Thursday, Sept. 30, 2010: No way

Things I should never say to my son #43: "Honey, you're making Mama want to kill herself." Stacy also says I'm not allowed to say that to her. Fair enough! Point made. Let's move on and KEEP ON LIVING!

So, yeah, it was a rough day. Gavin, bless his heart (who ever says that re: someone they're not just about to complain about?), is growing like a mad man and his personality is getting bigger as his legs get longer and his mouth gets toothier. So when he's happy it's much more vibrant and intense. He's much more expressive. But when he's pissed, oh my, watch out. Happy Gavin is to a fireworks display what Angry Gavin is to a gas station on fire. And he has so much to get angry about now. For one thing, he's developing preferences. Take bananas, for instance. If there are bananas in the house and you want him to eat anything else you'd better hide the bananas. And hide them good. Putting them anywhere he can even think he sees a banana and it's scream city until you're slicing and quartering a Chiquita for him.

Another thing that drives him to the brink is The Art of the Possible. Specifically being aware of his limitations. Now when he wants to do something that he is not, say, tall or strong or coordinated enough to do he throws a fit. Not each and every time, mind you. If he's in a good mood he might just make some growling sounds and go about his day. But if he's tired or hungry, watch out. If he's tired and hungry, wear a helmet because it's going to be a bumpy ride. And speaking of bumpy, one of his new things is to bump his head against the wall or his crib rail or any other hard surface. Mostly he does it gently enough so that it doesn't seem to hurt, but other times he kicks it up a notch. I think he's just testing things out, figuring out what he can and can't control. Hitting his head is not new territory for my little bruiser, but it's always been something that's happened to him, not something he could make happen. So maybe that's an exciting discovery in baby world.

And then there's "No." A word he's hearing an awful lot of these days and liking less and less every time he hears it. "No," obviously, doesn't effectively communicate, "Don't put the computer cord in your mouth or you'll electrocute yourself and die and Mama will have to go to jail and/or an insane asylum and then who will take care of Henri?" Not that he would understand that. Still, "no" to Gavin just means "I don't want you to have any fun." He's got x-ray vision for any and all potential hazards in a room and heads straight for them. Exposed electrical socket? "No, Gavin, no touch." Crazy miniature poodle in a crate that's oh so fun to bang on? "No, Gavin, that's Henri's crate. He's resting." Paperclip on the floor? "No, Gavin, not for mouths" (or, if he's picked it up but is not putting in his mouth, "Oh, thank you, Gavin. Can you give that to me?" with a big smile and an outstretched palm. He likes this game a lot. For now). Most of these are followed by "the redirect," which currently consists of physically moving him somewhere else and attempting to get his attention focused on something else. "Let's play with your truck," or "Here's your walker, Gavin, run for your life."

I took Gavin to Kids Club at the gym today for the first time. I used the elliptical machine for a half hour while he played. Or at least I presume he played. When we arrived, three other kids, two sitting at a table coloring and one toddling around next to them, were there with one attendant. She did not volunteer her name and so I asked her and she told me but it wasn't a name familiar to me and I forgot it almost as soon as she said it. While she was checking Gavin in, the oldest girl, who was maybe 4 at the most, gave the youngest girl a crayon. Now, the youngest girl was about Gavin's age at most, though she seemed a little younger. She was clearly too young to have crayons. The attendant wasn't paying attention to her because she was busy with me, so I kept my eye on the girl in case she started to put the crayon in her mouth. I saw her write on the chair, but I didn't care about that. Thankfully the attendant turned and saw the contraband crayon and took it away. Gavin was kind of shy at first, not wanting to go in the door. I had to pick him up and step in with him. The attendant offered him a couple of trucks and he took one in each hand. When I got there to pick him up a half hour later he still had the trucks in his hands. He was the last kid out (Kids Club closes at noon and doesn't reopen again until 4. The hours aren't very convenient). The attendant was sitting on the carpet with him. He was really happy to see me and seemed happy in general. I think he had fun. But my faith in Kids Club is, at best, shaky.

