B-A-B-Y

Yesterday, or I should say yester-DAY, Peter slept for the most part until early evening. Which, of course, meant that come bed time he had all the energy of a finals-cramming college student after 3 ½ cans of Red Bull. Getting him down for good took several hours of short feedings, walking around, and, ultimately, flying him around like a little airplane while making zooming noises. Remember the strong neck? It’s strong enough so that I can lift him up by the armpits while I’m flat on my back and he’ll stick out his head so he can look around. All while Daddy makes sounds that ultimately are just copies of the noise that a WWII dive bomber makes. But what can I do? I can’t do the sound of a Lear Jet. So years from now he’ll be watching Saving Private Ryan or something like that, carnage will be filling the screen, and he’ll think of Dad. Nice.

The Scripps Spelling Bee final was last night and Peter was up for most of it. He missed the early parts where the ABC-designated favorites, who had features about them at their homes shown before their time to spell, get eliminated immediately after the bio was shown. Ouch. But Peter was up for the last hour, even though he was getting pissed about all the commercials. Or maybe that was me. Anyway, I don’t know what kind of orthographer Peter will be, but I seriously doubt I’d be one of those spelling-coach parents they had in Spellbound. Then again, I don’t want him to be one of those text-messaging kids who couldn’t spell an actual word to save their life. So maybe I will send him to spelling camp, but only if he’s not already committed to cello practice, jai-alai practice, debate team meetings, and sculpting time.