And he isn't doping!

Yesterday evening Peter recorded another milestone in his development. At 6:15 PM, after playing* with him for a while, I put him down on his tummy in his crib because I had neglected to do so all day, if not all weekend. It should be noted before I proceed any further that Peter had also awakened from a 3 hour nap (a threeeeee hour nap) not too long before this and was bursting with infant vim and joie de vivre. So I put him down, with arms out in front of him, and immediately his head springs up like he was a jack-in-the-box and he had just heard the end of Pop Goes The Weasel. This was nothing new - however I noted that his head kept going up. It turns out that he was also doing a push-up, pretty much all the way up. And when he got to the peak of his arch, he then leaned over to his right and turned himself over in something of a tumble. I just had to make sure he didn’t konk his wee noggin on the side of the crib.

“Oh, Honey,” I said. “I think there’s something you should see in here.”

So Mommy came over to the crib and I flipped our little Jack LaLanne back on to his belly, and he did it all over again. We then showered him with compliments and encouragement, telling him what a good boy he is and how proud we were of him. I put him back on his belly one more time, and, pumped up on his parents coaching, launched his little 14 ½ pound body into the air and clapped his hands and shouted “HUH!!!” Then he sat up, kissed his biceps, and thanked us for spotting him.

Ok, that last part is a lie, but he did do 3 push-ups and roll-overs. And he did get weighed at his doctor visit last Thursday, so we know he’s 14 ½ pounds and otherwise healthy. He also got a referral to see an opthamologist to check out his eyelash problem (as noted here earlier) to make sure it’s not causing any scratches to his cornea, but we're ot overly concerned at the moment

Other than that, the highlights of the weekend include Peter’s first block party, and our need to take him to the bike race a couple blocks away so he’d calm down and rest. Also his first visit to Sam’s Club (and he thought Target was big).






*The game we played a lot this weekend was similar to dodgeball, except you have to replace “ball” with drool to really get the meaning of the sport. And he won every game.

Monday Morning Mess

This morning, at the time Peter normally naps, he was awake and talking away in my lap. He was in my lap because he announced from bed that he was fully conscious and didn’t want to be lying down any more. So there he was, sitting on my leg, yammering away as he now does several times a day. Eventually I wondered why the cuff of my right shirt sleeve felt wet. I had kept his drooling pretty much centered over his body, and if it was going to hit me it would have gotten the left side, not the right. And why was the wet part kind of yellow? And why does… it… smell… funny? Oh dear.

I got him to the changing table (carrying him with my arms fully outstretched, like he was actually a lump of plutonium instead of my happy little dude) and took off his outfit and gently removed the straps of the diaper. And there I saw something that makes the Tunguska Event look like the pop of bubble wrap. I should have known when I changed his diaper at 4:30 and all he did all night was pee, that some storm was a-brewin’ in there. I should be thankful that the force of the payload didn’t cause the diaper to blast off his derrière and affix itself to the wall (or worse, punch a hole through). After cleaning up his privates and getting him into a new, clean diaper, I had to spend about five minutes properly stretching before I could attempt to toss the used diaper into the trash for fear of pulling a muscle while bearing the weight of Peter’s mighty load. Of course, I had to get him in a new outfit, and then I had to get myself into a new outfit as well.

As I’ve mentioned in the past, Peter now enjoys having his diaper changed, so he found the whole process to be quite the entertainment. He even didn’t mind having his outfit removed and a new one put on. Yes, he’s come a long way since Mommy and Daddy were tyrants for subjecting him to the trauma of the changing table. I’m glad he had a nice time. Several hours later, however, I noticed that I had a little stain on my left pants leg that I missed before walking out the door to work. Good thing it’s pale and not too obvious. I’d hate to have to explain it to a co-worker. “That? Oh, it’s poo- … uh, pudding. I spilled the pudding I had… for breakfast. Yeah.”

And speaking of drool (remember, in the first paragraph?), after I had him cleaned up and changed I was holding him up with his head at my shoulder. He kind of nuzzled my neck for a while, which was cute, I suppose, but after I had put him down for a nap I realized he had soaked the collar of my shirt (the replacement for the poo poo platter I thought I’d be wearing this day). I decided to stick with the shirt, though. The more parenting you do, the more forgiving you become of your own appearance. You find yourself judging whether the spit-up stains you have on your sleeve are big enough to merit switch or not. And as time goes on, the stains that are ok get bigger and bigger. By the time Peter is 6 months old, I think I’ll walk into work entirely covered in spit-up and drool and think nothing of it.

