Father's Day, Year Two

Sometimes, you hit a particular milestone--say, your second Father's Day--and you struggle to put into words exactly what meaning that milestone has for you. You knew the day was coming, and you specifically thought about what you might write, but you came up blank.

And then sometimes, the day actually arrives, and a series of events crystallizes your thought process, rendering moot hypothetical situations like one described in the previous paragraph.

This past weekend, the day before Father's Day, we hosted a small get-together for a few friends who recently had children. The kids in question are still quite young (says the guy with the 21-month-old), just 4 and 6 months old. We really enjoyed the time together as young families (at least, Hollie and I did. I hope everyone else did, too).

But for me, what was neat was watching two other dads interacting with their kids. I'm not about to wax nostalgic about LG as a 4-or-6-month-old infant; I enjoy a regular night's sleep too much for that. And it got me thinking about that time in our lives. I watched as these two guys went through the same routines with their kids as I did, and I realized just how much has changed in a really short amount of time.

For instance, I rarely need to rock LG to sleep anymore. She doesn't need me that way because she learned how to soothe herself to sleep. And while I do pay attention while she eats, she can mostly handle that task by herself, too, so I don't have to sit her on my lap or spoon anything into her mouth (minus the occasional vegetable). If she's fussy, I don't spend nearly as much time guessing what's going on in her head, because much of the time, she can tell me. In this small span of time, she's amassed a tremendous amount of skill and knowledge. She's still the same kid, but she's also sort of not.

And in another year or so, those kids will have the same skills and knowledge. Some of it will come from their dads, just like LG learned some portion of those things from me. It's not easy--though often fun--but we're building these little people, one nap, one spoonful, and one word at a time. When I see how far she's come, it doubles as a realization for how far I've come. (Cue the very special episode music.) And how much further we have to go.

Now that the metaphors have been dispensed with, I also have physical evidence for how far we've come. Last year on Father's Day, we went to a rinky-dink carnival at a local mall. You know the kind; half the thrill of any given ride is whether or not the thing will fly to pieces while you're in the middle of it.

Last year, LG and I rode the carousel, and it was difficult to get a picture because she spent most of the ride reaching out for me to pull her off the godforsaken fiberglass horse. This year, between the carnival and a trip earlier in the day to the Camden Children's Garden, she rode the carousel five times.

But who knows, maybe it was the chicken.

Hollie and I also crammed into a very small train last year, and while there was slightly less clawing to get off than on the carousel, we did bear witness to one of the first instances of the phenomenon we would come to call "worried hands." This year, there was no train to be had, which was fine because LG didn't need Mom and Dad cramping her style by tagging along.

Not when there were steering wheels and bells to be had.

I'll need Hollie to back me up, but I think she might have ridden that fire truck two or three times in addition to a similar set of jalopies, which she rode multiple times.

We take a lot of pictures, and we don't often take the time to compare one particular point in the year with another. The changes are fascinating and bittersweet. And, frankly, more than a little terrifying.

Parental Bias and My Inability to Guess a Child's Age

It is inevitable, I suppose, that every parent will at some time or another brag about his kid. I'm sure I've been guilty of it in these very pages. If I'm being honest, the very essence of this blog is about showing off my kid, and what is that, if not bragging? Be that as it may, I'm perhaps hyper aware of the fact that all parents think their kids are the best, and while I'm no different, I don't want to heap praise on LG undeservedly (which is probably super annoying to people who aren't my wife). As best as I can, I try to stick to the facts.

Do I think she's cool? You betcha. Is she a lot of fun these days? Absolutely. Is she smart, dextrous, athletic? Yes? Maybe? Good for her age? The truth is this: I have no idea. I just think it's cool to see what she's capable of.

Like ruining a perfectly good funny face picture by being so stinkin' cute.

