No place like home?

Yesterday I wasn't feeling well. Monday's slightly scratchy throat evolved into a blocked nose, stomach ache, fatigue, and an uncontrollable desire to watch The Price is Right. I don't believe I had the swine flu, though I must say I did have a heightened craving for bacon. I have had this kind of illness before; it's the kind of thing that happens when I don't get a good night's sleep for 11 months, and I'm running around all day following a kid whose crawling speed is starting to rival that of a NASCAR driver.

Days like this do present a predicament, besides trying to figure out what daytime soap I should be stuck watching. We have a little boy who has needs I can't exactly attend to. Our closest relatives live four hours away. Most of our friends are at work, and those who are home have yet to experience the horror of a dirty diaper. That means, on days I'm sick, we have three choices before us: 1) Jennifer stays home during this weak economy and threatens her job security; 2) we send Kyle off to daycare; 3) I stay home with Kyle and keep him in his crib all day, stopping by occasionally to feed him, which would entail dumping baby food on him and hoping I hit his mouth (I won't get into how I'd change his diaper). Needless to say, we went with option two.

Daycare can be awfully traumatic for a child such as Kyle, who spends all of his days at home with parents who love him very much. He is suddenly thrown into a new environment with new faces, and his daily routine disappears. His mom and dad, who are always there whenever he cries out for them, are suddenly nowhere to be found. Kyle, who is used to getting all the attention because right now he's an only child, has to share a room with other children his age, all of whom have their own needs and demands. As you can see from the pictures taken at the daycare center, Kyle had a very difficult time adjusting.

This was just the second time Kyle had gone to daycare, though it was his first time at this particular facility, which is closer to Jennifer's work. The first daycare experience was more than a month ago, too, and there's a chance that Kyle doesn't even remember it. I certainly won't forget it. I was there, filling out all the necessary forms in triplicate, dropping off all of Kyle's food and diapers, and reporting our son's sleep habits, feeding habits, and favorite rock bands. After all that was done, I turned to my son for our big good-bye, as we were about to leave him with strangers for the first time in his life. Jennifer and I became a little choked up. Kyle already was busy playing with some toys on the floor, and he didn't even look at us. I guess he's not one for sentimental good-byes.

When it was time to pick Kyle up yesterday, we received a "report card" from the daycare center, describing how our son did that day (Eating: B, Interactions: A-, Astrophysics: C+). Kyle did seem to have some fun there: according to the report, he apparently was too excited to drink his snack-time bottle, or sleep much (nap time lasted all of ten minutes). The report card also said that "Kyle had a wonderful time exploring a new environment and making new friends." It then went on say that our little guy befriended a girl his age, and was hoping to see her again sometime, maybe for a cup of coffee or something.

I am thrilled that Kyle seemed to overcome his anxieties and found a way to not hate daycare. He must be relieved to be back home today, following his routine, sleeping in his own crib, and making silly faces with his dad (who's feeling much better). Unfortunately, Kyle probably will have to go to daycare again for one reason or another, and I'll have to brace him for it. We'll deal with that later. I'm sure eventually Kyle will learn to love whatever time he spends at daycare, though I know it will never be as much fun as the time he spends with his mom and dad at home.

Right?

You can't handle the tooth

Apparently we don't feed our kid enough. The oatmeal and fruit in the morning, yogurt and more fruits or veggies in the afternoon, and meats and veggies in the evening just don't do it for Kyle. Neither do all the bottles we give him throughout the day. For some reason, our little one needs more wood in his diet.



Kyle is a habitual crib muncher. Every time he's behind bars, the top rail becomes a magnet for his mouth. At first he merely soaked the wood with his saliva, but now that he has some teeth, he's actually digging into it. The grating is loud enough to be heard through the baby monitor, so we no longer need him to cry to tell us he's awake from his nap. We're hoping it's a harmless exercise - for him, not the crib. It's too late for the crib. Kyle's ruining any chance we'd have at re-selling it at a decent price:



Maybe we're not giving him enough fiber. Or maybe he was a dog in another life and misses the taste of wood. Or it just could be that he doesn't know what to do with his new teeth. Eventually he'll be able to use them to chew gum, eat Charleston Chews or attack small animals, but for now his diet is mostly limited to mushy things, like pureed green beans and caviar. We have given him some cereal and toast, but he has yet to become a huge fan of finger foods (he prefers his fingers). Perhaps he's just satisfied with digging into the crib... and other things.

