My Little Bruiser

Having grown up with two younger brothers, I'm well aware of a little boy's ability to get injured in even the safest of locations. Back in the 1980's, before the lucrative baby-proofing business exploded, my brothers each ended up in the emergency room at least a handful of times. Usually requiring stitches, their injuries were caused mostly by glass coffee tables and fireplace hearths. In fact, our family room probably contained more sharp angles than a geometry textbook. Children of my generation weren't enclosed in plastic, bubble-wrapped bubbles like today's youth. We got hurt, and our parents dealt with the consequences.

Perhaps it's a form of celestial "payback," then, that Daniel is such a little daredevil. He has no fear of anything, especially if it involves climbing. As an infant, he remained blissfully injury-free (except for those awful self-inflicted facial scratches, but that was hardly my fault -- his nails were very difficult to file!). Now that he's walking (running), however, he suffers a minor injury at least twice a day. I'll hear him wailing from another room in the house and I'll know that one of three occurences has taken place: A. He dove headfirst into the wooden coffee table. B. He toppled off of the fireplace hearth while trying to step down. or C. His cozy coupe or some other riding toy capsized on top of him. Thankfully, these have all been minor injuries -- no blood, just some bruising. They have all occurred within the scrutiny-free confines of our home, where no one can accuse me of skimping on the babyproofing.

Today, during playgroup at Kim's house, Daniel decided to push the limits of safety in an unfamiliar environment. He spent about 20 minutes standing on a wooden child-sized chair, attempting to climb even higher onto the armrest. Minutes after I talked him down from that ledge, he started running around like his pants were on fire. Of course he tripped and fell, banging his mouth on the coffee table. I picked him up and comforted him while he cried tears of pain and surprise ("Who put that darn table there?"), and realized that his gums were bleeding a little bit. His first bloody injury! It felt like a significant milestone. The bleeding stopped quickly and Daniel was fine, but it seemed like we had entered a new phase of boyhood. It's just a matter of time before my invincible little boy gets knocked down to size -- again and again.

Shout-Out to the Aunts

This is a special Rosh Hashanah-eve post for Daniel's Aunt Caitlin and Aunt Chandra. They requested more postings and more photos. Here you go, ladies!

Pseudo-Sick Days

When I was younger, I loved sick days. Never one to receive the perfect attendance award, I probably missed a couple of days each school year due to some "illness." Don't get me wrong, some of these were legitimate sicknesses. Others...not so much. But the routine was always the same: pajamas or sweats all day long, chicken soup or some other "comfort" food for lunch, and lots of soap operas and game shows. Sick days were cozy and intimate, and I could truly relax while my Mom catered to my needs.

Fast forward about 20 years. I'm the Mommy now, and the world doesn't stop turning just because I'm sick. Daniel still needs his Mommy, whether she feels nauseous or not. He still needs to be dressed, fed, and entertained. Unfortunately, he's not yet at the age where an Elmo DVD will keep his attention long enough for me to put my feet up. Sick days now are more a nuisance than anything else. If I want the day to go smoothly, I MUST be at the top of my game -- physically and mentally. I can't tell Daniel to feed himself just because I feel like there's a dumbbell on top of my head. I can't expect him to play quietly in his playroom just because every muscle in my body aches. Mommies have to suck it up and deal with it. We are the caretakers, not the cared-for. This is what we signed up for when we decided to have kids in the first place.

So while naptime may give me a much-needed break, during which I may crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head, sick days as I once knew them are gone forever. Where's Mary Poppins when you need her?

The Fascination of Play

Daniel is an explorer. He is endlessly curious about the world around him, touching and tasting his way through the house on a daily basis. His favorite toys are those which open and close. He delights in manipulating switches and latches, and runs his fingers over anything even closely resembling a power button. I find Daniel's play habits fascinating. I could sit and watch him for hours as he makes sense of what he sees and feels.

His current obsession is the old-school play kitchen at Mommy and Me. I couldn't lure him away from there last week.
He must have opened and closed the oven and refrigerator a thousand times -- just like he does at home! I watched him methodically put items in and take them out. He seemed to have his own rationale to the way things should be. I could practically see his amazing brain at work. There's nothing like his reaction when he recognizes a cause and effect relationship for the first time. He pushes a button and a weasel pops out of the hole. He holds down the handle on the toy teapot and it whistles. His whole face lights up with understanding. "I did it!"

What is perhaps most fascinating is the intent with which he plays. He always has a goal in mind. Put all of the balls in the basket. Open and close the door until it makes a squeaking sound. Or, in the case of the toy kitchen, put all of the food away. In its proper place, of course! He IS my child, after all.