Let’s see, there’s gotta be something else new that doesn’t involve Peter’s bodily fluids. Um… Well, again, as mentioned in the first paragraph, his speaking has increased. He will now talk, mostly to himself, for 10-20 minutes at a time. Not many consonants yet other than M and W. The “hewwo wumbo” he said to me a couple weeks ago early in the morning as I changed his diaper hasn’t been repeated since, and the B part of it is pretty uncommon for him. So I could hopefully get “hewwo” again, but “wumbo” more likely would come out as “wumo.” Now, if the first time he said it he included the B accidentally, and he really meant “hewwo wumo” there are certain translations that could be inferred. “Hewwo” obviously is “hello.” Of this there can be no doubt. “Wumo” could have been an attempt at “woman.” However, Peter, who is a smart little boy, knows that Daddy is not a woman, he is a man. (Here’s where I can prove not only Peter’s vast intellect at 11 weeks old, but also his worldliness.) I spelled “wumo” phonetically here, but it could just as well have been spelled “uomo” and the pronunciation is essentially the same – especially when spoken by a 2 month old baby. And as everyone knows, uomo is Italian for “man.” “Hello, man.” So, not only is Peter smart, not only is he worldly - he is also hip. Dude!

Bonus Pix

Zoo Action Shots!

Peter's eyelashes

Like his old man, Peter is cursed with having long eyelashes (ladies, you may think they’re neat-o, but being a guy with lashes that chicks would die for is no thrill). An additional problem for him is that the lower lashes on his right eye tend to curl up into his eye, making the eye tear up, and those tears congeal and get gunky. He’s a trooper and put up with it, but his parents worry that it’s bothering him. It’s always something.

The Slothful Papa

So, I’ve been neglecting my Daddy-blogging, but it’s been a busy couple weeks in Peterland.

The biggest thing is that his mom went back to work this past Monday after spending 99.99% of Peter’s life in his presence. To say it is a difficult transition for her is a vast understatement. To make matters worse, a couple weeks ago Peter started rejecting being bottle-fed. He’s been almost exclusively breast-fed his whole life, which was fine with him. But we did have him take a bottle on occasion during his first 8 weeks of life, and there was no problem. But now he wants Mommy only. I can get him to feed a little using a medicine dropper, squirting milk into his open mouth, but it’s not a very efficient feeding method. We’re working on him, though, and while we know he’ll eventually figure out that bottles are ok we get frazzled when he gets hungry but doesn’t eat what’s right in front of him.

Other than that all seems fine. Peter’s getting pretty big and heavy. In fact, most of his socks now do not fit him. Well, they still cover his feet, but the heel parts are in the middle of his feet instead at the back. And he also has narrow feet like his old man, so at least the too-small socks aren’t too tight on his widdle footsies.

[The following paragraph contains excretory references, so skip over if you don’t care for that kind of stuff.] I was changing Peter the other morning, and Peter managed to pee on me not once, not twice, but three times in the span of 3 or 4 minutes. But I got off easy. A day later I overhear Peter’s Mom let out a surprised cry of alarm. Being the concerned husband and father that I am, I run over to her and ask what’s wrong. But I didn’t need to ask, as it was evident that Peter wasn’t quite ready for that diaper change just yet. Out went a load of infant poo, shooting out past the changing mat and onto the top of his drawers, covering, well, lots of things. After he and the area were cleaned up I ran his soiled laundry down to the basement and tossed them in the washer and set it to “sanitary.” But I tell you, when you’re changing a baby’s diaper, it’s like juggling a hand grenade with the pin pulled out. [The nasty stuff is now over.]

We took Peter to the zoo last Saturday where my work was having its annual summer event. Peter was bored at the picnic part and voiced his opinion that we were taking too long in socializing. When we finally got him out to see the koalas and monkeys he took a nap. Then again, so did most of the animals. So I took pictures of a sleeping Peter and the sleeping animals. I suppose it could have been worse, like they were all hysterical. That would have been a short trip.

Oh, and now that I think about it, Peter has graduated to his big-boy stroller, which lists 6 months as the earliest age for use. But when we put him in it he was bigger than the smallest setting for the straps (and not just a little). When we took him out in it the first time his eyes got pretty big because the view is a lot less obscured that the frame that snaps to his car seat. And the inflatable wheels make the ride a lot smoother for him and whoever is pushing him along.

Still here

I don’t have much time to post at the moment (and for the past 10 days it seems), but here is a picture of Peter taken in the past couple days. Isn’t he just a darlin’?

 

4th of July

This is how Peter spent his 4th of July... well, the morning and afternoon, at least. He was a wee bit overstimulated by nightfall and needed a dark quiet room so he could properly collapse into a little (but growing!) heap. Fortunately the fireworks 2 blocks away didn't wake him up.

He got a little overstimulated again tonight, actually. His little motor starts going and he's laughing and giggling away, and then WHAM! The good times are over and his parents are left trying to find a sensory deprivation tank for him. All the baby stores give you a list about what the first-time parent needs to register for, and not one said you'd need a sensory deprivation tank. Feh! Are they afraid he'll turn into a little Altered States-style ape-baby? After all the "I'm tired but I ain't sleeping" crying, an ape-baby might be a nice change. Why, I could stroke the hair on his back to get him calmed down...