Wednesday Sept. 30, 2010: Morning fluidity

This morning Gavin woke up soaked in pee. His diaper just couldn't contain a very prolific night of urinating. The onesie he was wearing under his PJs had wicked it up his entire body and Stacy declared that he needed a bath because sending your pee-soaked child to day care like that shows poor judgment at best, neglect at worst. "Strip him down while I run the tub," she said. And so I did. Off went the pee soaked onesie, PJs, and sleepsack. I then put him down for a quick streak into the bathroom. He took two steps and started peeing on his bedroom rug. My first instinct was to reach out and grab him, as if my hands could somehow stop the pee or magically turn absorbent. My second instinct was to grab something near by, like a diaper or some clothes, but the only thing within reach was a white teddy bear filed with lavender his Grandma Kathy gave to him. I finally decided on a containment strategy: hold him by his shoulder so at least he wouldn't streak while peeing, thereby limiting the to one spot. With some splatter, mind you, since he reached out while he was peeing and grabbed his penis like, "What's happening down there?" In any case, I get him into the bathroom and while I'm cleaning the pee Emma, my sister's 14-year-old greyhound who is staying with us for the time being, took a dump on the kitchen floor. She's old, and when she has to go, she has to go. I was too distracted from Gavin's pee to even notice she'd gotten up. Oh, and I forgot to mention that before all of this happened Gavin puked in our bed. Not a lot of puke, mind you; it was more like spit up. But stinky. So, yeah, best morning ever.

Tuesday, Sept. 28, 2010: Huggy Bear

Gavin, who is now 14 months old, now takes hug requests. If you ask him for a hug he'll crawl up into your lap and put his arms around your neck. Though maybe not "you" personally since I don't necessarily know who's reading this. If you're someone I love then you're probably on this list. If not, well, go get your own baby to hug.

Sorry, I don't mean to be so confrontational. I just got back from the gym so I probably have roid rage or something. I'm kidding. I'm not a rager. Just like there are happy drunks and violent drunks and sad drunks, I get all 'roid tranquil. It's like Ativan for the glutes. Again, I kid. I don't do steroids. I'm just naturally very, very muscular and have a lot of back and face hair.

But seriously (classic comic transition!), I did join a gym. And so did Gavin. Kind of. The gym I go to has a babysitting service called Kids Club so he's enrolled, though we haven't used it yet. He had to get his picture taken for his membership card just like his moms. I'm sure he had no idea that he was getting his picture taken, but he thought the orb shaped digital camera on top of the computer monitor at the check-in desk was pretty cool so he was smiling. That's my boy, totally photogenic, even by accident. I'm a little nervous about leaving him there only because I don't know the people and stuff. But I can peek in on him and make sure he's okay. I actually did peek into Kids Club tonight on my way out and there were a few kids in there. The two women working the club didn't seem to be paying any attention to them for the most part, though most were older kids who didn't need someone to watch them every second. There was a younger girl, maybe two or three, playing by herself and I saw her dad walk in to pick her up. He was wearing those creepy frogman shoes. I can't say those are a thing I understand. I mean, who knows, maybe they're wonderful and I'm a fool for not wearing them, but I don't think I'd like them. I can't even wear flip flops because I can't stand anything between my toes. For years my dad gave me those toe socks for Christmas (I mean, it wasn't the only thing he gave me, mind you), you know, the socks that are like gloves for your feet. Yuck to the 10th power. Or a higher power, even. Yuck to God. Anyway, hopefully this man in the frogman shoes is a perfectly good father, though it was almost 8 p.m. and that little girl seemed too young to be up partying so late at night.

So, yeah, the hugging. Adorable. He's also big on kissing. Always with tongue. Sometimes with teeth. He's a very affectionate little dude. Stacy said that when she picks him up at daycare he runs over to her and throws his arms around her neck. Then, after he's gotten his Mommy fix, he toddles off to play with a toy or toward something that catches his attention. She said that yesterday after he was done hugging her he went over and hugged Shelly, his caregiver. Shelly also played some version of "I'm gonna get you," which made Gavin laugh. When Stacy remarked that that was the first time she'd heard him laugh at day care Shelly said, "Oh, we laugh all day." I love this. It was just a week or so ago when Shelly reported to Stacy that she'd managed to get Gavin to smile at day care. Now they're yucking it up. I'm so glad he likes day care and that he's having fun. I know that because he's in day care he'll be setting fire to our neighbor's garages and torturing cats in no time, but he's already got two moms, so he was already juvenile delinquent bound.

