because his mom is waiting for him to talk before she'll dose him up.

This evening Stacy, Gavin, and I were working out in the yard. We put Gavin's playpen in the middle of the yard and he was content to be in there for a little while. He liked watching me mow the lawn (I have a reel mower, so it's not like I was making him deaf and blowing exhaust in his face or anything). I managed to get the backyard mowed, but nothing else done. Stacy didn't get much done, either because after about an hour it was time for Gavin to get ready for bed and since he was slathered in sunblock he needed a bath. So while I was outside finishing up and Stacy was inside getting Gavin ready for his bath, I heard Stacy call out to me and when I looked up there was my son, balls-out in the window with a huge smile on his face. Stacy was holding him up and laughing. If I ever needed a reminder of how much fun it is to be a parent -- especially being a co-parent with Stacy -- that was it.

Week 20 Day 2: Walk like a man

Man, some days it really sucks being a parent. Especially being the parent at home all day with Mr. Crabby McCrabberton. Today felt like several days, the hours in between 3 and 6 p.m. were especially exhausting because by then I had had it and he had had it. And that's never a good combination in any relationship.

And yet... Gavin took his first steps today! Two and a half steps, to be imprecise. He was standing a couple feet away from me -- standing is something he is quite good at now. His record is now 20 seconds at a time -- and so I put out my hands in a "come here" gesture and said, "Come over to me, Gavin." He looked at me a little quizzically and then he took one lumbering step with one foot, another with the other, and then his third step didn't quite make it before he started to fall toward me (I caught him). I grabbed him in a Bear hug (of course) and I let out a kind of little scream that freaked him out at first, but then I was all, "Yea! You did it!" and clapping, which made him smile and smile and make happy sounds. I am not sure he knew exactly what we were celebrating, but still. It is not the first time I've tried to get him to walk toward me. He's managed one step before, several times, but I don't count that because the hard part is incorporating both feet and actually moving forward. So whether he "gets" it or not, he walked. And as excited as I am I'm also thinking, "What the hell am I doing? Why am I encouraging this?" Because a walking Gavin is only going to make my life harder. And his, really, considering how often he already bruises and bumps himself. I keep thinking of what that mom at the Community Center told me about how a 10-month-old walking is scary because 10-month-olds don't have any sense. And let's face it, Stacy is not the most graceful or coordinated woman on earth (except when she's belly dancing. It's a weird transformation) and his genes are rooted in hers. Let's hope his donor DNA has a good strong balance gene. But I'll also miss his crawling once he transforms into a two-legged creature. I'll miss the little slap, slap, slap sound of his hands as he crawls across the wood floor. I don't know why I love it so much, but I do.

In other firsts, Gavin also asked me to read him a book this afternoon. As mentioned, he was really crabby today and nothing I did seemed to make him happy. At one point we were in his room and I was sitting in the rocking chair and he was on the floor kvetching, not crying so much but getting there, while trying to pick up a book that was on the floor in between us. He was having trouble with this. He'd try to pick it up and then he'd gesture toward me. He did this over and over until I was all, "Do you want to read a book?" I reached down for the book and he stood up and put his hands on my knees and looked up at me, so I plopped him in my lap and opened the book and he just settled right in. It was one of the only times where I felt like I was able to recognize what he wanted and carry out his wishes.

Throughout the day there was a lot of, "Mama, pick me up!" "No! I don't want to be picked up, put me down." "No! Why did you put me down? Pick me up!" And on, and on... In his unhappiness there was also a lot of pulling on my clothes. He'd tug at my pant leg or grab at my sleeve or pull the sting of my sweatshirt hood. After awhile, no matter how much you love someone, that gets pretty fucking annoying. Especially since I can't seem to fix whatever is making him unhappy in the first place. At one point I was trying to walk across his room and he was sitting up on the floor. He kept grabbing at my pant legs and when I pulled my leg away he lost his balance and fell over and bumped his head on the floor. So I'm pretty much the worst mom ever and might as well have just cold clocked him in the face like a stranger in the street. Needless to say, I felt awful and bumping his head certainly didn't help calm him down any.

So needless to say we were both very happy to see Stacy when she came home today. Of all the days for her to have a staff meeting after work, too. She thought that maybe Gavin was teething since he also woke up crying at 4 a.m. Granted, I could have thought of that, but I didn't (thoughtless = bad mom). I just thought he was over tired even though his naps were pretty good today. So when he went to bed tonight we gave him some pain meds (not Tylenol, of course) and Hyland's Teething Tablets (no idea if they work or not, but I figure what the hell. It's worth a try. Plus I have a friend who says they worked for her kids). Hopefully he'll sleep through the night and I can dose him up tomorrow if he needs it. I know I will.

