Moment

When Julie dropped off Lyla at school this morning, she discovered that almost every kid had a cold. They were all fine on Friday, and at some point this weekend, they all got colds. Which is kind of cute.

If you recall, I was assigned by Julie to come home with a good nugget. There's a tiny table away from the play area, without anything interesting on it or near it. A teacher told me that several times today, Lyla abandoned toys and companions to sprint-crawl to that table and pull herself up on it, where she would then stand contentedly for a few minutes. She also still regularly crawls under the Exersaucer and hangs out; the teachers have named it Lyla's fort.

But here's the nugget: when I entered the baby room at 5:00, a teacher was holding Lyla in the rocking chair and making her giggle. It was the best moment I've ever had in a classroom.

Snot

Julie was on gooty last night, and...hold on, I should probably explain what "gooty" is. The first nickname we ever gave Lyla was goo, so when it's your turn on the weekend to wake up with her, you're on goo duty, also known as gooty. We are severely uncool.

Lyla had an awful night, waking up several times with snot pouring out of her nostrils. I stayed semi-unconscious since it wasn't my gooty night. Julie got about three hours of sleep.

It continued today. We think Lyla might have suddenly developed an allergy to the Earth's atmosphere. Or maybe yesterday's trip to the Renaissance Festival took its toll; maybe she's allergic to seeing tights on men. Or it could be a cold. Regardless, her nose is a snot waterfall, or in the spirit of made-up words, a snotterfall.

Dorky

We went to the Renaissance Festival today and during the Puke and Snot show, Lyla entertained herself with a water bottle. If you're feeling déjà vu, it's because this isn't the first time we've used a water bottle to get Lyla through an outdoor show. Just over three months ago, I posted this photo from the bird show at the zoo:


In other news, we got Lyla sunglasses, which is the stupidest idea for a nine-month-old. It's basically saying, "Here you go, I got you a teething toy shaped like little sunglasses!" Anyway, we did barely manage to snap one photo of them on her face:


She looks cool, and I so, so do not. I don't know what compelled me this morning to decide to wear a red striped polo shirt to the Renaissance Festival. In that vast sea of dorks, I looked by far the dorkiest.

Bookends

School workshops start Monday, so today was the last Friday of my parenting leave. Lyla slept until 8:45, which is odd since you can normally set your watch to her 7:00 wake-ups. What's really odd is that when I scrolled back to March 10th on this blog, which was the day Julie returned to work and I became Mr. Mom, Lyla also uncharacteristically slept until 8:45. Fine set of bookends, if you ask me.

Much of that March 10th post is devoted to my careful extraction of Lyla's booger with a turkey baster. Well now more often than not I just shove in a finger and get 'er done. So a lot has changed. Like, I've become more disgusting.

After Julie got home tonight, Lyla hunkered down and unleashed epic destruction in her pants. You know when MacGyver would sprint out of a building, mullet flapping in the wind, and dive to the ground just as the building exploded? It was like that.

If it's at all wise to reflect on the karmic significance of a baby's bowel movement, then I would say this one was full of positive energy. For one thing, the dear child held it all inside until Mama got home. Tag-teaming something like that is way easier than going it alone. And also, it revealed another set of bookends. My parenting leave started with a booger and ended with a storm of feces. Somehow, that feels right.

"Whoa, that was a doozy," I said to Julie as she washed her hands.

"No," she replied. "That was a twosie."

Nugget

I pick Lyla up from school, and Julie always wants to know how she did.

"Good."

She wants to know more than that. See, when Julie gets home from work, she recounts the highs and lows of her day with a level of detail and enthusiasm that boggles the mind. If I created sock puppets of her colleagues, I believe she would use them.

So when Julie asks me how Lyla did at school, she expects a narrative, not "Good."

We argued a little about how I should go about teasing information out of Lyla's teachers at the end of each long, tiring day. I think Julie half expected that they should automatically share highlights when I walk in the door. "Dan! Lyla spit up on the triangle block today. She also hit Bobby's head with a book. Ooh ooh, and she crawled a lot!"