It's really hard, especially with your first kid, I think, to be entirely sure whether or not they are smart or physically adept. You can read milestone charts, and be impressed with her progress. You can tell the pediatrician all about the wonderful things your kid can do, and wait for (and receive) the practiced smile and nod of approval. But spend one afternoon at a playground watching a bunch of other kids run, tumble, climb and shout; I guarantee you'll have no idea whether your kid's progress is normal or not.

By way of example, we went to the park yesterday. And she stunned me by leaving behind the relatively short play equipment we typically climb, and doing her level best to give me a heart attack by seeking out the tallest, least-guardrail-adorned structure on the playground. I am, of course, both excited for and terrified by her rapidly increasing ability to climb. And while she's doing just fine, she's still climbing steps on her hands and knees, not using ladders or monkey bars. So imagine my confusion when two children--who don't look much older than LG--come over and practically leap up the side of a ladder, blast past my daughter and vault down the twisty slide.

Wait a minute. Here I am, impressed with my kid's physical prowess, and she's summarily shamed by these tiny dervishes. Their caretaker casually walks up and asks LG's age. "About 20 months," I sheepishly reply. "And yours?" I'm silently dreading the answer, because I don't want to know just how far behind my kid is, as she struggles up the last step before the slide. Am I too cautious? Does she need more free rein, less hand-holding? Please, ma'am, what can I do to make my child less physically awkward?

Her answer? "They'll be 3 in September."

This revelation not only relieves any remaining concerns I have about LG's athleticism, but immediately throws my fatherly pride into overdrive. These kids are a full year older than her, and look how well she's doing now! In another year, she'll be turning somersaults up the side of the play tower and performing a back handspring off the ledge.

Clearly, I have problems with expectations versus reality.

Yeah... we have a long way to go before back handsprings.

Also, while I didn't think 75th percentile for height meant she was that tall, it clearly means she's bigger than I realize. No way I'd have guessed those kids were a year older than her.

To be fair, I am perhaps overly concerned with issues of physical development. I was a gangly kid, and I sucked at sports. It's not that I want her to be good at sports (and honestly, I don't really care if she plays any), but I'd like her to not be a total spaz like her dad.

And as for mental acuity, that might even be more difficult to assess comparitively. Again, I think she's doing well. She loves books. I mean really, really loves books. She's already memorized a few of her shorter books, and will say the words as you turn the page. She sometimes does this frighteningly quickly. I have no idea when that sort of thing is supposed to start.

She talks a lot. She sings a few songs. And of course, she only does this when it's just me or Hollie around. Unlike the physical stuff, I have no way of comparing her development with other kids. And even if she didn't clam up around other people, it's not like there's a park where you take your kids and you all read and sing together. (Actually, I guess that's the library.)

But occasionally, I'll get lucky, and we'll get something on video. And even though I don't have any idea whether other 20-month-old kids can do what I'm about to show you, I still think it's pretty darn impressive. Adjust your language receptors to toddler, and I think you'll agree.

See? How many kids under 2 know the alphabet that well?

If you know the answer, please don't tell me. For now, I prefer to think my kid is a genius. I'm not bragging, just stating the facts.

My daughter is a weirdo (and other Muppets as assigned)

A lot of development has happened in the two months since I last wrote here. LG has gone from one-word declarations to two-, three-, and four-word statements and sort-of questions. Individual words have become more complex, with two-syllable words very common, and the occasional three-syllable word popping up without warning. She can distinguish and name about 15 capital letters of the alphabet. (I'm not entirely certain how this happened. It could be her alphabet stickers, or working with her Grammy.)

Her memory of past events continues to surprise me; without any prompting, she'll walk up to you and say, "Chewie bone!" referring to friends' dog that we haven't seen in five weeks and the fact that they played with a Nylabone together. (Yes, my daughter played with a slimy Nylabone. She's gnawed on worse.)

Not pictured: Nylabone

But the biggest change in the last few weeks is that LG has gotten weird.