Week 20 Day 1: Half assed

I got an astounding amount not done today. I made a to-do list last night and by the end of the day today I have only crossed one and a half things off of it. And the half doesn't even really count. As if I need to say that. (The "it" in question involves haggling with my cell phone company over getting a new phone since mine is broken. I was on the phone with them for at least an hour today.) Not that I did it "half assed," as my dad is fond of saying. It's just not done yet. And anyway, I don't know what "half assed" even means. I suppose I would have to start with figuring out what "whole assed" meant and go from there. I'm not sure that I want to go there, however. I imagine Googling such a thing would make for some pretty incriminating browser history.

Speaking of asses, I bought diapers today! (Also: great segue!) So at least one ass is covered in this house.

Gavin is such a happy kid when we're out and about. Lots of people smile at him (especially old people. Old people love to smile at babies. Fact) and he smiles right back with that wide, toothy grin of his. The cashier at Rite Aid said he made her day today, and while I am not convinced that this is true (it was pretty early in the day to make such a call) I do think that Gavin does bring joy to people even if just for a toothy few seconds. Hell, I know I love it when babies smile at me. There's something very validating about it. Something that affirms you are not rotten at your core.

In addition to Rite Aid, I also dragged Gavin to Meijer today. And yes, I know that Meijer isn't exactly a gay-friendly corporation, but I wanted to get some mulch because it was on sale. Unfortunately having Gavin with me made that problematic at best. You can't really throw ten or more bags of mulch in a shopping cart but you also can't strap a baby into one of those platform hand trucks they've got out in the garden area, nor would I be able to push both at the same time. Since I had some other shopping to do inside, I asked the woman at the outdoor garden cash register if it would be possible for me to purchase the bags of mulch inside and then come back out and have someone help me load them into my van. This was, in fact, possible, the woman told me. Unfortunately she also told me, "But I'm the only one out here so once you come back it could be (pause, sweep of the hand to cover the expansive outdoor department) awhile." Needless to say, she did not seem very thrilled by the prospect of helping me. And while that's not exactly great customer service, I can't blame her. Why Meijer has only one person working outside in their enormous outdoor garden department is beyond me. What's to stop someone from putting a bag of top soil down the front of their pants and walking out of there? I mean, yeah, they'd have to be really big pants (and it would probably help of they had cinched ankles, so sweat pants are your best bet), but still.

Gavin's going to be 10 months old in three days. I can hardly believe it. My best friend's son is turning one at the beginning of June and he's only six weeks older than Gavin. Really they're the same age, or at least they will be once they start counting their ages in years rather than weeks or months. But six weeks is a big difference at this age. Her son is already walking and says "mama" and "dog" (even though they do not have a dog). We got the invitation to his birthday party in the mail today. Unfortunately he and his mom live in California, so we won't be making it to the party. We do plan to visit at some point this summer, however. Any tips for traveling with a one-year-old (which is about how old Gavin will be by the time we go) are welcome.

Week 19 Day 5: Me vs. the village

I had horrible dreams last night. As I mentioned yesterday, I watched The Pianist before bed and I think that had a large role in how my dreamscape played out. The hardest part of that movie for me was hearing babies crying. Like when a big crowd of Jews were rounded up waiting to be transported to concentration camps and off camera you'd hear babies crying and then there's a scene where a woman is crying out because she smothered her baby while her family was in hiding. Jesus. Made me want to go into Gavin's room and check his pulse, maybe just sit beside his crib and hold his little hand, watch him breathe. He looks very beautiful when he sleeps. But I didn't. Because chances of me waking him up would've been high and that is not a good idea, no matter how freaked out I am at the thought of holding him while he cries in a hot and crowded square where everyone is starving and most everyone will die. I suppose I should have a "No Holocaust movies before bed" rule, but I probably wouldn't follow it. Or I'd just read a true crime novel instead. What can I say? I'm obsessed with disaster. And let me tell you, having a kid makes it that much harder to stay sane in a completely insane world where people do terrible, terrible things to each other.

Thankfully Gavin and I did not have a terrible day. We had quite a good day, actually. For our big outting we went to Whole Foods to do some grocery shopping. I wanted to get him some more black beans and yogurt. Unfortunately the yogurt I bought had a slightly opened seal so it will have to go back. I usually check for stuff like that but shopping with a nearly 10-month-old means shopping fast. In the checkout line Gavin grabbed a DVD off the shelf (why they have DVDs in a kid-in-a-cart-level rack hanging off of the checkout counter I do not know. Perhaps they're hoping for a "you break it you buy it" moment). The DVD was called, appropriately enough, Two Angry Moms. I told him that while he did, in fact, have two moms, I wasn't sure that we were "angry." But then I thought about it and told him that I actually was angry, but not at him. I don't, like, Incredible Hulk rage or anything, but there are plenty of issues that get me pissed off. In any case, I looked up the movie and it's about two moms taking on their kids' awful school lunch program. Stacy and I have, indeed, had conversations about this and it's something we care about. It's astonishing the shit that kids get fed at school. In any case, I plan to see the movie now and I never would have known it existed if it weren't for Gavin Grabby McGrabberton.