"I don't need every detail," Julie conceded, "but I want a nugget every day."

"Just one?"

"One good nugget."

"I can ask them for a nugget each day."

"A good nugget."

"A good nugget. How was your day?"

"Oh my gosh! Well!"

And she was off.

Theatre

Anja's parents had us over for dinner tonight. Afterward, we adults positioned ourselves on the living room floor and watched the babies. It kind of felt like we should've all had lab coats and clipboards to record these primitive interactions. Babies are like cave people: grunting, fighting, whining for food. And we just sat for an hour or so and laughed at them like it was baby improv night at the theater in the round.




Anja is almost one year old, so the heavy-handed parent in me wishes Lyla would pay more attention when Anja chews, walks, and says the occasional word. I feel like pulling Lyla aside, like a coach pulling aside a promising but immature player, and saying, "See Anja over there? See how she moves one foot in front of the other? Do it like that."

Best

"Lyla, who's home?"






It's the best part of the day.

Big

When Lyla answers the question of how big she is, she clasps her hands in front of her and then raises them in an O shape over her head. We realize that technically a more correct response would be both arms stretched upward like a V. It's okay, though. We're handling it as maturely as we can.

"Sometimes I break her grasp above her head and point her hands where they should go," Julie admits.

"It's your fault she does it wrong. I'm just saying."

"It is not!"

"Is too."

This afternoon, I took Lyla to an indoor play area. It has a huge structure to climb on, slide down, crawl through, run in, and so on, which will be fun once Lyla's older. Today she was content to zero in on this net.


And tonight she got a bath in the ducky:


When I look at these photos, I realize that she is not so big.

Honey

Julie wanted to give Lyla some Cheerios--actually an organic hippy version of Cheerios because, you know, Cheerios aren't already bland enough. But at the last moment, I noticed that they were organic hippy honey nut Cheerios. I felt like the guy in Raiders of the Lost Ark who points at the dead monkey and says "Bad dates" just as Indy's about to eat one.

No honey for babies, am I right? That means cereal too, does it not?

"It's not the same thing!" Julie scoffed.

What, so now Raisin Bran isn't full of raisins? Corn Flakes aren't full of corn? Froot Loops aren't full of...what the hell is froot?

I pulled a jar of honey out of the cupboard and gesticulated at the warning label. "Don't feed it to babies, see? They can get botulism."

"Yes, but that's honey," Julie said as though she had just checkmated me.

"There's honey in the O's, woman!"

"Like, a tiny bit."

"You will not give Botulism-O's to our daughter!"

"Fine!"

"Huh?"

"I said fine."

"Seriously? So I win? I'm the big winner?"

"You're a loser."

Early

Last night Julie informed me that she would like to sleep in. I put up a feeble argument knowing full well that I would be up anyway, that my days of sleeping in are long over.

My freshman year in college, I lived in one of the drunkest dorms on campus, and though I didn't personally contribute to that reputation (honest), part of my work study involved emptying all the hallway trash cans every Sunday morning. So you could say I experienced the drunkenness secondhand.

The dorm had 10 floors.

I would go to sleep at 4:00 AM and roll out of bed at noon every Sunday, don plastic gloves and push a giant janitor cart, and wonder if Coors Lite was the coldest-tasting beer even when it came out of dozens of tiny dorm refrigerators on a Lutheran dry campus.

But college was the last time I slept in like that. Once I started teaching, waking up at 5:15 every morning ruined my chances of ever again waking up at noon on a weekend. As a husband, though, I think it's important to continue to act like I'd want to sleep in; I can't let Julie think she has permanent dominion on it. Last night, for instance, she promised she'd let me sleep in on Sunday morning, and I mock-grudgingly agreed but privately knew I'd be up by 6:30 anyway, if not earlier.

Lyla's down for her first nap as I type this. It's 9:00 and Julie's still asleep, so I'm earning tons of husband points. I wonder what I should spend them on. Anyone (or their husband) have a regular poker game they'd let me get in on? I promise not to drink all the Coors.