Grandparent Bliss

Why is it that Daniel can be so cooperative when his grandparents are there to witness it? I think I already know the answer -- they do not radiate any worry or stress in his direction, only pure joy. As his mother, it is inevitable that I will get bent out of shape when he refuses to eat or tries to stick his hands in his poop. His grandparents think that his poop is the most glorious thing in the world. They have already weathered the storm that is parenthood, and now get the privilege of sitting back to watch THEIR children learn the same lessons they did 30 years earlier. Daniel's angry whining may upset me, but it reminds my parents of the years of toddlerhood they endured and (most significantly) survived. I think there's a saying that says something like becoming a grandparent is your reward for enduring being a parent. Great -- something to look forward to!

After yesterday's debacle of food-spitting and general grumpiness, I was yearning for some relief. My relief came in the form of Daniel's grandparents (my parents), who met us for lunch. I don't know if it was simply their presence that distracted Daniel from his usual mealtime antics, but he was a perfect angel -- and a darn hungry one at that! He ate more in this meal alone than he had all day yesterday. Go figure! I suppose toddlers are not meant to make any sense. As long as he was happy and satisfied, I wasn't going to analyze the situation. Now only if they could have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him every day...

A Crack in the Facade

Today was one of those days when you second-guess every action you take and every decision you make. Daniel wanted to play games instead of eat his breakfast, and after he let his food spill out of his mouth and down his chin for the fourth time, I decided that breakfast was over. Should I have persisted? He may have eaten more, but it would have taken at least another half-hour. We were already running late for Gymboree. I got angry with him when I was changing his diaper. It was time to leave and he kept rolling over and coming dangerously close to flinging his dirty diaper onto the floor. We finally got to Gymboree, where Daniel spent the entire class walking away from the group and yelling in frustration every time he got stuck on a piece of equipment. Already exasperated, I spent the entire class listening to the other mommies talk about how far along they were in their second pregnancies. Was everyone in Gymboree today pregnant? It sure seemed that way. I was happy to get out of there.

Lunch went more smoothly and Daniel went right down for his nap, but I am just now catching my breath and reflecting on the morning. I guess I should be thrilled that my very good days as a stay-at-home mom greatly outweigh my not-so-sunny days. There will always be someone having a better day than me, and someone having a much worse day. Sometimes, though, I think it's healthy to admit that it wasn't a good day to be a stay-at-home mom. I'm always suspicious of those moms who insist that everything is sunshine and roses, all of the time. This is hard work. Stressful, tiring, sometimes lonely, sometimes unrewarding. So why am I so jealous of the pregnant mommies at Gymboree?

Kissing 101

As many kisses as you shower upon your precious baby, he or she does not really reciprocate the affection. I used to kiss Daniel's eyes, belly, feet, etc., and I'd be lucky to get a gaseous smile in return. As a toddler, however, Daniel is beginning to learn some loving gestures. The only thing more delicious than rubbing noses with him at bedtime is getting a full-blown mouth-to-mouth kiss. I lean in towards his face, making a kissy-kissy sound. Sometimes he smacks me upside the head, sometimes he turns his head in annoyance, and sometimes he kisses me back. This is no ordinary kiss. This is an open-mouthed, big smile, lots of teeth kiss. I can remember kisses from others that have made my knees weak, but this one takes the cake. Its spontaneity is what makes it so swoon-inducing. I never know whether I'm going to get whacked or kissed. I've started to ask Daniel for a kiss, but so far he does not want to cooperate with my request. Peter once told me that he'd had a dream in which Daniel kissed him willingly on the lips. I know that day will come and I cannot wait. One day, my gorgeous little boy will look into my eyes and say, "Mommy, I want to marry you." And my knees will get weak.