Gavin stood up on his own today without using something to hold onto while he was standing. He was sitting down and I was on my stomach on the floor of his room with my head resting on Stacy's legs (family time!) and Gavin started to smack me on the butt, then he pushed himself off and into a standing position. Mind you, I didn't get a good look at this, Stacy did, but I take her word for it.

The weather was finally nice today and it felt like May instead of March. Gavin, Henri, and I took a stroll (Stacy was at class. Kind of. She's taking a class at Wayne State on Friday evenings starting tonight, only her professor never showed up. She was really pissed. So she came home and gave Bear a bath instead). On our way back to the house I saw that the two little girls across the street were playing on the car in their driveway (it's more like a mini SUV type, really). They were on top of the car's roof and the older one had the younger one's arms and was dangling her off the side. It didn't look safe to me. Not to mention the fact that they could very well be denting the roof. I had a very strong urge to say, "Do your parents know what you are doing?" but I didn't. Shortly after we'd all come inside I heard them getting yelled at by their mom's boyfriend. These are the same little girls who, one morning last summer, took the screen out of the second story window of their house and were climbing out onto the roof in their pajamas. Having engaged in similar antics as a child, I strongly suspected that their activities were neither condoned nor known by their parents. I didn't say anything to them, but I did wheel Gavin's stroller down the driveway and stare at them from the sidewalk in front of my house in an "I totally see you" kind of way. I didn't care that they were being mischievous, but what they were doing was dangerous. They could have totally fallen off of the roof. They stared back at me for a short while and then climbed back into the house. When Gavin and I got to the end of the street a couple houses away and they thought I was gone, they climbed back out. When they saw me they kind of half climbed back in while they waited for me to continue on with my walk, which I did with mixed feelings. While the girls were being yelled at I watched the 1 and a half year old in the other house across the street from us sitting in the open front window of his house, his hands and feet pressing against the screen. They must have a couch or something under that window that he can sit on. I have seen him do this several times and each time I want to go across the street with a boombox Say Anything-style and play Eric Clapton's "Tears In Heaven."

As my friend Claire remarked, "Welcome to motherhood, where everyone's child is your child." Seriously. And it's exhausting. Like the saying goes, "It takes D'Anne to raise a village." Or something like that.

Week 19 Day 4: Dial M for mama

I just finished watching The Pianist. Turns out that's not exactly the movie to watch when you want to chillax.

Speaking of the Holocaust, my dad sent me an article about parents in the U.S. who raise their kids to be Nazis. Wow. What lucky kids! And I can't legally adopt my own son because his other parent is also a woman and that is somehow a threat to traditional marriage or some such bullshit. Nice. Great country. God bless America.

So I've hurt my back. It was, in fact, just yesterday when someone asked me how much Gavin weighed (nearly 24 lbs.) and she said something about how I would either get really muscular or throw my back out. I haven't thrown my back out, but there's definitely a strain somewhere in there. Something is pulled or something (note: that's the best sentence I have ever written). Watching The Pianist definitely didn't help. I realized when it was over that I'd been tensing my back and shoulder muscles the entire time. I need some Tiger Balm, but I can't actually reach the spot on my back where it hurts the most. Stacy has already gone to sleep. And Henri and Gavin are sleeping, too. I won't even bother asking Jota. He is useless. In any case, I really hope I wake up tomorrow feeling A-OK. Otherwise I don't know how I'm going to hoist my son.

Speaking of my son, the "Paparazzi" kid was on Ellen and I am even more charmed by him than ever. Although I do wonder why Ellen parked herself on a stool behind him while he performed on her show. I mean, I know it's her show, but really? She doesn't get enough camera time? In any case, Buzzfeed pretty much sums up my feelings about this kid exactly: "Paparazzi Boy is so confident and charming! And he has a decent command of the English language, unlike Justin Bieber. I believe that Paparazzi Boy is our future!" Teach him well and let him lead the way. But as a friend of mine pointed out on Facebook, "I hope someone is truly looking out for what is best for this kid." Me, too. I hope his parents aren't assholes. But then, they probably aren't because he does not seem to be an asshole at all. Seems like those two things go hand in hand much of the time.

I have to take back what I said about Gavin's budding hockey talents the other day. We went back to the Ferndale Community Center today and I let him loose in the gym. He crawled right for a hockey stick again but this time when I rolled a ball to him he either let it roll right past him or he tried to hang on to both the ball and the stick. He spent much more time trying to put the hockey stick in his mouth. I spent a good deal of time saying, "Not for mouths," though the fact that the foam hockey stick clearly had actual bite marks in it I don't know how convincing I was. So no hockey prodigy to see here. Move along. Who knows what he'll be? Hopefully something that makes him rich so Stacy and I can retire early and live on his yacht. Just kidding (though for the record I sometimes fear that this is my parents' retirement plan). And anyway, Stacy gets seasick. I just want to raise a good kid and a kind man. And if I raise my son to be a man who knows to wear a belt with jeans then I've really accomplished a lot.