Growth

Julie mentioned yesterday that it feels like we're missing a bunch of Lyla's clothes. I traveled mentally down to the laundry room, but there were no errant baskets. In fact, the clothes aren't missing--they're too small.

I hate to say it's time to head out to Baby Gap or Target or wherever and throw money at tiny clothes. I'm still half-convinced that there might be a pile somewhere that we've overlooked. That makes us sound like hoarders, which we're not, but good grief the closest we've ever come to being hoarders is through baby clothes.

The 6-month stuff is long gone, of course, but now that Lyla's a 9-month-old, the 6-9-month stuff no longer makes sense either. There are even some 12-month items with elastic that needs a rest. With summer about to end, I'm afraid we're going to have to stock up again. Julie will overdo it under the guise of good sales. "Dan, I found some good sales today!" she'll say, and place 40 pounds of fabric at my feet. "It was buy 9 and get the 10th for a penny!"

Plus, there's the issue of shoes. Lyla has been basically shoeless so far in her life. We like that "raised by wolves" look. But again, since there are about six minutes left of summer, I don't think the daycare ladies will look kindly at our shoeless, feral daughter when she's demanding to run in the snow. So she'll need at least 12 pairs of shoes, all from good sales.

Will I be expected to match Lyla's shoes with her outfits? Anyone who knows Julie knows the answer to that question.

Nine

Lyla is nine months old today. I marked the occasion by digging out the screwdriver and wrench to adjust her crib box spring to its lowest level. It's ridiculous to imagine her escaping the crib at any level, but at the same time, it is a box spring so I wouldn't put it past her to bounce out.

The low setting might complicate putting her down for naps. You'd have to be about seven-and-a-half feet tall to lean over the rail and lay Lyla down now. If we're lucky, Julie and I might get her 80% of the way there but then have to drop her the last couple inches. Think she'll mind?

Here are a couple more gems from Lyla's photo shoot last weekend:



Just for contrast, here's one from six months ago:


They tell you it goes fast, but overall I would disagree because it seems like forever since I took that photo. Still, I have a feeling that when she turns one, it'll be as if I've blinked.

Standing

Earlier today I walked in on a child who isn't supposed to know how to pull herself to a standing position. Wasn't I just saying that Lyla practices new tricks in her crib, only to exploit them at her leisure? Well, I caught her red-handed this time. It was like I was a Shawshank prison guard stumbling upon Andy Dufresne digging away behind that Rita Hayworth poster.

After the crib incident, Lyla practiced standing in all sorts of unsafe locations. I wove my hands around her torso, ready to tighten my grip should her hands slip on, say, the brick fireplace. I'm thankful she doesn't have any teeth yet since it means she can't knock any out. But maybe it's just a matter of time since she moves with such determination, devoid of caution and common sense. I hope she doesn't grow up to be Hannah Montana's stunt double.

I also pulled her out of Tulip's cage today. She was sitting outside the cages, swinging the doors so happily that I thought I had 30 seconds to go wash her boogers off my hand. Well, thank goodness we're not famous, or the paparazzi would have surely snapped a damning photograph and sold it to the tabloids: Baby Lyla Kept in Cage While Dogs Lounge on Sofas!

Some time has passed since I typed that last sentence. It's an hour past Lyla's bedtime, and Julie walked into the nursery to find a fussy Lyla standing again. Julie aptly observed that once Lyla's standing in the crib, she's basically stuck, not really knowing how to lie down again.

More time has passed. Lyla's down again, hopefully for good. When Julie picked her up, Lyla's head immediately dropped to Julie's shoulder, thumb in mouth. I feel for the kid: how do you sleep when there's so much to do?

Monkey

Julie's coming home at noon today and we're taking Lyla to the zoo. It's technically a daycare day, but they let us switch from Tuesday to Friday this week.

It's been awhile since our last zoo trip, so I wonder if Lyla will still be apathetic toward all non-fish creatures. I think the monkeys might hold her interest this time since she's doing her best lately to become one of them.