Gavin's been waking up pretty rough this past week. He's not getting enough rest at day care and that's really kicking his ass, I think. He naps for about an hour at day care and at home he naps for a little bit in the morning (this is fading fast, though) and for about an hour and a half in the afternoon. So he's pretty cranky these days. On Tuesday morning Stacy got him up and handed him off to me so that she could use the bathroom. He was super pissed about this. He wanted to nurse now and not one second later. He fought me so hard when I was trying to change his diaper, kicking his legs and twisting his body and arching his back and flailing his hands all the while screaming his head off. He is so strong. That's a big part of why I joined a gym. The way I figure it, by the time he's four years old he'll be strong enough to beat me up. I'm hoping to be at least able to keep up with him.

The other day Gavin wrote me a note. I'd put a note in his lunch telling him I loved him and when we got his lunch back my note was still in there, but on the back was some scribbling in crayon and Shelly had written "Mama D" at the top and "Love, Gavin" at the bottom. It was pretty much the cutest thing ever. I put another note in his lunch tonight, so maybe he'll reciprocate. But I won't get my hopes up. I mean, he's a really busy guy and there's a lot to do at day care. He can't just sit around and write love notes all day. Alas.

Wednesday Sept. 22, 2010: Turn the other cheek

It's been almost a week since my last blog post. I'm obviously a terrible mother (because that's how it's measured. I'm pretty sure that's in the latest edition of Dr. Spock or whatever). Life is, as my little sister Christine would say, "crazy busy." Being back to work full time is kicking my ass. And taking so much time away from Gavin. I've gone from seeing him every single day and spending the majority of my time with him to having only Tuesdays and Thursdays as full time Mama D Care days. There's a big difference between five days a week and only two. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday I see him only in the morning as I get him ready for day care. By the time I get home from work he's asleep. I shouldn't complain, because two full days a week is still more than Stacy gets since she works five days a week like a mere mortal. One more reason why I'm glad I teach college kids and not elementary school ones. Well, that and the fact that I've yet to have a kid accidentally call me "Mom" or pee his pants while sitting at his desk. I did have a kid ask me if he could go to the bathroom to blow his nose, but at least doesn't need my help. Perks. I have 'em.

Gavin is 14 months old as of Monday. As a sign of his maturity, they now have him napping on a cot at daycare instead of a crib. He apparently has no problem with this, though that is surprising to me. Not surprising in that I can't believe he's capable of such a thing. Just that it's not something he's ever done. Nothing I've seen him do, certainly. And it's unbaby-like. It's the kind of thing a toddler does. Because he's a toddler. And that still kind of blows my mind.

I hate missing the things he does at day care. Like, I want to see him sleeping on the cot. I wonder if I could get them to videotape it for me. I'm kind of jealous that the day care ladies get to see him sleeping and I don't. Like, right now, I would love to go take a peek at him in his crib but I'm afraid that I will wake him up. In fact, past attempts at night-peeking have ended in that exact way. But at daycare he just sacks out in a crowded room. Like an animal in the wild. Or something. Today he did sand art. In fact, he's done several art pieces that I have no doubt Sotheby's would be interested in. But I'm keeping them. Money isn't everything. I have three of his originals hanging in my office at school. Two done in crayon and one done with stamps. A turtle stamp, I believe (there's lots of stamp overlap and smearing. It's very intense).

According to Stacy, Gavin has started initiating peek-a-boo. He understands that he can hide from her. I have sadly yet to see this. But I am comfortable enough in my relationship with my wife to believe she isn't lying to me. But until I see it with my own eyes it is but a dream of seemingly unbearable cuteness. I will probably implode when it finally happens to me. Cuteness overload.

Speaking of cuteness overload, this is pretty much the opposite of that: "Similac Formula May Contain Bug Parts". As Laura, who emailed the article to me, wrote, "Blech." "The company said [up to 5 million Similac-brand powder formulas] may contain a small beetle or larvae, which could cause stomach ache and digestion problems." I am sure glad that my son is a boob man. He's never had formula. Wait, I take that back. I did once give him a little pre-made formula that we got at the hospital, although I can't remember why. Stacy and her hoots were not home. That's all I remember. I don't even know if he actually drank any. I guess I blocked it out. Because of the bug parts. Just kidding. That was pre-small beetle or larvae in the mix. I hope.