When Stacy came home from work we managed to take a walk for the first time in several days. It's been raining here in sunny Michigan. Gavin talked a lot on the walk. He's a very vocal little dude. I love the sounds he makes. And more and more he seems to be using "mama" as an actual word directed at me or Stacy. Today at the play center he and I were off playing by ourselves. The three other moms seemed to all be there together and were sitting in a semi-circle on the mats while their kids played around them and didn't acknowledge me, but I didn't exactly try to engage them either. Also all of the kids were older than Gavin and anyway he's at an age where he gets much more out of watching other kids than playing with them. So Gavin was climbing the mats and stuff and would occasionally turn toward me and start to pull himself up on my pants if I was standing or my shoulder if I was sitting next to him and each time he said, "Mama" at least once, though usually a few times in a row. So this could just be a continuation of his mamamamama sound that he likes to make, but I think it's more than that. So I'm going to call it: Gavin's first word is mama. :) Hopefully that doesn't disappear like his hockey skills.

Week 19 Day 3: Lead with your face

As of right now this very minute I have pretty much decided that I don't want any more kids. One is enough, thanks. But then I see this video of a sixth grader doing the most amazing cover of Lady Gaga's "Paparazzi" and I think, "Now that boy's parents need to crank out more kids because holy shit and wow they maybe could have their own little musical genius factory." Of course, Gavin could also turn out to be a musical or mathematical or literary or athletic prodigy and then I might kick myself for not having more kids. Then again, for all I know the sixth grade "Paparazzi"-playing wunderkind is an only child and his talent is beget from the abject loneliness he felt -- and still feels! -- all throughout his childhood and had his parents given him siblings he would just be another average 12-year-old collecting Pokemon cards (do kids even still do that?) and playing Wii tennis. Basically I have to be able to see into the future to properly make a decision about having another child, but failing that a sixth grade boy singing the hell out of "Paparazzi" will have to do. Also, it is important to base decisions regarding whether or not to bring more children into this world on a YouTube video of a boy you now have a "mom crush" on and the competing narratives you have created about his life based on no evidence whatsoever.

When Stacy came home from work today I asked her how her day was and she responded, "I had a child today at school poke me in the nipple and I told him, 'I don't like that, don't touch me,' so then he grabbed my butt." The boy was in Kindergarten and he also touched her crotch with his face it turns out when he ran up and gave her a hug at the start of class. I'm pretty sure that's first, second, and third base. She demonstrated how this boy managed to get all up in her business, as the kids say, and it seems likely that it was all unintentional. Just an excitable little boy who can't keep his hands to himself. I really hope that none of Gavin's teachers ever come home from work to tell their partners that he pawed them during class.

Speaking of things I hope my son never does in school, a friend of mine who teaches high school posted on Facebook today that one of his students shit his pants today after he'd eaten "two whole cakes and a box of Cheez Its" the night before. Please God don't let this ever be my son, either.

Speaking of shit (I am on a roll with the swears), my friend Claire pointed me toward "Shit My Kids Ruined", a blog that chronicles children's destructive tendencies and willful disregard for the belongings of others. The eviscerated giant banana reminded me very much of the giant stuffed bear my sister and I ruined as kids. The three poster bed is pretty great, too. In any case, I have no doubt that I will have stuff to submit to his site and, oddly, knowing that this site exists makes me dread the destruction just a little bit less.

But enough about things that aren't directly about my wonderful, adorable son. In all honesty he was kind of crabby all day. Or not crabby so much as tired. He woke up this morning at 5:30 (confidential to Gavin: Dude, WTF?) so his first nap was super early and he just seemed really tired all day. A lot of thumb sucking. I had to take him with me to an appointment and he fell asleep on the way there. But once we arrived he was smiling and happy. He was so good. I packed a big backpack full of everything I could think of to amuse him thinking that unpacking it would be a way to keep him occupied in itself. I am really lucky I have such a good baby. I was very surprised that he didn't fall asleep on the way home. But then he didn't take a great afternoon nap, either, once we got home. He went to sleep at about 7 tonight He went to bed at 6:30 when Stacy put him down. A lot of crying and screaming (that's his newest thing. Screaming. Awesome) until I went in and soothed him again. Stacy said she felt sad like Gavin went to bed mad at her. I assured her this was not the case. When he sees her tomorrow he's going to smile that big toothy grin and he's going to cry when she leaves for work, as he always does.

But we're going to do something fun tomorrow (maybe back to Romp and Stomp because the weather report is predicting more rain) that will hopefully tire him out. I already know that whatever we do it will tire me out. I am exhausted. The more mobile Gavin gets the more work it is to stay home with him. Not that I want it any other way. It would be tragic if he never learned to walk. I just am in no hurry for him to walk at 10 months. As a mom at Romp and Stomp said yesterday, "Walking 10-month-olds are scary because they just don't have any sense." Gavin's modus operandi is, after all, "Lead with your face." Did I mention he split his lip again today? His face and the floor need some time apart, I think. It's not a healthy relationship.