I kid. Peter's not too hard to deal with when he's cranky. We usually find the cure to what ails him. Usually.

Pictures!

Month 3, starting now

And now it’s July 3rd. 2 months ago Peter begrudgingly emerged from his mom’s comfy womb. 7 pounds and 15 ounces of serene, hairy joy. And now…

Peter is becoming a big boy. 2 months ago he was of “average” size, measuring in the 50th percentile of weight, length and head size. Since that time he has grown at an above-average rate. When we brought him in to the pediatrician for his rash (totally gone now, by the way) he weighed in at 12 pounds 13 ounces, which is a growth of 11 ounces in 8 days. They didn’t measure him, but most of his little PJ-like jumpers that cover the legs and feet are now too short in the leg. And his socks seem to be too small.

Peter is becoming a strong boy. 2 months ago his muscles, when flexed, were about as firm as a stale marshmallow. Last night he stood up – well, he stretched out his legs firmly while being held up by the armpits – and I felt the calf of his right leg. It was like a rock. We bathed him last night, and I couldn’t pry his left arm away from his chest to clean out his armpit. His right armpit is fine, in case you run into him some time today.

Peter is becoming a smart boy. OK, I can’t claim the significant advances like in his size and strength. A 2 month-old can’t really take an IQ test, or go to the chalkboard to show off his algebra skills. But he has always been a very alert fellow, with his eyes moving around a lot. When we take him for a walk he observes everything he can without any fussing. He’ll actually get cranky when he’s not seeing anything new, and cheers up when I hoist him up to my shoulder so he can look out the window. And he loves the stimulation of his activity chair. He’ll also talk to his mother when I ask him to while I haul him around.

Before he was born I didn’t really think about what he’d be like at this stage, I tended to focus my thoughts on the birth and how I hoped that would go (end results: good). I am relieved that he has been developing so well, and that when he’s in a good mood he’s the most delightful person I’ve ever met. Last night I had a nice conversation with him for a good 10 minutes, and he chirped and cooed away while I chirped and cooed back. I can’t say I’ve ever felt so fulfilled from a single interaction before. Years from now he’ll have no memory of it, but for a short period one July night Peter lit up in front of his Daddy like no fireworks display could ever replicate, and I’ll remember that forever.


Jeez, I feel like I just wrote the equivalent of a Precious Moments figurine painted by Thomas Kincaid… Sorry about that.

Booga Booga Booga!

So, I'm changing Peter's diaper, right? And, like, Peter's cooing and wiggling along like he does, 'cos he's a happy little guy, right? So I turn away from him to toss out his used diaper, and I turn back to continue with the job. When I look down at my little guy I see a curled up pink thing that suddenly bursts out, legs and arms shooting out. A look is plastered on his face radiating much glee. I then told him that he did a very good job of scaring me (yeah, Pete, Dad will tell you certain little lies like that, but it's only meant to encourage you).

Did Peter do that on purpose? He normally wiggles a lot on the changing table - an arm at a time, or a leg and an arm. But doing it all at once is new. Of course, tomorrow he's two months old, so maybe he's practicing new tricks for us.

Weekend update

Saturday morning Peter woke up with a rash on his left cheek (that is, the cheek on his face, as opposed to the other cheeks that you normally would think would get a rash when you’re 8 weeks old). It looked like the end-stage of a bad sun burn – peeling skin and dampness – but he doesn’t get much direct sun and why would it be isolated to that one space? His mom called the pediatrician (who just happened to have Saturday morning office hours this week) and Peter was asked to come in to be inspected. So off we go, flying out of the house with baby in tow.

Now, the rash didn’t seem to be bothering Peter at all. You could poke him in the cheek and there would be no reaction other than a normal head wobble. So in addition to the isolated area of the rash, there was nothing else that would lead us to believe that it was a sunburn. Peter’s mom was concerned that a lotion she had applied to him after bathing him may have caused it, but we couldn’t really tell. When his doctor checked him out he said that it was most likely a reaction to some chemical he would have had rubbed up against his cheek. A common culprit is fabric softener (of the dryer sheet kind, not the kind you add in the wash); you could also get a reaction like that if someone in make-up got some of it on him. Peter hadn’t been around anyone in make-up for a while, so it likely wasn’t that, and we do use Bounce sheets. But we use the no-smell, no-dye, no-whatever kind of sheets, so that’s ok, right? Nope, it’s still got some chemical in it, otherwise I suppose we could just toss a paper towel in the dryer and save money. So from now on we get to go with un-softened clothes, and I’ll be showing up to work every day with a sock stuck on the back of my shirt.

Peter got a prescription for a hydrocortisone ointment, and after a day and a half of applications his cheek is pretty much back to normal.

This morning when I was getting ready for work Peter was cooing and giggling away while his diaper and outfits were changed. It was very, very cute, and it made it hard for me to leave for the office. But he did fall back asleep, which is entertaining to a certain degree, but it’s not as action-packed as conversing with him…