The Science of Snot

Little kids are prone to mild colds. Lots of them. More than I ever thought possible. Daniel must have suffered about 10 or so colds before his first birthday. Since doping infants up on antihistamines is frowned upon, I've come to rely on Vicks (I've even grown to love the smell) and a really expensive air purifier/humidifier that I bought at Bed Bath & Beyond (thank goodness for those 20% off coupons). No matter how many colds Daniel has endured, however, I'm always awed by just how much snot comes out of such a small head. I don't mean to be uncouth, but once you have a baby, no bodily fluid is too gross for discussion. The amount of snot that he produces when he has a cold is alarming. Every time Daniel sneezes, a flow resembling Niagara Falls pours from his tiny nostrils. I try to be proactive and keep large boxes of tissues nearby at all times. As soon as he begins to inhale and wrinkle up his nose, I grab a tissue and position it under his chin to catch any projectile snot. If I happen to be across the room at the time of a sneeze, I'm outta luck. It gets everywhere -- his chin, his shirt, his hands. And then he inevitably rubs his eyes -- you can imagine the mess! When Daniel sneezes in the car, I'm faced with an interesting dilemma. Do I immediately pull over and clean him up, or do I wait until I reach my destination and deal with the consequences? Today, after a morning of nose wiping (which ticks him off more than anything), I had to pull into a parking lot to deal with a particularly powerful car sneeze. I cleaned Daniel up as best I could, made sure the car seat was snot-free, and got back on the road. About 30 seconds later, he sneezed again. This is one war I'm destined to lose.

The Vocabulary of a 15-Month-Old

As Daniel's vocabulary begins to develop and grow, I've noticed that certain words/sounds are repeated more often than others. Of course, there is the obvious one: "Dada!" He says it constantly, whether Peter is in the room or not. The only time I'll catch him calling my name is when he is whiny or fussy. He moans, "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!" Typical. I suppose Daniel considers me to be the head of the complaint department. Daddy is just this cool guy who shows up every evening after dinner and roughs around with him before bedtime.

Daniel learned how to refer to Ollie pretty early on. He often exclaims, "Doggy!" though it sounds more like "Dickie." I swear, when Daniel was around 10 months old, he was looking at Ollie and saying, "Gee!" Peter and I were convinced we had a genius on our hands. This summer at the Shore, we taught Daniel to say, "Sit!" to the dogs. He would repeat after us, over and over, "Dit! Dit! Dit!" The dogs were truly baffled.

Today, as we passed a large 18-wheeler on our way home from Gymboree, Daniel leaned toward the window and said something that sounded like "Deh-deh." He said it again when he saw a Septa bus at the mall. "Deh-deh." I'll have to listen more closely next time for the exact syllables. I know it didn't sound like "truck" but I'm sure that's what he was saying!

Mommy, the Musical

Since Daniel was born, I've channeled my creativity into composing little songs throughout my day. Mornings with Daniel begin with a ditty about the sun (music and lyrics created on the fly). Bedtime necessitates a couple of lullabies -- two songs that we learned in music class, not my own. In between the musical bookends of our day, however, I find myself singing to Daniel for a variety of purposes. Sometimes I sing for pure entertainment. But mostly I sing to make our daily activities go more smoothly. Mealtimes are always accompanied by certain songs, typically "Wheels on the Bus" or "Noble Duke of York." My singing somehow elicits a Pavlovian response in Daniel and he immediately opens his mouth and allows me to shovel in a spoonful of food. It's like singing for your supper, but in reverse! I often find myself making up songs on the spot as a way to distract Daniel. For example, this afternoon he wanted no part of laying on his back to have his diaper changed. He squirmed and tried to roll over. When I finally got him on his back and removed his dirty diaper, he decided to reach down with his hands and explore. Not wanting to yell at him, I began to sing, "We don't put our hands in our doodies!" I'd like to think my song tought him a valuable lesson today. Other compositions may be about the downside of sampling Ollie's dog food, or why opening your mouth when it's filled with chewed-up food is not polite. The tunes are irrelevant. The lyrics pour out, uncensored. Being a Mommy gives me carte blanche to be silly and irreverent. There's nothing wrong with keeping yourself entertained during life's most menial tasks, is there? And if I laugh at my own jokes now and then, what's the harm? A little toilet humor never hurt anyone.

An Extra Half-Mile Makes a BIG Difference!

As I drove the familiar route this morning, I couldn't help but feel a small sense of loss. This route, which had delivered me on so many mornings to my job at Maple Glen Elementary School, had now become my route to "Mommy and Me" class at Temple Sinai -- just a half mile or so down the road from my old stomping grounds. Loss is probably the wrong word to describe how I felt. It was more a feeling of nostalgia than of sadness. I felt awed by how much my perspective had changed since I had last driven that route to work in May 2007. Now, instead of checking my bag for lesson plans and graded math tests, I was checking for extra diapers and sippy cups. I no longer identified myself primarily as "teacher," but rather as "Mommy."

As I turned the car into the synagogue parking lot this morning, I stole a glance into the backseat. One look at Daniel, and everything I had given up became instantly insignificant. This little boy is my world -- my happiness, my dreams, my fears, my reason for getting out of bed in the morning (no matter how early it may be!). For the rest of my life, I will be Mommy. Today, that meant singing songs, blowing bubbles, eating muffins, and playing with a toy fire truck. And I loved every minute of it!