Week 19 Day 2: Reach out and touch someone

So I pretty much measure how much a person loves me and/or my son by how often they comment on the photos I post of him on Facebook. Is that wrong? We're rapidly approaching the 800 photo mark. After all, the measure of how much I love my son is the number of photos I've posted on Facebook. I'm pretty sure that once I have 1,000 Facebook will honor me as Mother of the Year. Either that or shut down my account.

It rained all last night and all day long today. The good news? I left the windows in the van down. Not all the way down, mind you, but the middle set of windows were down about two inches each. Plenty of space to completely soak the carpet between the sliding door and the chair upon which Gavin's carseat is installed. This is exactly where I kneel to strap Gavin into his vehicular safety seating mechanism. So today's big outting began with the knees of my jeans all wet and a baby in a half soaked carseat.

But we had places to go and weren't about to let a little rain stop us. We were off to play at the Ferndale Community Center because, as Stacy had suggested last night, finding some indoor play time for Gavin would be a good idea for today. Because 1. Rain and 2. Our house is boring. Mind you, it isn't really that bad, and Gavin has a whole slew of new toys given to us by Big Gavin, a friend's four-year-old son. But our house is small and Gavin is on the go these days, a real crawling machine. And we both get a little stir crazy cooped up here all day.

Gavin was pretty pissed when I was getting him ready to leave and when I was strapping him into the car, but once I unleashed him in the gym for Romp and Stomp he was super happy. Romp and Stomp is basically a padded free-for-all for kids age 9 months and up (the oldest girl there was four. I don't know what the cut off age is). Mind you, the gym floor isn't padded and neither are the walls, but they've got gym mats and big soft 3-D shapes made out of gym mat material for the kids to climb on as well as a Moonwalk-type bounce house (mind you, it's not the huge ones you see at a state fair or anything. They also don't sell elephant ears at Romp and Stomp), some soccer and playground and basketballs, and foam floor hockey equipment. When we first got there about a half dozen kids were playing, but they and their parents went next door to the Kids Zone shortly after we arrived leaving Gavin and I with one other little girl and her parents. Gavin and the girl were introduced and Gavin kept reaching toward her face and eventually poked her in the eye. She did not like this and started to cry. For the rest of the hour or so Gavin and I were there, the girl would cry if Gavin started heading her way.

I don't know what it is about faces, but he is always trying to poke his fingers in my mouth and eyes and grabbing at my face in general. The other day we were playing Monster Baby (this is the same game that got my throat stomped. I am a slow learner) and while I was on my back on the floor looking momentarily away from the looming face of my son he clamped down on my nose with his entire mouth and bit down. He is, as Stacy and I are fond of saying, an Earth Scientist, very curious about everything. But we need to nip this little habit in the bud before he pulls a Mike Tyson on some poor kid. Truly, though, I don't think we have a biting problem on our hands so much as a kid with chompers who likes to chomp. He scratches the hell out of people and things with his fingernails, too, because he loves to scratch his nails against things to feel different textures and to hear how it sounds.

Other kids started to filter in and soon the gym was hoppin'. Gavin gravitated toward one of the foam hockey sticks. The father of the crying girl gently kicked a ball toward Gavin who promptly bunted the ball back to the guy using the hockey stick like he totally knew what a hockey stick was for and what was being asked of him. So the guy tapped the ball toward Gavin again. Same thing. And again. Gavin actually shifted the stick from one hand to the other to get a better whack at it. By this time I was genuinely impressed and terrified at Gavin's seemingly innate talent for hockey (it's not a sport I particularly like, but I say terrified because it's a sport with very expensive equipment to boot). Crying Girl's dad sat down across from Gavin with a foam hockey stick of his own and two two hit the ball back and forth a few times before Gavin lost interest and started crawling toward the girl who was in the bounce house. Evidently Gavin missed the sound of her crying because that's exactly what she started to do as soon as he reached her. Thankfully I was able to intervene to prevent another attempted face prodding and also stopped Gavin from using the girl's clothing as prop to use to pull himself up. I hope that Gavin's methods for approaching girls gets considerably better as he gets older. You know, by the time he's, like, 30.

Week 19 Day 1: Vamos bebé!

I neglected to mention on Friday that Gavin had his first playdate with Ben, a neighbor boy who just turned one. Gavin and I hung out with Ben and his mom Kerry at their house. The boys played very nicely together, though their play consisted mostly of trying to get whatever toy the other one had. The most coveted toy of the afternoon was a plastic gas can that came with a toy lawnmower Ben got for his birthday. Gavin was rather obsessed with it. I hope this isn't an early sign of pyromania.

My Mothers' Day went very well, thanks for asking. I came home from a concert late on Saturday night and on the counter was a tray of vegan peanut butter chocolate cookies with two notes. One read, "Breakfast for Mama D. Happy Mothers Day" and the other read, "WARNING. Not for bedtime snack. Contains caffeine. Come to bed now." I did, indeed, eat cookies for breakfast. Stacy and Gavin made me a card, too. I've scanned it and posted it below. She used an old stamp pad of mine she found in the basement to make his little footprints. She said he was only mildly cooperative, so the prints are light, especially on the scan.