We've been doing research on the best products to buy to childproof the house. Julie took Lyla to her friend Claire's house (mother of William, one of Lyla's zoo buddies), and their entire first floor was baby friendly. Of course, they don't have dogs and their media stuff is in the basement, so that makes it easier. Still, it was nice that Julie didn't have to worry when Lyla decided that everything there needed to be monkeyed with. In our house, on the other hand, we always follow close behind Lyla so she doesn't get into the cords, dog toys, brick fireplace, and quicksand pit.

So maybe after the zoo today we'll head to Babies R Us to search for fashionable baby-proofing items. I say fashionable because I did come home the other day with a pad for the fireplace edges, but Julie said it was too ugly. I offered to pretty it up somehow, possibly with paint, but she just rolled her eyes at me. I put them in my pocket.

But we'll have to come up with something, because Lyla is opening drawers, pulling off the vents, and mischievously eyeing the ceiling fans. Maybe it would be easier if we just put her in a gigantic hamster ball.

Balance

Two weeks from today, Lyla will begin attending daycare full-time, and I will no longer be a stay-at-home dad. I have mixed feelings about it all, from excitement to getting back in the classroom, to the obvious sadness about life becoming somewhat less ideal.

I hope everything continues to feel as gradual as it does now, but I suspect there will be days when I pick up Lyla in the late afternoon and she'll feel heavier or taller than she did when I saw her that morning. Or she'll suddenly be talking, chewing, and taking steps on her own. Each evening, Julie and I will talk about what happened at daycare.

Ah well. It goes on. Lyla has developed impeccable balance lately. She has discovered that her knees allow her to raise herself higher, making it possible to reach a greater variety of items in our non-baby-proofed house. Next she'll use that balance to learn what her feet can do. Hopefully if it happens first at daycare, they'll keep quiet about it.

Here's some respectable air:


Oh well:


Seems lately Lyla has better balance than her daddy.

Naughty

I returned home from my weekend at the cabin to find a happy Julie, amused by the antics of our increasingly silly daughter. This evening, I learned, she had a naughty bedtime. Julie captured photographic evidence.







That's my girl: didn't want to go to sleep because she knew Daddy was coming home. I am in one piece after wakeboarding, by the way, having gotten respectable air instead of wicked, just like I promised. I'll try to isolate some awesome stills from the video footage and post them soon.

And Lyla's photo shoot appears to have gone well. Here's a taste:

Nosy

I picked Lyla up from daycare on Thursday, and she was fast asleep. Their crib area is set back from the play area, lights dimmed, and relatively peaceful. I stood around awkwardly for ten minutes or so before deciding to wake her up. One of the teachers pointed to the crib straight back; you couldn't see Lyla in it because a blanket was draped across the outside of the bars.

"That's a good idea," I said. "If Lyla thinks anybody anywhere is having fun without her, just try to get to her take a nap."

"Oh, we know," replied the teacher. "We figured out early on that Lyla needed the nosy blanket."

The nosy blanket! I find that hilarious. Also, for some reason it's fascinating to hear these teachers describe Lyla's behaviors at daycare--since she behaves exactly the same way at home. Specifically, the teacher highlighted how Lyla loves to crawl under the Exersaucer, how she loves to be passed from teacher to teacher, how when you pick her up she tries to climb to the top of you, and how lately she likes to look all around the room when you try to feed her.

These are the behaviors I'm undoubtedly missing today while at my friend's cabin (I'm writing this on Friday). With babies it always changes, so I suppose I'll get home on Sunday and hear about all sorts of crazy, bizarre, and wonderful new behaviors. It's funny: sitting here on Friday writing for Saturday and thinking about Sunday, I find I'm looking forward to coming home before I've actually left.

Air

This is what trouble looks like.

Later today, I'm heading down to a buddy's lake cabin for the weekend. I'm a mediocre wakeboarder, so this year my goal is to not come down from a jump and immediately bury the nose of the board, slamming me face first into the water at 20 MPH. Another goal is to survive if that does happen. Again.