A New "Cousin" for Daniel

Today Daniel finally met Isaac, his 2 and 1/2 year-old "cousin." I use quotation marks because Isaac is not officially related to Daniel. He is Aunt Chandra's nephew (her sister's son). But with David and Chandra's wedding only slightly more than a month away, Isaac is now considered family. He is sweet and kind, and full of energy! As soon as we introduced Daniel to him, Isaac swallowed him up in a bear hug!

It was really quite adorable to witness such a genuine gesture. It was the first of maybe a dozen hugs that Isaac gave Daniel over the course of the next two hours. They played nicely together, sharing Isaac's beloved Thomas the Tank Engine laptop computer.

Daniel and Isaac are supposed to walk down the aisle together at the wedding on October 25th, wearing matching khaki pants, white button-down shirts, and coordinating bowties. I'm hoping that Isaac will take Daniel by the hand and (gently) guide him down the aisle. Will everything go according to plan? Probably not. But it will certainly be a sight to behold!

Our Own Sign Language

Even though I was forewarned, by the pediatrician, no less, I found it very unfair that Daniel was able to say "Dada" before he could say "Mama." Way before. Where's the justice in that? I spend 12 hours a day feeding, cleaning, and entertaining the little firecracker. My husband comes home from work and gets a greeting fit for a king? And gets called "Dada," on top of that? Come on, child development, throw me a bone here! That's why, in my haste to teach Daniel how to address me, I used an exaggerated gesture to convey the importance of the word MOMMY. Sometime around his first birthday, I began to ask Daniel, "Where is Mommy?" When I got no response from him (duh!) I would tap my hand against my chest and say, "Mommy!" That was my way of explaining to Daniel that I was this mysterious Mommy person he was constantly being asked about. As time passed and Daniel was no closer to saying anything even remotely resembling the word "Mama," the chest tap grew more and more urgent. It became a thump. It was as if I were pleading with my son, "Come on! You must remember me! MOMMY!" Soon, Daniel found a way to answer my question. When I would ask, "Where is Mommy?" he would hit his belly with both hands. I thought nothing of it, and continued my incessant interrogating. What I failed to realize at the time (though it's crystal clear to me now) was that Daniel was imitating my gesture! He associated the word "Mommy" with hitting oneself on the torso! I had inadvertently taught him a sort of sign language (well, one word, at least). Does he understand that I am Mommy? Maybe not, but it sure is cool to see him tap that delicious little belly!

That Time of the Year

Ahhh, Autumn! Crisp, cool air, the aroma of burning leaves, jack-o-lanterns glowing from front windows. Easily my favorite time of year. Besides the aesthetic beauty and bewitching aromas associated with autumn, a certain holiday infuses the season with childlike glee. I'm talking about Halloween -- that pagan celebration of cross-dressing and sugar overdosing. I just purchased Daniel's Halloween costume yesterday (yes, I know I'm over a month early, but I've shown some serious restraint -- the first sign of Halloween appeared in stores sometime in July). He'll probably never remember this particular Halloween. After all, my earliest memory of the holiday was dressing up as a ballerina when I was about 4 years old. Come to think of it, I think I wore my ballerina costume at 4, 5, and 6. By the following year (1984), I had no doubt discovered Madonna and wore lace gloves and gummi bracelets as my costume! Inevitably, I know there will come a day (probably sooner than I think) when Daniel will choose his own Halloween costume. He'll beg to dress up as his favorite cartoon character or superhero, and I'll think to myself, "Why does he have to choose such a COMMON costume?" And then I'll remember dressing as Madonna in 1984, along with millions of other little girls who had no idea what a "virgin" was. Until he's old enough to exercise free will, however, I will dress him up like the precious doll he is. And so, without further ado, I present Daniel's 2008 Halloween costume, courtesy of Pottery Barn Kids:

My, How Time Flies

Today, Daniel started Level 4 in Gymboree. Technically, Level 4 is for toddlers between 16 and 22 months of age. Daniel may be a month short, but he makes up for it in energy and enthusiasm. We hadn't seen Eva, the teacher, since way back in Level 2. At that time, Daniel was barely crawling, let alone walking and climbing. Eva had been our teacher from the beginning, when Daniel was just 8 weeks old and HATED being placed on his belly. This is what Daniel looked like when he first started Gymboree, in August 2007:


I used to dread tummy time in Gymboree. Eva would drag out the mirror, everyone would place her baby around it (on their bellies, of course), and Daniel would inevitably lay his head down and drool. For a long time, I worried that he would be delayed in his crawling because he spent so little time on his belly. I felt guilty that I didn't practice the 2 to 3 minutes at a time, five times a day of tummy time that the "experts" recommended. But you know what? Daniel eventually figured it out on his own. All of that worrying for nothing. I guess that was just the beginning of this motherhood gig. But I digress.