In case you're having trouble reading this, the front says, "I feel safe to explore the world on my own two feet because you give me a firm place to stand..." The inside says, "...on your neck. Happy Mothers Day Mama D. Love your son Gavin."

So basically I have the cutest wife and son ever of all time Amen. I am very lucky even I did spend a good hunk of Mothers Day mowing the lawn. For my mom's MD gift Stacy and Gavin and I went out to her house where we met with Laura, Jamie, and Amanda and did yard work. She had surgery on her wrist so she can't do a lot of it right now. I mowed her back yard while Stacy and Gavin played together in the driveway, ruining his socks, mind you, but they had a lot of fun. When we got home I mowed my own lawn, front and back, for fear that someone would call the city on us.

But enough about lawn mowing! What is this, my horticulture blog?

Today Gavin and I went to get a new watch battery for Stacy so that she would stop complaining about how I hadn't done that yet. We went to a place called Watch Bands that I pass on my way to Target and that I always wondered how they stayed in business. Watch Bands is neither a compelling business name nor an exciting product. However, it turns out it isn't a store full of bands and they were really nice there. Best of all, for only $5 Stacy will now have to find something else to complain about. One of the men behind the counter told Gavin he liked his beenie (Gavin was wearing his American Apparel thug hat), which made Gavin smile really big. He really likes attention when we're out and about.

We also went to the library where we played in the kid's section. Gavin pulled himself up using the little tables and chairs and played with some puzzles. He also got acquainted with Big Bear, much to my distress. But now that Gavin is mobile and there are so many things he can get into and hurt on, Big Bear seems less of a threat. Besides, even if Gavin gets lice they'd be really easy to see. His hair is much more copious than ever before, but it is still light and sparse compared to, say, people with hair. I'd have no problem finding nits on that head. Though for the record I hope Gavin never gets lice because I fear I would have to shave my head. I have way too much hair for one of those little Rid combs to be of any use. It is possible to make it through your childhood without lice. I did it. Gavin can do it, too. Hey, Gavin and I were born at the same hospital, so there's no reason we can't have this in common, too.

Gavin has this bilingual drum toy that he got from a friend's son that he was playing with today. I have it set to Spanish because hearing the little girl's voice yell things out Tourettes-style is for some reason much less annoying that way. She frequently hollers, "Vamos bebé!" and so that is currently my favorite thing to say. No doubt this will annoy Stacy very soon, though I will have to remind her about the time right after I saw the "Dick In a Box" skit on SNL. What can I say? It's catchy.

Week 18 Day 5: Happy Mothers' Day

I went on a date with my wife tonight and let me tell you, I haven't seen so many hooters and snotty noses in a long time. No, we didn't go to a ragweed burlesque show, we went to see Babies, a movie I've been eagerly anticipating for months (I'm a sucker for documentaries and I'm a sucker for babies). So yes, Stacy and I went out (without Gavin, and at night, even) for the first time in a very long (too long) time in order to watch a documentary about other peoples' babies. It was, honestly, a perfect date movie for us. I mean, Gavin's 9-months-old, and while that sometimes seems astoundingly "old" (meaning, "Holy shit, where has the time gone?"), he's still a baby. And we are both madly in love with him. So you could say we have a personal interest in the film's subject.

I really liked Babies, as I knew I would from the moment I saw the preview. Though I am not sure that folks who don't have kids or baby fever would dig it so much. The film depends largely on the audience's reaction and emotional connection to the babies in the film. For me personally, I was very much in mama mode while watching it. When the babies did something especially cute like cooing or babbling or smiling or grabbing a baby goat by the head I would smile all over the place. And when they did things like tip their stroller over on themselves, eat toilet paper, pick animal bones off of the ground and put them in their mouths, or nearly get trampled by cows, I reacted physically, tensing my body and holding my breath. When they fell I winced. Maybe the falling hit a little too close to home, but it also was good for me to see other babies fall and trip and clunk their heads and continue to live.

Seeing the relatively sanitized and safe-guarded way the babies in the San Francisco and Tokyo lived versus the more rustic and tribal lives of the babies in Mongolia and Namibia. Gavin definitely lives a life much more akin to the Japanese and American babies. I can't even fathom a rooster strutting around newborn Gavin's bed or Gavin playing naked in the dust and the dirt. That said, I never felt that
"my way" was superior to that of the other parents. Though I admit I couldn't help but wonder how many babies choke to death on stones in Namibia. I also badly wanted to reach into the screen and wipe the babies' noses as every single one of them often really needed a Kleenex intervention, even Hattie, the American baby. I mean, I can understand the mother in Namibia not rushing to wipe her daughter's nose, but come on Hattie's parents. You take your kid to baby yoga and probably only feed her organic food. Bust out a handkerchief.