Saturday will be the first day in Lyla's life that I won't see her. I did go to Duluth for a night without her last April for a funeral, but I still saw her on Friday before I left and Saturday after I got home. I guess it's pretty good to make it almost nine months. Still...

Julie better take some good pictures. Actually, now that I think of it, Julie's parents are coming over on Saturday. Her dad is a professional photographer and is bringing over all of his equipment, so I'll get to relive the day through the best pictures of Lyla ever taken. That's not so bad.

You'll still see a blog post, by the way. I'm writing it today and scheduling it to be posted tomorrow. I'll ask Julie to add the photo tomorrow so it's consistent with my theme of starting with a day-of picture.

As for wakeboarding, I suspect I'll take it easy, maybe not try to transcend my age and skill level. I won't go for wicked air, just respectable air. I'm a dad now, after all, and Lyla needs me to come home in top form.

Sniveling

Last night Lyla only woke up once, at 1:30 to chug six ounces and paint a Monet in her pants, but then I stayed awake until 4:00 because I had every song from Sweeney Todd running through my head at the same time. It's impossible to sleep when your brain is teeming with "They ALL deserve to DIE! Tell you WHY, Mrs. Lovett, tell you WHY!"

Plus, school starts up again in a couple weeks, and every August I get anxious about it. I don't necessarily dread it or look forward to it, but there's an intense anticipation that makes it harder to get to sleep--and much harder to get back to sleep. To be embarrassingly honest, the thought pattern is along the lines of "I hope the kids will like me."

So it doesn't help that Lyla has suddenly stopped sleeping through the night. It has made me tired, irritable, and borderline mental. Poor, poor, poor me.

Someone Julie works with told her today, "Last night I cursed at your husband's blog." Needless to say, I was delighted. But Julie said this woman's kid wakes up all the time, always has. Here I am sniveling about losing sleep on a night or two, and a full night of sleep isn't even on her radar.

I suppose in one way, writing about parenting is like parenting itself: I pretend like I know what I'm doing, but pretty much I just make it up as I go. One thing Lyla and I have in common is that sometimes we act like big babies.

Fangs

Lyla is a snarling, raging, demon-woman version of her former self. Last night I was up three times with her. When these teeth of hers finally sprout, I half expect them to be three inches long and razor sharp.

I just put in a call to Lyla's doctor because all the baby pain medicines say to ask the doctor about dosage. Nobody wants to get sued, you see. I did squirt some acetaminophen (spelled right on the sixth try, in case you were wondering) into her mouth, but I don't know if it's doing any good. A nurse is calling me back. Supposedly.

We think she's also entered her separation anxiety phase, or perhaps the onset of vampire fangs is causing the separation anxiety. The lost sleep at night catches up with her during the day, but when I put her down for a nap, she freaks out. It's like she's two months old again. She's sleeping now, mainly because I was a heartless bastard and let her cry for nine minutes until she stopped.

I'll make it up to her in a couple weeks by letting her sink her fangs into my neck.

Heft

Forty-six seconds after Julie took the above photo, Lyla maneuvered herself to this position:


With this new ability to heft herself to a seated position from her stomach, Lyla is making headway in her battle against gravity.

Today I lowered the crib box spring thing so Lyla wouldn't one day fling herself overboard. Crib box springs are definitely not made to adjust more than once or twice. It involved removing eight screws, bending this metal arm dealie, and rescrewing everything in different holes. Plus, you needed a wrench for the nuts. It's very complex and very perverted-sounding.

Adjusting the crib seemed a bit rash as I was doing it, as if Lyla would really catapult herself over the crib wall soon after learning how to sit by herself. The issue, as Julie put it, is that Lyla "learns things and then quietly executes them." In other words, Julie and I both get the sense that when we see Lyla do something new, she has actually been secretly practicing for quite some time; when we think she's sleeping, she's really training.

And we have some baby-proofing to do, obviously:


Why is it that all of our lowest drawers are junk drawers?

The drawer exploring naturally resulted in minor finger pinching and major drama. Mama made it better.


And finally, it seems that Lyla has chosen computer science as her major.