Last week I was carrying him to his changing table when all of a sudden I felt a sharp pain in my chest. "YEEHOW!" I screamed as my life flashed before my eyes. I considered calling 911, but it turns out that I wasn't having a heart attack; it was just Kyle, digging into my skin. I learned then that my son has powerful jaws that attack like a snake after a mouse. Thank goodness he doesn't have venom, or else he'd be a travel hazard. I was just glad I had the presence of mind to not drop him when I felt the pain.

We're trying to teach Kyle the proper ways to use his teeth before he starts attacking our guests. He still hasn't quite grasped our lessons yet, but I'm going to give him some slack, since he's still less than eleven months old. If he doesn't get the message by the time he becomes a teenager, then we probably have a problem.

So maybe it's best that he digs into the crib instead of a person, especially since his top front teeth are now coming through. The top of the crib rail is already showing the scars. Hopefully this phase will end before he destroys the crib completely. Until then, I guess we'll just have to call him our little termite.

Some assembly required

I haven't been doing a lot of reading lately, outside of whatever news I see online ("swine flu freaks out millions in the U.S., mildly sickens some") or whatever children's book I read to Kyle ("the three little pigs give the wolf swine flu"). I just haven't found the time to pick up a good book. Back when I was commuting everyday, I'd read all kinds of novels. Now I find that the only material I have time to pick up and read is the instructions for the latest gizmo I need to assemble for Kyle. It's no Shakespeare, though at times it's just as complicated.

One classic I've read over and over again is a little book called the instruction manual for a car seat. It's wonderfully illustrated and color-coded, but its plot is weak and its instructions leave much to be desired... that is, when they make sense. Sometimes the book gives you lines like "Save the bar for future use by replacing the bar," and your mind just gets blown away. Maybe that's why so many people need therapy after doing this sort of thing.

This wasn't the first time I had to install a car seat for Kyle. We had an infant-sized one that I put in just before the little guy was born (seen to the left, with a much smaller Kyle, on one of our typical trips out), but he quickly grew out of that one. As his feet started dangling over it, I began to wonder if the seat was protecting Kyle or if Kyle was protecting the seat. So one Saturday afternoon I removed it from the car, dumped out all of Kyle's loose pocket change from the cushions, and threw it in a box for storage.

Then the head-scratching began. I sat there, in the back of my car, next to a much larger car seat, trying to figure out how to install it so it faces the rear, since our kid is still too young to face forward. The biggest hang-up was the straps, which were, for some reason, not in the right spot for what I needed to do (the car seat came out of the box in "slingshot" mode, in case you need your kid to get to his destination quickly). I had to follow the instructions on how to get these straps in the right spots. If I failed to do this correctly, as the gazillion warning labels point out, the seat either will be very uncomfortable or will devour our child. The straps needed to be fed under the cushion from one side of the seat to the other, which looked like a simple task in the illustrations. What the they failed to show is that the hole for the strap is too thin for a sheet of paper, never mind my hands. This whole process took a while, as the straps kept getting tangled under the cushion, and I'd occasionally pause to regain circulation in my hands.

Once the straps were set, the remaining steps were much easier and far less painful. Soon the seat was installed, and we tested it with Kyle. He seemed to be leaning forward a little, but we thought it wasn't so bad. When we went out the next day, though, the seat turned Kyle into a human bobble head. He was trying to sleep, but was kept awake as he rocked his head to fight gravity. The seat was too far forward for him to rest his head. So I had to take another stab at the thing, and after another hour at it, I got the seat in the right position.

Last Friday, I had the seat checked by one of those government-approved inspectors. He wiggled it around and then actually got on top the seat himself (I guess that's in case Kyle has a really big growth spurt). He then approved it. Hooray!



Kyle is riding in style, and this task is complete. Now let's see what I can do with Kyle's new stroller...

Table for two

On Saturday Jennifer and I were able to go out for a night without Kyle, and this time we didn't accidentally forget him at home. The little guy was with my parents, who were visiting for the weekend. Jennifer and I often look forward to these stays, since it's really the only time we ever get out on our own. We have yet to find a babysitter for the little guy, partly because of his very young age, and partly because we're afraid that our babysitter would turn out to be some British freak who flies around with an umbrella and sings about sugar all day. There are a lot of crazies out there, and we want to make sure Kyle isn't stuck with one of them. So, for now, my parents are our only lifeline.