So we're headed into Mother's Day weekend and this will be my first Mother's Day as a mother. It's kind of weird, actually. But I'm getting used to the whole thinking of myself as a mom thing. I've been stressing about what to get Stacy's for Mother's Day since it's our first and all. My wife is the kind of person who thinks she is easy to shop for but really isn't. She's just not materialistic enough I suppose. While this is actually a good quality in a person it makes shopping for them hard. Thankfully Stacy offered me an out when she said that what she would really like would be flowers. Not cut flowers in a vase, but some flats of annuals she can plant on and around the deck in the backyard. I can handle this. I think. I don't know anything about flowers or plants. As far as the yard goes, that's Stacy's department. My department is maintenance (at which I am doing a terrible job. My lawn has not been cut since Jamie did it years ago. How the hell do people with kids ever find time to mow their lawns? All parents should live in condos.

Speaking of Mother's Day, my sister Laura sent me a link to Erika Milvy's "A Lesbian Mother's Complaint: I Want To be the Only Mommy on Mother's Day" on Slate. I definitely don't feel that way. I don't mind sharing Mother's Day. Maybe because I've always shared by birthday with Laura (we're twins, yo). Part of Milvy's deal is that she's the bio mom, so maybe Stacy feels differently than I do and secretly wishes she could disappear me on Sunday. But I kind of doubt it.

While Milvy seems to be asserting primacy as the biological mom, she acknowledges how easily her girlfriend's role can be dismissed by others. She writes, "Most people know better than to question [the non-bio mom's] maternal legitimacy, but once in a while someone will ask 'who gave birth?' in a way that implies, 'Which one of you is the real mom?'" Ah, yes. I can relate. But then, everybody says that Gavin looks more like me than Stacy, so maybe she's the one who needs to worry.

In any case, whether you are a mother, have a mother, will be a mother, or just frequently preface your cusses with "mother," Happy Mother's Day to you. Or if you have to -- no, get to share, Happy Mothers' Day.

Announcing Mama D Consumer Products Division

Since I'm a mom and all I obviously have a lot of free time on my hands. Combine that with popular demand (okay, one person) for a line of Mama D greeting cards and I've got myself an online store. I may only have one product right now, but at least my wish for a Mother's Day card that doesn't suck has been realized.

Week 18 Day 4: One lump or two?

Today was not a good day for Gavin's head. Falls were had, blood was shed. It was all very dramatic. Maybe more for me than for him.

Earlier today we were at a friend's house in Ann Arbor receiving a shitload of clothes and toys her son (also named Gavin) has grown out of. While we were there Gavin tipped over and hit the back of his head on the edge of the entertainment center. It resulted in a quite a lump with a straight red line through it to mark exactly where head and furniture edge made contact. He cried very hard, but not for very long. I totally kept my cool because that is my job as a mom. Within a few minutes I had him smiling again. I tried to ice the lump, but you try applying any kind of cold pack to a 9-month-old surrounded by new toys and someone else's things to explore. Though I suppose his unwillingness to stay still really was a good sign.

On the way home he fell asleep pretty quickly and that's when I stopped keeping my cool so much. "Is he sleeping or is he dead?" I thought. I glanced back at him and saw his little socked foot twitch. A sign of life. But then he could just be in a coma. People in comas can twitch, right? Damn it, why did I stop watching Grey's Anatomy? Several times I considered pulling over so I could properly check. But I didn't. Which is good because when we got home he was totally alive and happy to see me and really needed that nap.

When Stacy came home the first thing I did was show her Gavin's lump and apologize for being a bad mom. She said I wasn't a bad mom and examined the lump. "Did he lose consciousness?" she asked. "No," I said. "Well then he's probably fine," and with that she scooped Gavin up and hugged him and neither of them fired as Gavin's mom.

I know what you're thinking: "At the beginning of this post she said there was blood. Where's the blood? We want blood!" To which I say, "Woah there, Dracula. This is my son we're talking about not some Russell Crowe Gladiator type shit. Have some respect." And anyway, Gavin did not bleed until after we got home, from a completely different injury.

As I have mentioned, Gavin is quite the crawler. He thinks so, too, and doesn't let anything get in his way, literally. He has kind of a monster truck approach to obstacles in that he just barrels through as if the object is not there, usually opting for "over." The problem is this approach really messes with his balance. This evening, after he was all dressed for bed in his puppy PJs he came crawling out of his room and into the living room where I had, alas, haphazardly left my shoes in the middle of the floor. While attempting to crawl over one of my shoes he tipped face-first into the floor. Instant tears and wailing. Understandably. Granted the space between his face and the floor was only a few inches, but he had his full body weight propelling his face as he stumbled. Stacy scooped him up and swayed with him as he cried. I kissed his head each time they swayed toward me telling Gavin he was okay. Seeing as this was the second time he'd whacked his head right in front of me I felt terrible. If you're a parent of any worth then you really, really, really don't want your kid to get hurt in any way and feeling like you were party to their injuries, however unintentional, is a really shitty feeling. After he'd settled down a little bit I asked Stacy if I could hold him for a little while since I really wanted to hug my son. When I took him he buried his face in my shoulder and continued to cry, albeit much softer. Stacy had a large dark swath on her shoulder where his face had been. Most of it was drool, but... "Is that blood?" I asked. Sure enough, Bear had chomped his bottom lip when his face hit the floor. We had a frozen washcloth in the freezer for teething emergencies so we busted that out. Then he got a frozen cherry in his Baby Safe Feeder (which we call his banana hammock or, I guess, his cherry hammock in this case). This helped make him, and us, feel better.