There is some good news today. A court in Florida declared that state's ban on gay people adopting unconstitutional. It's really a no-brainer, but the state has been fighting for years to keep the ban. Never mind that they let gay people be foster parents. And never mind that there isn't any other group who is outright banned from adopting, including convicted felons. "Murderer? Sure, no problem. Homo? Um, no. That makes God cry." No doubt the decision will be appealed by the state and wind up at the Florida Supreme Court. Hopefully their court isn't stacked with right-wing assholes like Michigan's.

Laura just told me that Stacy almost gave her a kiss goodbye today. Stacy had to go back to work for open house tonight and had to leave before Gavin went to bed. So Gavin's Aunt Laura (with an important assist from Aunt Amanda after Gavin started screaming) put him to bed. When she left she leaned in and gave Gavin, who was in Laura's arms, a kiss and then turned her head to kiss Laura before she caught herself and said, "Oops, you're not my wife." Looks like Stacy and I are going to need to have a serious talk tomorrow. I'm kidding, obviously. Although Laura is no longer welcome in our home.

Thursday, Sept. 16, 2010: See no evil

I'm listening to Stacy read to Gavin in Spanish. He's sitting next to her on the couch intently studying the pages of Counting Colors, one of his favorite books. It's pretty much the cutest thing ever "Reading" is perhaps not the right term, as Counting Colors doesn't really have words. It's a slew of images sorted by colors. Stacy points to the various pictures and narrates in Spanish. Gavin is imitating a cat meowing right now because they're on the orange page, which includes a picture of a little tabby kitty.

I am thankful every day that Gavin loves books so much. We went to the library today and he looked at some books there. He liked the one with photos of trucks the best. What can I say, the kid loves trucks. He basically wants to be a walking stereotype. Or maybe he's overcompensating due to having two moms. I don't care, though. If he wants to love trucks, let him love trucks. Let him especially love books about trucks.

We don't let Gavin watch TV. Not even Madagascar, much to my father's dismay. He came over on Tuesday to give Gavin a belated birthday card. It should be noted that ever since the invention of cards that talk, play music, or otherwise make noise, my father has pretty much kept that segment of the card industry in business. Anyway, the card he brought Gavin had a cartoon hippo on it and, upon opening, played a song in which a low, husky voice sang, "I like 'em big. I like 'em chunky. I like 'em round. I like 'em plumpy" over a hip-hop beat. I gave my dad a WTF look.

"It's Moto Moto," he said. "You don't know Moto Moto?" In fact, I did not. I had never heard of Moto Moto and wasn't sure if that was the name of the song or the name of the hippo. "You know, from Madagascar," he said.

"I've never seen it," I said.

My dad reacted as if I'd told him that I had no eyes. "What? What do you mean you've never seen it? It's the greatest movie in the world." Now, any movie my dad likes is "the greatest in the world." So either he doesn't really mean this, or he has a lot of ties for first place. And anyway, Eddie Murphy's The Nutty Professor is on that list. So basically that list is worthless.

"Gavin would love it," he continued. "I have it on DVD, I'll let you borrow it. He'll get a kick out of it."

Then I told him that Gavin doesn't watch TV. That we, in fact, don't let Gavin watch TV. My dad found this to be completely retarded. Now, I don't know if he actually said "retarded" -- although it is highly likely -- I do know he for sure made his "that's retarded" face. When I told him that Gavin is not old enough to watch TV, the intensity of his "that's retarded" face only increased.

And while it's true that we don't use TV to entertain Gavin, there is one small exception. We sometimes use a short video to distract him while he's getting his nails cut. Like this evening, for example. I pulled up this video of a very expressive and serious little girl chattering away on YouTube. To say he was transfixed is an understatement. It's actually pretty scary how hypnotized he gets. Which is why we don't ordinarily put him in front of the TV. I mean, I don't believe that TV rots your brain or anything, but I also don't think it helps any with development. I'd much rather my son be engaged in real world interactions than watching a sexually suggestive hippo try to woo a fat girl hippo.

My allergies have been terrible all day and I feel like garbage, constantly having to sneeze and blow my nose. I hate September. Or the allergies of September, anyway. I mean, I shouldn't complain. I have allergies, not leprosy. Still, I equate my allergies with being slapped in the face all day with a damp towel. Sure it won't kill you, but it doesn't feel good, and it's annoying and distracting and keeps you from getting much done.