Exhibit A: At the aforementioned visit with Chewie & Co. (in Connecticut), we went out for dinner to a nice tapas restaurant in New Haven. Our three-hour car ride up the previous evening was horrible with a capital H, so it was with some trepidation that we brought LG to a nice dining establishment. She'd done well in restaurants before, but she had been low on sleep for the previous 24 hours. We were nervous.

Turns out, everything was fine, and she ate very well. (Sidebar: She loved chorizo and dates. She hated razor clams.) But the whole experience took a turn for the strange when she turned her gaze to a fixed point on the ceiling, waved as if to a good friend, and said "Hi!" This continued for some time. She'd eat for a few minutes, then tip back to look at the same area of the ceiling, wave, say hi, and occasionally engage the invisible ceiling person in more meaningful discussion (at least, it sounded meaningful. It was certainly emphatic.). I can't put my finger on why, exactly, but as the meal wore on, this behavior started to feel really creepy. Maybe it was the fact that there weren't many people in the restaurant. Maybe it was because it was dimly lit. Maybe it was because her exclamations were increasingly fervent, as if she was warning us about something.

Maybe this says more about me than it does my daughter.

Exhibit B: As noted, LG still isn't wild about the car. Most short trips are okay, but if an outing will involve strapping her into the car seat more than twice, you know you're gearing up for a fight.

Which is why it's so strange that this happens any time the car seat is in the house:

LG to self: I hate this seat SO much.

Every time. Seriously, child, what is your deal?

Exhibit C:

I admit it. This isn't that weird. I just like the picture.

Exhibit D: We're out to breakfast the other day (yes, another story about going out to eat). The Station House is a nice little diner with a good menu that doesn't get terribly crowded on weekend mornings. The flipside of no crowds is that there's just one server.

The food was taking its sweet time getting to our table, so we busied ourselves pointing at the country craft decor, and asking LG if she could identify the various animals featured. Yes, that's a duck. What sound does it make... yadda yadda yadda. This progressed until we got to pig.

Hollie: "What sound does a piggy make, sweetie?"
LG: "Hiiii-ya! Aahhhhhh!"

Hollie: Yes, that's what sound Miss Piggy makes. Good job.

See? Total weirdo. I love it.

Fish Tales, plus an unrelated bonus picture

Let me be clear. I do not care for fish. Let me be clearer. I will eat fish, and in fact, I love to eat fish. I even like visiting aquariums, quite a lot. But as pets? Not a fan. They are boring, with a high maintenance to enjoyment ratio.

BUT! I love my wife and daughter. So after something like three years of cajoling on Hollie's behalf, last week I agreed to get fish. She made the point, accurately, that LG would love feeding, looking at, shouting at, and otherwise talking about the fish. We know this because in recent weeks we've been taking her to Petsmart as a fun outing. She runs around, talks to the birds, rats, hamsters and cats, and occasionally runs off with a dog toy. The highlight of any given trip, though, is the giant wall of fish.

So went to Petsmart as a family, found a tank appropriate for the space we have, and invited LG to pick out decorations for her tank. Of all the decorations to be found at the store--the mermaids, skulls, treasure chests, divers, caves, ruins and other assorted flotsam--she chose a soccer ball and a unicorn. We didn't really care what she chose, but no matter what else we put in front of her, she turned it down cold. The mind of a toddler is a strange thing. She also wanted a blue plant, although the one she originally chose was way more expensive than I was willing to spend on a lump of extruded plastic, so we got a three-pack of assorted plants, one of which was blue.

The unicorn and blue plant didn't lend themselves to many gravel colors, so we went with day-glo. After letting the tank run for 24 hours, LG and I went back to the store to pick up the goldfish. I think the tank, decorations and water treatment was about $50; the two fish were $0.13 each. Boring as they are, at least fish are cheap.

The result?

Meet our two small comet goldfish, Pelé and Lancelot. Or rather, meet Pelé, because Lancelot is always hiding. You can sort of see him through the foliage in the center. He looks like Pelé, but he's white/translucent. (sidebar: there are no good unicorn-inspired names. Charlie? Amalthea? Unico? Someone needs to write a better unicorn story.)