As soon as he spotted Eva today, his whole face lit up. He remembered her! I was so happy at the end of class because Daniel was definitely ready to move up. While most of the other toddlers were a couple of months older, Daniel had no trouble keeping up with them on the equipment. He climbed up and down the ramps, joined a little girl on the see-saw, and crawled back and forth on his favorite wavy slide. The best part of class was during parachute time. The other children were sitting on the parachute, delighting in the bubbles that Eva blew down to them. Daniel managed to sneak away and climb up on the trampoline. He then turned to face the group (with bubbles stuck to his hair, I might add) and demonstrated his ear-splitting shriek. It was as if he were pleading, "Please pay attention to ME!" He's definitely my son!

Gotta Love Hallmark!

At the Shore this summer, we discovered a new toy for Daniel. It was nothing more than a greeting card. In fact, it was a USED greeting card -- one that Caitlin had given to her father on Father's Day. What made this card unique was that it played music when you opened it. I'm sure you've seen them in stores by now. You know these cards are nearby when you see a grown adult shaking his or her booty to KC and the Sunshine Band's "That's the Way (I Like It)." The card that caught Daniel's attention played Smash Mouth's "All Star." Every time Daniel opened the card, the song would play and he would begin to rock back and forth in time with the beat. It was really quite adorable. So a couple of weeks ago, I made a special trip to CVS to buy him his very own musical greeting cards! I selected two: Another "All Star" card, this one featuring Shrek and Donkey on the cover, and a card that spewed forth the all-too-familiar chorus of the Beach Boys' "Kokomo." ("Aruba, Jamaica..." Come on, you know you want to sing it!) Well, you would have thought I had bought him a new bicycle or an Elmo doll. He LOVES these cards, and gets loads of enjoyment out of playing "freeze dance" with me and Peter. He thinks it is hilarious to open and close the cards as rapidly as possible while Peter and I jerk around like short-circuiting robots. At least the cards are providing him with some quality entertainment.

Then, the coolest thing happened today (besides Daniel eating all of his cream cheese and jelly sandwich for lunch without throwing any pieces on the floor). I was running around the kitchen this morning, as usual, and Daniel was stealthfully transferring pieces of Ollie's food into his water bowl. I tried to think of a way to distract him from the dog food. In a pinch, I began to sing, "Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play..." Amazingly, Daniel turned away from Ollie's bowls, walked over to his other favorite toy, the Fisher Price shopping cart, pulled out the Shrek greeting card, and opened it. As the Smash Mouth song blared from the paper, he looked up at me with a knowing smile on his face. I could do nothing but jump up and down and squeal with delight. He had figured it out on his own, and was just as proud as I was.

An Officially New Occupation

When Daniel was born, almost 15 months ago, I was so distracted by complete adoration (and sheer terror) that I hardly had time to think about going back to work. As a teacher, I had the advantage of taking a year off for what my district called "child-rearing leave." While my days were filled with endless diaper changes, Gymbo the clown, and moments of pure joy, the question began to sneak its way into my subconscious. Would I return to teaching the following September? I made a mental list of pros and cons. If I went back to work, I would return to a job that I had worked so hard to obtain and even harder to retain. I would reconnect with colleagues who had become like family to me. In return, I would be forced to put Daniel in daycare and cram "child-rearing" into an already hectic school-year schedule of lesson plans, parent conferences, and standardized-test mania. If I gave up my contract and stayed home, I would forfeit the time I had already invested towards tenure and an attractive pension. I would lose touch with many of the friends whose humor had gotten me through many a venomous phone call from an unhappy parent. But the life of a stay-at-home Mom grew increasingly more appealing. I would be fortunate enough to notice the daily changes Daniel was going through. I would be present for music class, playgroup, and Gymboree. I would be able to look back on his formative years and say that I had witnessed every developmental step from the front row. What started out as a difficult decision ended up being an easy one to make. So here I am. The school year has just begun and I am not in a classroom. I am no longer an employed teacher. I have, however, gained so much more in return for my teaching contract. I get to spend my days with Daniel, the 15-month-old love of my life. As my husband, Peter, says, I'm the luckiest woman in the world.