I think I'm going to follow Gavin's lead and go to bed early tonight. Only hopefully I won't cry so much beforehand. He had a rough evening. He was pretty much fine until Stacy got home and then he got really clingy and screechy. He didn't nap super well today, but that can't account for everything. Stacy thinks, and I agree, that he's still adjusting to things, especially to being away from her so much. Day care is going pretty well, though, considering. He's getting more social and his day care ladies thought it was adorable how he ate the corn on the cob we sent in his lunch. He really is a champion corn on the cob eater. Apparently this is not a universally held baby skill. Actually, I don't think it's a universally held grown-up skill, either. I mean, you should see my dad eat corn on the cob. Actually, no, you shouldn't. No one should. He eats it, in fact, a lot like Gavin does. Only when Gavin does it, it's cute. When my dad does it, you can't help but wonder if he was recently released from prison.

Oh, did I mention that Grandpa woke Gavin up from his nap so he could see him open the hippo booty call card? Yes, yes he did. Granted, I can't blame him for wanting to see Gavin. The boy gets cuter by the day.

Tuesday, Sept. 14: Patience to the Maxx

Yesterday I did not get to see Gavin except for a brief time in the morning when I helped get him ready for day care. That's how Mondays and Wednesdays are going to be for the next couple of months because I can't get home from work in time. And I can definitively say I do not like it. Stacy called me around 6 when I was getting ready to leave work and he was getting ready to go to bed. She put me on speaker phone so I could say goodnight to Gavin and he beeped random buttons in my ear. Probably using Morse Code for "I love you Mama D," except I don't know Morse Code and neither does he. Stacy said he was rampaging naked around his room after a bath. So sad to miss naked rampaging time. So sad to miss any Gavin time, really. He does so many cute and amazing things in day.

Like yesterday, for example, he apparently had quite the party on Emma's dog bed (Emma is my sister Laura's dog, a 14-year-old greyhound. They are staying with us for the time being). It's a big round pet bed from Orvis (highly recommended by Laura, in case you're looking for a dog bed. She never shuts up about how much she loves it). What Laura, who witnessed the event, said when I asked her to describe what Gavin was doing: "Writhing around doesn't sound like something a baby does." I tell her to try again: "He seemed to be, like, hamming it up. Kind of rolling around and smiling with a knowing look on his face like he knew what he was doing was adorable. And he did a head stand more than once. It's the first thing he did when he came home from daycare. He ran over to the bed and flopped down like, 'Ahhh, long day.' That's the best I can do, really." By "head stand" Laura means Gavin's downward dog-esque pose where he plants his head on the ground and then grins at you from between his feet. It's pretty much the cutest thing ever. Laura also told me yesterday and he was just cracking himself up being on the dog bed and rolling around.

So the dog bed is his new thing now, much to poor Emma's dismay. He displaced her several times today, in fact. I wish he would take a liking to something with less dog hair on it. No offense to Emma. But I had to lint roll his entire body (clothed, of course) more than once today. He laughed very hard when I lint rolled his armpits. He's very ticklish.

Gavin and I went to T.J. Maxx today, a store I absolutely hated before I had a kid. I used to have a very firm policy about refusing to shop places where you had to pick merchandise up off of the floor and where every shelf looks like it's been arranged by a blind person with a seizure disorder. I was actually at a T.J. Maxx store once when an employee lightly chastised me for putting something back on the hanger that it had fallen off of while I was looking at it. "Oh, you don't have to do that," she said. "We don't even do that." Very encouraging.

But now that I'm a mom I have more patience for literal bargain hunting. After all, being a parent teaches you patience, right? Actually, I'm not sure if that's true. Maybe it's just that parenting fries so many of your nerves that it takes longer for former negative emotional triggers to register. Take waiting in line, for example. A long line. And it's kind of hot and only one register is open and that clerk is handling some kind of complicated transaction for a customer that can't make up her mind and it's taking forever and all you want is to buy some Advil because you have a headache and you can't even take it until you get to the car because that's where your bottle of water is and you can't justify buying another one because that's wasteful and you think about just throwing a couple down the hatch without water but your mouth is kind of dry and you're worried they'd get lodged and you'd end up horking them back up, which would be really embarrassing. Anyway, pre-Gavin that kind of situation would make me a little crabby and impatient, to say the least. Today, however, it's all, "I've cleaned baby poo off my hallway walls and scrubbed it out of infant sweat socks. This ain't no thing."