And her reaction?

Trust me, she's excited. She runs into the living room right after she wakes up in the morning so she can feed them. She takes anyone who comes into the house over to the tank to show off the fish. And she makes us drag a chair over to the tank several times a day so she can poke at the tank (yeah, yeah, don't tap the tank. They're $0.13 fish. I'll enforce no tapping when we spend more than a buck.)

I still don't like fish. But I love that they make her happy.

On a completely unrelated note, I must share the following picture. This is definitely my favorite picture of the last three months, and possibly my favorite picture ever.

I had been lamenting the fact that Matt Smith might only do one more season of Doctor Who, but I think I'm over it. Meet your next Doctor! She's got everything you need. A sonic screwdriver, a nerdy outfit, a fun fashion accessory (she wears a fleece hat indoors. it's fine, fleece hats are cool.), and I like to think she's saving a tiny swirly red planet from some horrible fate.

All in all, she's living up to her moniker. Little Geek, indeed.

Milestone check: weight, words, and woofs

As I noted a few months ago, I'm not as big into tracking the milestones as I once was. But for the sake of continuity, here's an update from LG's 15-month doctor's visit (performed much closer to the 16-month mark). Her height is a bit over 30 inches, right around the 50th percentile, which they had a tough time measuring because LG didn't want to lay still. Weighing in was easier, since she apparently didn't mind sitting naked on the scale. She clocked in at 22.8 lbs, enough for 35th percentile, up 10 points from her 12-month visit.

For me, though, more interesting than height or weight these these days is cognitive development. In an effort to provide the most accurate, least boastful accounting, I set forward the following challenge to Hollie on her most recent day home with LG. Keep track of all the full words that LG uses consistently without prompting. To meet my criteria for a full word, it had to be something that LG spoke clearly and completely, and used in the appropriate context without any encouragement from either Hollie or myself. I kept the list going until I finished this post, so we've tracked roughly over 36 hours.

What follows is the list of 25 words that LG has used repeatedly and properly in the last 36 hours.

Ball (first alphabetically, and probably the first word she ever used to specifically reference another object)
Blue (used to identify blue things, such as blueberries, a blue dish towel, and a bottle of blue water that she plays with from time to time)
bowl
boy
brush (she even knows there are different kinds of brushes. she knows that she uses a different brush for her teeth and hair.)
burp(while I'd love her to say excuse me, shouting BURP! after she's burped is at least an acknowledgement that she's done something.)
bye-bye
cheese
Daddy
duck (this is significant because every other animal she knows is identified by the sound it makes, not its name)
egg
hat
help
hi
Mama
me (this is a new development in the last day or so, and is her response when she sees her reflection in a mirror)
milk
more
no (what's hilarious is that she often puts "no" and "more" together, primarily when she wants you to sing "Five Little Monkeys", but also when she's done eating.)
please
poop (gross, yes. But also helpful.)
shoes (this was probably her second word after "ball"
teeth (saddest thing in the world is when her mouth hurts, and she looks up at you, points at her mouth, and mournfully says "teeth")
toes
up

This list does not include the partial words or sounds that Hollie and I recognize as referring to an object, but aren't entirely words... yet. An abbreviated list of those words looks something like this:

bana (banana)
ba (bottle)
boog (booger or boogie. We can thank her cousin Alissa [or 'Lis'] for that one.)
cook (cookie or cracker)
broc (broccoli, which she loves, for the moment)
has (house)
gu (girl)
peesh (peas)

There are many more words on the partial list, but we didn't do as good a job at tracking those. And when you add in the litany of animals sounds (baa, woof, meow, sssss, neigh, quack, tweet, gobble, honk, hoo, moo, ooh ooh, boo & Ho Ho Ho [shut up, ghosts and Santa count as animals]) she still makes on a regular basis, her communications skills are really impressive. At least, they're impressive to me. But I'm her dad, so I'm probably a little more easily impressed.

