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.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010: Lucky 13

Gavin is 13 months old now. And tomorrow is our 13th anniversary -- 13 as in years. Not me and Gavin, obviously, but me and Stacy. So people can say what they want about "13" being unlucky, but it's pretty lucky for me.

I got my hair cut yesterday. Gavin did not get his hair cut as he does not have hair to spare. But I hacked off 10 inches and am donating it to Locks of Love. I usually only get my hair cut every couple of years or so because I want to "help bald babies," as my boss once summed it up when I explained why I was sending my hair in a padded envelope through the mail. Actually "hacked off" really doesn't do justice to my friend Liz who is quite good at what she does and the only person I trust to cut my hair. Should she move away I will have no other choice but to grow my hair out like a Mennonite woman or like Mrs. Hess, my 7th grade home ec. teacher who may or may not have been a Mennonite but who did teach me to make peanut butter cornflake brownies, a recipe I had -- and may still have -- memorized and is quite likely the only thing I learned in 7th grade besides the humiliation and rejection standard in Jr. High curriculum. Oh, Gavin. I wish I could spare you...

Anyway, enough about my hair (you're all, "What is this, HairCareBlogDotCom.net or something? I came here to read about the cutest baby in all the land"). Today was my first day back on as full time stay-at-home Mama D since summer began. Stacy is back at work now, which means me and Gavin are once again flying solo (or, I guess, duo?). I start work next week. Gavin officially starts daycare tomorrow, but since I am home he will only be there for a few hours while I go to an appointment. Kind of easing him in, so to speak. Stacy and Gavin and I met with his main caretaker at the daycare and she seems nice. Gavin ran around and played with the toys while Stacy peppered this poor woman with sometimes very specific directions and advice re: the care-taking of our son. Granted, I want him to be well cared for, but he is one of many kids there and it is unlikely that she'll remember all that Stacy told her. But if I hadn't been wrangling Gavin during their conversation, I would have been the same way. What I took away from that meeting is that the daycare has good toys and Gavin definitely likes that. They also have a turtle in a tank. It's a small turtle and a small tank, probably too small. I don't understand the point of keeping turtles as pets, though my best friend did once buy a turtle the size of a quarter from Mexican children on a street corner in Los Angeles. I don't recall it living very long. This fact does not further my understanding of or enthusiasm for turtles as pets. In any case, I can't help but think that being in a tank at handprint level in a room full of babies and toddlers would be a terrifying existence.

So, yes. Going back to work. Exciting because "money," but sad because "Gavin." But I will still be home with him Tuesdays and Thursdays and will continue to chronicle our adventures here.

Gavin is growing and changing so much it's hard to keep up with it all. His vocabulary is growing so fast. The number of words he understands is just exploding and the words he actually says keep multiplying. "Outside" is a current favorite. He loves to play out in the yard (mostly he wants to pick up the watering can, climb up and down the deck steps, and put his hands in the dirt in Stacy's planters on the deck) and has been quite demanding about it. Today I was trying to upload a picture of me and Gavin and I was standing in the kitchen (I had the computer on the kitchen counter because Gavin and I were listing to music while I fed him brunch) and Gavin was slapping the sliding door saying, "Outside." While I wasn't ignoring him per se, I didn't want to let him outside because as soon as I was done we were leaving to go to his doctor's office to pick up paperwork for daycare. So Gavin came over to me and put his hands on my legs and started pushing me toward the door saying, "Outside." And when we didn't go outside he got mega-pissed. Mega-Pissed Gavin is the newest addition to our son's personality library. Mega-Pissed Gavin screams and cries and stomps his feet if he doesn't get what he wants. He also thrashes and arches his back if you try to pick him up. I realize that this is all part of toddlerhood, but it still throws me every time he starts to "go off" as Super Nanny would say.