So, yeah. T.J. Maxx. I managed to find him three Paul Frank shirts on clearance, some little cars that go with his race ramp on clearance, and really cute socks with airplanes on them, also on clearance. It was a very satisfying trip even if I did completely forget to look for a sunglasses case since mine is broken, a casualty of Gavin's propensity to drop things he's holding out of his stroller (I then ran over it).

Stacy and I had an argument after I gave Gavin a tiny piece of my organic pop-tart crust. She got really, really angry. Over reacted is a good way to put it (and is how she later put it herself). He wanted a piece of it and he started to cry and get upset so I didn't give him any. But once he calmed down I did. Stacy said I am teaching him to throw fits to get what he wants. I think that I am rewarding the behavior I want to see. Like training a dog. I mean, I know kids aren't dogs and dogs aren't kids (though some people seem to think otherwise). But in the grand scheme of things I don't think this alleged infraction on my part soldered any of his brain pathways together or anything. Something tells me that we're all going to pull through this. As a family.

Thursday, Sept. 9, 2010: Apple Cake for all

Happy Jewish Apple Cake Day, everyone! Gavin and I celebrated in style with an actual Jew in our home who brought us real Jewish apple cake. (Confidential to Amber: thanks for the Apple Cake! It was great to see you! Happy New Year! L'Shana Tova, and all that! So many exclamation marks!) Gavin had some apple cake and he seemed to like it okay, though he did drop a big chunk on the floor for the dog, but he's a baby, what do you want? I repeat: he's a baby. This was not an act of toddler anti-Semitism. I mean, if you think about it, it's really an act of love because Henri loved himself some off-the-floor apple cake. So everyone's happy on Rosh Hashanah in the Witkowski house. Is that so wrong?

Okay, "everyone's happy" here is relative, Rosh Hashanah or no. In truth, I was exhausted today and remain so. Gavin was happy in fits and starts, but he was also very clingy, obstinate, and prone to screaming when he did not get his way. Or when he tried to stand up whilst under the kitchen table. Bump goes the head. I have explained this to him more than once, but he's a student at the school of hard knocks these days. I told him he could just go to the Montessori school of mild bumps instead, but, like I said, he's obstinate.

So, yes, the clingy-ness (a.k.a. "koala bearing"). Not as bad as Tuesday, but still a lot of "hold-me-or-I'll-screams." He was also more tired than usual today, which isn't surprising seeing as he was at day care yesterday and that's a big jolt to a little guy's life. Things went well at day care as far as I know. Stacy didn't have much information to give me (she picks him up and drops him off since it's pretty much where she works), though no fault of her own. But he apparently napped fine and ate fine, which is half the battle, right? Stacy said he was sitting at the weird table eating when she got there and he burst into tears as soon as he saw her and wanted her to pick him up. He missed her. And I missed him, all day. The first day of class went fine, but I high-tailed it out of there after my last class so I could get home in time to give him a goodnight kiss. I made it, just barely. I plan to do the same thing tomorrow. But from now on Mondays and Wednesdays I will only get to see him in the morning because I won't make it home before it's snoozer time for Bear.

I think that Gavin may have said Mama D today, but I can not say for sure. It sounded a lot like it, but he was not looking at me and there was the background sound of the dishwasher and whatever Gavin was dragging/pushing/pulling across the floor at the time (it's always something). But I said it first and he just might have parroted it. Still, "dog" is his favorite, most often used word, followed by "outside." A boy's got to have his priorities.

Tuesday, Sept. 7, 2010: Banshee Bear

Oh, the screaming today. The screaming. In fact, it's not over. Gavin is screaming yet again from his crib right now. Winding down for the night. Some people crack open a beer or pop a Xanax or a Benadryl. Hell, some people do all three. Gavin, however, is choosing blood-curdling shrieking. It seems counter productive to restfulness, but who am I to judge?