Also, she loves to shout "CONK!" when she's smacked her head, or when singing "Five Little Monkeys." If you have any suggestions on where to categorize that, I'm open to ideas.

This is a phone she got for Christmas. It will come in handy with all the talking she does now.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Baby

Happy New Year!  LG's Mama here filling in for a very busy Daddy.

2011?  Let me 'splain.  No, there is too much.  Let me sum up.  LG started the year an adorable little blob with zero neck control, few preferences, and no vocabulary.  She ended the year an adorable little girl who runs through the house at full speed with no regard for sharp edges or slippery floors, has a new favorite book, food, shirt, toy, and animal every few hours, and just this weekend started using her rapidly progressing speech to manipulate her Mama into giving her anything she wants by saying "please" in the cutest toddler voice ever released into the air.

I had been planning a a big ol' end of the year wrap up, but honestly, there was too much to write about. She's been pretty darn cool this year, and as evidence I offer the following picture:

Alright, so to most people this maybe not seem that cool, (In fact, I think it makes Matt a little queasy...) but painting is the most fun LG and I have together.  In a day that involves the systematic moving of toys from one end of the house to the other and reading the same board books over and over, it's one of the only activities she really enjoys that I also really enjoy.  We started small.  Some finger paints while she was strapped into her highchair.  By the end of 2011, we were painting once a week, making huge paintings like the above which became wrapping paper for her Christmas gifts to family, and even using a paintbrush.  She even has dedicated "paint clothes." Sure we make a mess.  Sure we sometimes eat a little paint.  But that's why God (via Crayola) created washable, nontoxic paint. 

She loves mixing colors and experimenting with ways to get the paint from the bottle to the paper.  I love watching her swirl all the paint together and discovering that sensation of paint squishing between her fingers.  I like noticing the patterns in her finished pieces of art, and she likes the messy hand prints on the bathtub before the requisite post-creative-process bath.  Most of all, we both love it when she paints her feet. 

She does this a lot.

I like to think that I'm helping her on her way to being a creative child and eventual adult.  I like to think that I'm providing the groundwork for years of art creation and appreciation.  I like to think that she'll follow in my footsteps and love everything from coloring books to modern art.  Mostly, I'm just enjoying the time we spend together making really big messes.

Christmas Time is Near

Earlier this month, in much the same manner as last year, we took LG to G-Boys Garden & Christmas center to visit Santa. Every year, the good people of G-Boys build an animatronic Christmas village-y thing. It's fun, in a slapdash, trademark-infringing kind of way. What am I talking about?

Behold!

 Yes. One significant scene in this Christmas village is a recreation of a McDonald's drive-thru staffed by a mouse. No. I have no idea why.

 And then, of course, we have non-licensed Winnie the Pooh and Rabbit.

Finally, we have Batman. Or rather, a mannequin in a Batman halloween costume circa 1995. What does any of this have to do with Christmas? Well, we go see it in December. I guess that's close enough.

At the end of all these shenanigans, you get to meet and have your picture taken with Santa Claus.

Things that worked in our favor this year:

1. LG is way cuter this year than last year. If you recall, she was kind of a lump.
2. Cute outfit. We had a tough time finding an outfit we liked this year, but in the end, I'm proud of it.
3. This year's Santa was a Real Bearded Santa.

Things working against us.

1. LG has been very hesitant about meeting strangers of late. And the bearded fellow with the bright red suit? Very strange.
2. The photographer was dead set on getting a picture of LG's happy face, and WOULD NOT start snapping until we got her smiling. It lent itself to more hysterics, rather than less. Eventually we got him to take a picture while she wasn't wailing. The picture below is the result of that compromise.
3. Four hours later, we realized LG had a fever, so the earlier fussiness could also be blamed on that.

Without further ado, here's the Santa picture we managed to get.

 

Sure, it's the whole family, which was not our original intention, but I like it.

Makes me laugh every time I see her little face.