Out in the yard today after Stacy came home Gavin tried to climb up into the patio chairs we have outside. He was so very determined to do this. In fact, after the first success he tried again a short time later and became really frustrated because he couldn't quite do it. Stacy guessed that his muscles were tired for the next go around and I'm inclined to agree since it literally took all of his might. He even made himself throw up a little bit (and but a little bit I mean half-dollar size) because he was exerting himself so much while simultaneously pressing his stomach against the edge of the chair rather soon after he'd eaten. But it was definitely puke and not the spit-up of his babyhood. Thankfully Gavin has never thrown up before. I have managed to remain calm and take care of messes he makes with all sorts of bodily goop, but I don't do well with vomit. I know that eventually I will be faced with this horror and that I will not be able to simply get as far away as possible because it will be my own son and thus my responsibility. All I can hope is that Stacy is with us at the time.

Speaking of Stacy, she got a taste of what it's like to get the brush off today. As I've mentioned, Gavin's been on a "Mommy only" kick for the past couple of months where he treats me like I'm just the help. Well today when Stacy came home from work I was changing Gavin's diaper in his room and his door was shut. I heard the car and the side door open and I said to Gavin, "Mommy's home." He seemed to perk up at his news but when I opened his door  to a grinning Stacy on her knees with her arms out for a hug, Gavin blew right past her in favor of a bottle of water I'd left on the living room table. It was funny, but also sad because I saw Stacy's face just fall. She'd been missing us all day and was rejected for a plastic bottle. Like I said, Gavin is already a heart breaker.

Friday, Aug. 27, 2010: ABC gum

We bid farewell to Granny Marilyn today. She was very sad to go. Gavin is a heartbreaker like that. I predict a lifelong pattern.

The highlight of today was when Amanda gave Gavin her gum. I mean, it was an accident, but a 13 month old really shouldn't have chewing gum. I think that to get the full experience you really need to have more than eight teeth and at least some of your teeth should be molars. I'm just saying. Gavin isn't exactly Wrigley's target audience. Also there's the whole choking hazard thing, which looms a little larger than chewing satisfaction when it comes to the baby demographic. Thankfully Gavin did not choke. Nor did he chew the gum. In fact, I'm not sure he ever knew it was in his mouth at all. Its tenure there was brief. Not because I, in a mom-of-the-year moment, swept the offending glob out with a hooked index finger -- though I certainly did try. But there was nothing to be swept, so quickly did he swallow it.

So how did Gavin end up with his Aunt Amanda's ABC gum (that's "already been chewed" for anyone who has never gone through elementary school)? Well, Amanda came over today to see Gavin and take the dogs for a walk (her two dogs, Lily and Charlie, and my dog, Henri). After the walk Amanda was hanging out and playing with Gavin in the living room and she lifted him upside down and kind of swung him back and forth a little -- he loves this kind of thing. So from his upside down hanging position she put him on the couch where she proceeded to put her face close to his. Both of them were laughing quite hard, because of how being Upside Down Baby (Gavin's official title while in this position) is hilarious, and Amanda's gum fell out of her mouth and into Gavin's. She sat him up and said something like, "D'Anne, my gum fell into Gavin's mouth," and I, who was sitting right next to Gavin but did not see the gum exchange, hooked my finger and went spelunking for foreign objects just like I learned in CPR training (the rest of the training, however, is very fuzzy, so thank god he wasn't choking). But there was nothing but the slippery insides of his cheeks and his fat tongue. No gum. He was relatively unfazed besides seeming a little confused about why I was poking around in his mouth.

Amanda is laughing hysterically at this point and not because she thinks it's funny so much as she's totally freaked out. "Oh my god, I thought I just killed your baby," she said. But thankfully she didn't. He's fine as far as I can tell. My theory is that because Amanda dropped her gum from her laughing mouth it was probably covered in saliva, which means it was well lubricated as it fell into Gavin's also laughing and frequently drool-filled mouth and thus he swallowed it without even realizing it had happened. And no, gum doesn't sit undigested in your stomach for seven years or tie your intestines together or whatever dumb thing you learned in grade school. Yes, it's true that the human body can't digest gum, but it can take gum along on an exciting trip of the digestive system. In other words, gum should be appearing in Gavin's diaper in a couple of days. And then I can return it to Amanda.