Actually, this is really unusual for him. I mean, he's definitely started with the toddler antics (I've been warned that the so-called "terrible twos" often start at one). But today is different. I blame it on Stacy. Or, more accurately, the fact that today was Stacy's first day back at work. Even though she went in a couple of days last week, today it apparently dawned on him that things are not as they were all summer. Tuesdays and Thursdays are Mama D care and Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are daycare again. I go back to work tomorrow, which means his first full day of daycare in quite a long time. Judging how today went with me, tomorrow is going to be rough for the Bear.

Everything started out fine. After several months of all-Stacy-all-the-time clinging, when Stacy left for work this morning Gavin couldn't have cared less. In fact, he was kind of pissed that she interrupted his playing to say goodbye to him. And it was just hanging out, playing with toys, pulling everything out of the kitchen cabinets, etc. until his first nap. Then the trouble began.

Gavin's room has blackout curtains that we use for his daytime naps. Granted, "blackout" is a misnomer because they don't make it like night time or anything, but it is significantly less light than mere curtains or blinds. So after I've gotten him in his sleep sack and he's nestled his little (actually, big) head against my shoulder and has plugged his thumb in his mouth, I go to close the curtains and the damn thing falls down, rod and all. But the Bear is already in put-to-bed mode and putting him down prematurely would throw him for a loop. So I think, "No problem. I'll just quietly fix the curtain after I've put him in his crib and then tip-toe out."

A fine plan. In theory. In reality I managed to put the curtain back up, but as soon as I was done Gavin sat up, saw me -- or, more accurately, saw someone standing in between his curtains -- and started to scream. It is not a sound I am able to easily describe, but it is the same kind of screaming he does when he hurts himself. And I mean really hurts himself, not just a stumble (although, all things considered, he has never really hurt himself in the grand scheme of things). It's a combination of high-pitched crying and lower pitched scream-yelling that comes in one long burst followed by rapid fire short bursts and it's terrifying.

I scoop him out of his crib and try to soothe him and it works after quite awhile. Though he still has the cry-hiccups going on -- you know, those little aftershocks of a hard sobbing. I try to put him back in his crib and he immediately starts to cry and koala-bears me. Koala-bearing is what we call it when Gavin holds on to you for dear life using his legs and arms, as if you were a tree trunk he was scaling. Previously he had only ever done this to Stacy. Ok, I think. No problem. I'll just soothe him a bit more. Then I try to put him down again. Same thing. After some additional soothing I decide that I'm just going to have to pry him off of me and put him down and let him cry, as much as I hate to do it. And cry he does. Hoo-boy. Screaming commences and I try to ignore it as best as I can. It finally dissipates but he doesn't sleep for very long. Nap #1 is officially a crap nap.

Fast forward to several hours later -- after Laura and Jamie have visited. After we've played in the yard. After he has several times stuck his hand down my shirt, rooting around for a never-developed Boobie Café franchise location, after he has spent the last hour refusing to let me put him down -- to nap #2. Repeat above, save for the whole "Mama D as ghost of Christmas past" part. He still does not want me to put him down. Total koala bear, all the way. And I'm betting he'd really love to nurse right now, too. But I don't have that to offer him. Again, these are things -- the clinging, the rooting -- formerly reserved for Stacy only. But now that she's back at work all bets are off and Gavin is feeling a little adrift, I think. Poor dude. Needless to say, Nap #2 is also a crap nap.

Stacy put him to bed tonight and she said it was the same way (I was at the grocery store, so I missed it). And as I said, he was still crying from his crib when I began writing this (he has since fallen silent and, presumably, asleep). I worry that day care tomorrow is going to be especially tough on him. I know it will be for me. Despite all of the screaming and the exhausting nature of today, I will miss him terribly while I'm at work tomorrow.

Saturday, Sept. 4, 2010: He's a shoe-in

Gavin has a thing for shoes lately. In fact, yesterday he performed an act so amazing it rivals David Copperfield. Let me start from the beginning. He loves to go outside. One of his favorite words, next to "dog," is "outside," which he usually accompanies by slapping his palms against the sliding glass door that leads to our deck. "Outside" sounds more like "outs" but he usually says it twice, "outs outs." We're not sure if that means he's saying "outside" twice in a row -- you know, for emphasis -- or if "outside" = "outs outs." I'm thinking the later because that seems to be the pattern. Also, once he is outside, he'll sometimes go up to the fence, shake the gate door, and say "outs outs." Because he wants his freedom, damn it, and if he doesn't get it he'll scream.