It's not that our social life completely died with Kyle's birth; it just ends when the night begins for most people. Kyle can be a party animal at times, but his hibernation starts at eight o'clock. You can't blame him - he's busy at 6 a.m. every morning, working a grueling job as an alarm clock. He needs his rest, though his early evening shut-eye can be a bit of a problem for dear ol' Mom and Dad. We try to attend as many social gatherings as possible, but we often have to make an early exit. Sadly, we've also turned down many invitations to events that begin after 7 p.m. The Jennifer and Dave of two years ago (before the pregnancy) would have been so disappointed in us.

So nights like Saturday night are a special treat. Jennifer and I kicked things off by going to one of those fancy Italian restaurants that don't leave enough room between tables for a high chair and don't serve any drinks out of a sippy cup. We even ordered dessert without having to feel brave about doing so. It was like we were 29 all over again. Then we went to a local bar that had an outside area where we could sit back under a tree, enjoy a pint and watch the rats play boccie. Most places in our neighborhood - even bars - are welcoming to children, but there were no babies in the establishment we visited Saturday night. That's because this bar was hard-core anti-baby: it actually had a sign on its entrance that said "No Strollers Allowed." I'm not kidding. When they check your ID, they also do a full-body search to make sure you're not hiding an infant under your coat or in your shoes. When we made it past that, we really did feel like a young couple again. After a pint there, we decided to live it up a little more, stopping by at an neighborhood Irish pub before heading home.

We had such a great time that night. We laughed, we had great conversations, and we had no time limits. We were free to roam wherever we wanted to without a care in the world. We just felt young again. When we came home, my parents told us that they, too, had a wonderful night with Kyle. That made us feel even better. But then my mom said, "I thought you two were going to be out much later." We looked at the clock in it was just past 11 p.m. I yawned and Jennifer said she was going to get ready for bed. We had been up since 6 a.m., after all... and we were very tired. We just needed to get some sleep and were in bed shortly after midnight.

The Jennifer and Dave of two years ago would have been so disappointed in us.

Break dance

This may come as a surprise to you: children, believe it or not, tend to break things. I thought, perhaps, our child would be different. I thought that maybe, just maybe, Kyle would be able to look at a fine piece of china, admire its beauty and delicate design, and not be tempted to use it as a Frisbee. That, of course, was a few months ago, when Kyle was about as mobile as a pineapple. Now that he's realized that his arms and legs are more than just things to suck on, Kyle has become a greater threat to some of our prized possessions.

We already have begun the process of moving things higher, as Kyle pushes the limits on how far he can reach. Eventually I will need a ladder to grab any of our glassware. But we haven't been moving everything, since we had thought certain things were safe. For example, we had a couple of tin mugs and plastic margarita glasses placed as decorations on a couple of low shelves near our refrigerator. They didn't seem breakable at all. Sure enough, not long after Kyle first crawled into the kitchen, he found them:



Those were happier times. Kyle would roll the margarita glasses on the floor, testing the laws of physics: an object in motion will stay in motion, especially on a warped kitchen floor such as ours. We were fine with him having fun with the plastic margarita glasses, even though they were family heirlooms dating back to the revolutionary war, when my great-great-great-uncle Gaspard Adams used their glowing green cacti to impale the British soldiers. So you can imagine my sadness when this is how those margarita glasses looked several days later:



It was an abrupt end to Kyle's fun, and to our glasses. The first one seemed to come apart on its own, and I thought that maybe Kyle had nothing to do with it; maybe they were made with some faulty glue from China that simply came undone. I learned soon enough that wasn't the case. As I sat on the floor next to Kyle, I watched him play with the remaining margarita glass. Then, out of nowhere, as if a wrecking ball possessed him, Kyle took the glass and slammed it into the refrigerator, smashing it in two. He then went to play with something else, oblivious to what had just happened. I was left to pick up the pieces. Jennifer and I did not have margaritas that evening.

So now we're living in a constant state of fear for what's next. We had heard rumors that children had the ability to make everything breakable, but I guess you don't realize just how true that is until you experience it first-hand. Kyle has been moving faster lately, and he's been pounding his hands against most things he comes across. I spend a lot of my days following him around, running a checklist through my head as to what's okay for him to break and what's not. I know that the more Kyle explores, the more we'll pick our battles and give up on things ("Well, I guess that 18th-century vase wasn't from a relative we liked very much"). I just hope we have something remaining in one piece by the time he goes to college.