Speaking of diapers, have you ever seen a horse take a dump? Gavin, Stacy, and I went to the zoo today and got to see it happening up close and personal (we were about four feet away from the horse). It's not something I've ever wanted to see, but I now cannot unsee it. Decorum doesn't allow me to describe it further, but I'm sure there's probably a video on YouTube or something if you look. Or you could go to a farm. I mean, if you're dying to see it and all.

We also saw prairie dogs, which Gavin was not very interested in. He calls all of the animals at the zoo "dog" but he didn't bother with these little guys. He did call the pigs "dog" though. We also walked through the Outback Adventure, which in theory could mean live interaction with kangaroos, but really was just walking down a dusty dirt path while peering at kangaroos sacked out in the shade at the outskirts of their enclosure. We did get to see what I think was a wallaby hop on by, but that was the extent of our Outback excitement. That and the hi-larious doofy dad in line behind us making Outback Steakhouse jokes. Every time we go to the zoo it makes me happy that Gavin is a vegetarian.

Thursday, Aug. 26, 2010: Cuts like a knife

As someone who did not circumcise her son and who thought about and agonized over this decision well before we were even pregnant let alone aware of our baby's sex, I am fascinated by other people's stories about why they did or did not circumcise their boys. So I was quite interested in "The strange story of my son's circumcision" by Taffy Brodesser-Akner on Salon.com. She writes, "I believe cutting a boy's foreskin is mutilation. So why am I standing here at my child's bris?"

Good question. The quick answer is for religious reasons. But she complicates that answer and I like that. Still, as someone who is not religious and someone who doesn't believe in God, cutting off part of your son's penis because Abraham and his son did is kind of weird. I mean, what if Abraham and son had cut off one of their ears? Fingers? Arms? Would we be doing this today? I kind of doubt it. Brodesser-Akner even admits that it's magical thinking. That by circumcising her son she's asking God to keep him safe. Now if she thought that she could keep her son safe by, say, only wearing orange or never letting water touch her son's body or clapping five times before and after she touched a doorknob we'd call that obsessive compulsive disorder or something. Religion is like a socially accepted psychosis in a way. But psychosis is not always bad. I mean, people with mild OCD can use it to their benefit. I know this from experience. I can pack a mean suitcase, for example. I can fit a ton of stuff in there. Ever since the airlines started charging for extra luggage I've thought about setting up a booth at the airport to repack suitcases for folks who can't fit all of their shit. I could make a killing. But then I'd have to handle the underwear of strangers. And money is only worth so much.

Anyway, while Brodesser-Akner and I obviously have our differences about circumcision, we share a lot of common ground. She writes,

"Becoming a parent is hard. When you glimpse how every piece of you is invested in your children, it is shocking and overwhelming. When I gave birth to my first son, I was struck by the fact that I had spent nine months worried about how he would come out — whether he'd be healthy, whether he'd survive the trip. As I held him in my arms, I realized that though he was born healthy, there were no guarantees. In fact, now that he was outside my body, he was less safe than before. I realized, suddenly and in a cold sweat, that I wouldn't know if this experiment — parenthood, child-rearing, child loving — would work out till I was on my deathbed and I could be assured my children were outliving me. Sure, there are other things that quantify success as a parent, and I hope to meet those goals, too. But I can't help but think that making sure they live long after I've passed is at the top of that list. While I do know that I am not in control of certain things in my sons' future — peer pressure, meningitis, drunken drivers, Justin Bieber's effect on tweens, school shootings, cancer — I do know that I am sometimes overwhelmed, nearly driven mad, when I realize how much is out of my control, how much of their safety is not determined by my actions."

Amen.