And oh, how he screams. He's just getting into this new hobby so I have no doubt he has not yet reached the outer horizons of his screaming abilities. But he's working up to it. He's a willful little dude and when he doesn't get what he wants he gets super pissed. Sometimes he doesn't get what he wants because we say no and other times it's because we just don't know what he wants. He does not like to be misunderstood. And yet most of what he says is still largely unintelligible and he's not that great at charades. But he understands so much of what we say.

And here's where the magic part comes in. He wants to go outside and Stacy says something like, "Okay, but we need to get your shoes. Maybe they're in the diaper bag." So she's in the hallway looking in the diaper bag when he lumbers past her into his bedroom. She says, "Well, they're not in your diaper bag," and as she turns to him he is coming out of his room, the drawer where we keep his shoes and socks is open, and he has the very pair of sandals she was looking for in his hands. Stacy said she got chills. Now, this might not seem amazing to someone who doesn't have kids, but as a parent, it's like child rearing gold, Helen Keller at the well type stuff.

So, yes, shoes. He's into them. He likes to have me or Stacy put his shoes on and take them off and then put them on again and then take them off times infinity. When he wants a shoe on he brings it to you, puts it in your hand, and then lifts his foot up. He can get his shoes off himself, but he needs time and patience and motivation to work at it -- like in the car, for example. If you put that boy in his car seat with shoes and socks on he will be barefoot by the time you reach your destination. He even did this in the winter. But the "shoes on/shoes off" game doesn't allow for such deliberation. I think because he's studying the process. He wants to be an observer, not a participant -- an observer who is dictatorially in charge, mind you.

His vocabulary is increasing. "Down" is a new word on the menu. "All done" is sounding like one, too. Stacy said after he was through eating once, "All done?" And he repeated it, though he hasn't used it in proper context since.

On Wednesday I took Gavin to his first day at daycare. I have never dropped him off before, Stacy has always done it, so I didn't know what the protocol and stuff was, which made me feel anxious. But the ladies there are super nice. They also all wear sweatpants, which I had never seen before since I've never been there while they were on the job, so to speak. But it makes sense if you're going to be crawling after infants all day. In any case, when I opened the door one of his caretakers who knew him when he was in daycare previously from months 3, 4, and 5, called out, "Gavin!" And other caretakers shouted hello and exclaimed about how big he was and whatnot. Gavin stood frozen in the doorway not sure what to make of all this. His reaction was akin to walking into a surprise party full of people you don't know when it isn't your birthday. But I nudged him in further and encouraged him to go on in and it didn't take long before he made a beeline for the toys and while I was shown what to do with the snack I packed him (sweet potato goo and baked tofu squares) and how to sign him in and all of that he didn't even look up at me or at anybody else. He was just concentrating on playing. I went over to him and gave him a kiss and told him that I would see him later and it wasn't until I was actually leaving, the door almost closed, that I saw him through the window next to the door get up and start walking after me. It took everything in me not to press my face and hands against the glass like you see people do in prison visitation scenes in movies.

I was only gone for a couple of hours. He'd gone in late and was picked up early, so really it was just a taste of what daycare will be like starting this coming Wednesday. When I came to pick him up he was crying. A lady I didn't recognize was holding him. He'd fallen and bumped his head (something he does a lot. He's got a couple of good bruises on his forehead right now, one from falling ass over elbows at Babies R Us while pushing a popcorn popper thing and the other from the following day at the neighborhood playground). On his daily report sheet under "Today I was feeling" there was a mark next to "Happy," but written next to that was "+ sad." But the overall report was that he was fine, and he'll adjust. By the time I came to get him he was super tired. As soon as we got home he took a really long nap. I'm hoping he eventually gets that exhausted while actually at daycare and naps there, too.

Daycare will be a big adjustment for Gavin. And for me. I wish he could just continue to get exclusively Mama D Care, but Mama D needs to work. I am going to miss being home with him. Yesterday I went to campus to get stuff ready for the semester and I was there all day. Since I work in Ann Arbor I'm a good 45 minutes in perfect traffic away from home. By the time I came home Gavin had gone to bed. That's what Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are going to be like for me for the next three and a half months. And it didn't feel good.