After Gavin went to bed I showed Gavin my loot from today. Clothes and toys galore. I think I had five garbage bags full of clothes. Gavin won't ever have a reason to be naked now. He and his mama are lucky to know nice people with good taste in clothes. My how I love dressing up my son. I never liked dolls or anything like that when I was a kid, but I adore putting different outfits on my son. Sadly he is not as wild about this and does not take kindly to costume changes. But for now I am bigger and stronger than him. Though judging from the rate he's growing my size and strength advantage will be gone by the time he's four.

Week 18 Day 3: Distractionator fail

Today I discovered that Gavin does not like to be sprayed in the face with water while he's sitting on Stacy's lap getting his nails cut. Granted, most people don't like to be sprayed with water, but Gavin's reaction was very, well, strongly opposed to it. To be clear, I did not squirt him in the face -- more specifically, directly in the eye -- on purpose. I meant only to spritz him. Mist him, even. See, it's my job to distract Gavin while he gets his nails cut so that he stops trying to grab the clippers and doesn't yank his hands away. Stacy is the resident nail clipper and I am the resident distractionator. Usually all I have to do is grab Henri and hold him up and Gavin forgets all about his manicure. But today Henri was not nearby and so I grabbed a giant Costco-sized bottle of ibuprofen off of the end table and began to shake it like a rattle. Gavin was mesmerized but it quickly occurred to me that I should not be presenting as fun something that is totally off limits to him. And so I ditched the pain killers and grabbed the spray bottle I use to occasionally spray the cat in order to discourage said cat from engaging in activities such as furniture clawing and meowing outside Gavin's bedroom door at night. Now this little spray bottle, probably purchased from a dollar store, has a little nozzle that can be tightened or loosened in order to change the spray from a steady stream to a kind of mist. Unfortunately I turned it the wrong way and instead of "misting" Gavin I sprayed him directly in the eye. He did not like this, but aside from some grumbles and eye rubbing, he seemed largely unfazed. And so while Stacy proceeded to trim his other hand I turned the nozzle the correct way and said, "Look, Gavin!" and pulled the sprayer trigger ever so lightly and a little bit of water came out getting several drops on his arm. He then lost his mind. He cried, he wailed, he shuddered, he frowned. If I was someone on the outside looking in who saw only his reaction and not the cause of it I would have said, "Now there's a baby that's been punched in the face. Or burned. Or at the very least pinched. Very hard." And I felt awful as if I had, indeed, done something terrible to my son. It took a long time to calm him down after that but Stacy and I finally succeeded by doing a little dance and singing this little tune we made up on the fly. We even managed to get a smile out of him. But as soon as we'd stop he'd apparently remember the sprayer incident and his little face would crumble once more. Between this and the water boarding incident, I've probably set the stage for some kind of water phobia that will manifest itself once Gavin hits puberty and starts refusing to shower.

Other than that little incident we had a good day. Good naps were taken (by Gavin. Not by me, sadly. I could have really used a nap today, too). Meals were eaten. Toys were played with. We even made it to Borders and back without a meltdown. We tried to go yesterday but it was not a success. For one thing, Gavin does not like the elevator at Borders which we must use since I put Gavin in his stroller while we are there and lugging him and his stroller up and down the stairs is not an option. In order to distract/entertain him in the elevator today I grabbed the bear toy he was holding in my teeth, shook my head and made growling sounds. Though he still doesn't like elevators, he liked this and it was enough to get us through the ride, up and down. I sure hope they have security cameras in there.

I don't know what it was, but today went by very quickly. While yesterday dragged on and on and on today was over before I realized it. Being able to function on significantly less ibuprofen today probably helped.

Today while Stacy was feeding Gavin dinner I overheard her say, "Papaya's not my favorite fruit. But I like it as a change, you know?" She was, needless to say, feeding him papaya. Not exactly a rousing endorsement, but the other day I took a small taste to test the temperature of the collard greens mixed with tofu I was about to feed him, grimaced visibly, said something along the lines of, "Jesus, yuck," and then offered Gavin a spoonful with a smile saying, "Mmm. Good stuff. You're going to like it."

I finally found semi-decent Mother's Day cards. Not great ones, mind you. But passable. Which is good since I'm running out of time. I'm totally going to make my own line of Mother's Day cards. Like one that says, "Dear Mom, I'm glad that [sender's age] years ago you had a vagina and weren't afraid to use it. I presume you still have a vagina but I do not want to talk or think about it." That's just off the top of my head, people. I am a natural.