Big Boy Behavior

A common phrase heard in our house these days is, "Do it like a big boy." Whether I'm asking Daniel to eat in a particular manner or to assist in getting himself dressed and groomed, I add this caveat in the hopes of encouraging him to impress me with his new skills. While I'm pretty sure he doesn't know what it means to act like a "big boy," he never hesitates to imitate any action I've demonstrated for him. When I stopped cutting his pizza into small pieces, he stepped up to the challenge of eating it in strips. I figured I had just been underestimating his ability to eat in a more advanced fashion. So now I'm trying to push the envelope with other routine activities. Instead of always carrying him to and from the car, I let him walk. Rather than wrestling with him to brush his teeth, I give him the toothbrush and let him move it around his mouth. It may not be the most effective tooth cleaning, but he's doing it himself -- without squirming or agitation! We're working on getting dressed and undressed. If I ask him to give me his pajama shirt, he'll tug at it. As I'm dressing him, he knows how to put his arms through the arm holes of his shirt. Lately, I'll give him the brush or comb and let him groom his hair like a "big boy." A little part of me hopes that all of this encouragement to be independent will help down the road with such imposing tasks as potty training and sleeping in a "big boy" bed. It never hurts to be prepared!

Branching Out

Peter and I are very fortunate to have our parents living close by. As the first grandchild on both sides, Daniel has had no shortage of available babysitters. We have been lucky enough to enjoy romantic dinners and movie nights, thanks to Daniel's grandparents who are always willing to help out. And even though I know they'd rather babysit him than be anywhere else, there's a little nagging feeling of guilt in the back of my mind. Do we burden them too often with the responsibility? Should they feel obligated to watch Daniel whenever we ask? Is it fair to have no "Plan C" when it comes to available babysitters?

Probably not. Which is why I'm so delighted to have found a possible babysitter who is not related to Daniel in any way. Her name was passed to me by another mom in the MOMS Club, who happens to be this girl's neighbor. She is looking for babysitting jobs, and appears to have some child-sitting experience. The best part is that she is 13 years old. If this works out, I could potentially utilize her services for the next 4 years!!!

What is so ironic is that Peter and I were just talking about the need for an "outside" babysitter. I was even willing to recruit a local teenager by stuffing fliers into mailboxes or by posting an advertisement at Montco or Temple Ambler. This girl just dropped into my lap at the perfect time! It almost seems too easy, which is why I'm not going to do any backflips until I meet her and get a sense of how trustworthy and mature she is. If I'm going to leave Daniel in the hands of a stranger (and a very young one at that) she's going to have to impress me. I've taught enough careless and irresponsible 9-year-olds to know how they turn out 4 years later! Here's hoping this girl surprises me and wins my trust.

Cheating on Gymbo

I started taking Daniel to Gymboree classes when he was just 7 weeks old. Now, approximately 15 months later, I am ready for a change of scenery. Daniel still loves the familiarity of the Welcome song, getting special attention from Miss Eva, and being hugged by Gymbo at the end of class. Maybe that's why I feel slightly guilty for dropping Gymboree in favor of The Little Gym. It's almost like I'm cheating on Gymbo with his archenemy, the kids' gym down the street.

Part of me feels like I should persevere and stick with Gymboree, since Daniel enjoys it so much. But who's to say that he won't love The Little Gym even more? Then there's that little selfish sliver of me that is simply bored with the same routine week after week. The same songs, the same equipment, the same faces. And now that the majority of the moms in the class are pregnant with their second (or third) child -- seriously, some weeks I feel like I'm the only one in there not talking about how I'm going to handle my toddler with a new bundle of joy on the way -- I feel like I have less in common with them. I'm ready for a new crop of mommies, and a new weekly destination for Daniel and I. Is that so wrong?

Today was our second-to-last Gymboree class. I grinned and bared it through the free play when Daniel went down the same slide about thirty times, the parachute games when Daniel only wanted to run off and do his own thing, and even having to listen to a particularly annoying pregnant mom share her feelings about the first time her toddler heard her unborn baby's heartbeat. As I filled out the "change of membership status" form at the end of class, I suddenly didn't feel so guilty anymore.

Daniel's Generation

It has been a momentous couple of weeks around here: David and Chandra got married, the Phillies WON the World Series, and Daniel celebrated his second Halloween (but his first time as a Trick-or-Treater). Tomorrow is Election Day, and our nation will be electing a new President. Regardless of who the winner turns out to be, this election will mark the first time in history that an African-American has run as a major-party candidate. While this fact may not directly impact Daniel's life (at least not immediately), it serves as a distinguishing moment for his generation.

I am 30 years older than my son. When I was born, Jimmy Carter was president. Elvis was still alive, albeit drug-addled and portly. Cell phones were science fiction. Computers were...oh, you get the point. I think about my childhood as a slide show of memorable events: the introduction of the Cabbage Patch Kid, Madonna's debut album, crying at the end of "E.T." Politically, things seemed pretty stable (from my naive point of view). Ronald Reagan was a popular president. I remember prosperity and domestic bliss. I'm not sure if I was lost in the utopia of my own youth, or if things really were that good.

When Daniel looks back upon his early years, what will stand out in his mind? The current economic crisis? Hopefully not. The war on terror? Please, no. Barack Obama's run for the White House? Not likely. We live in uncertain times (sorry for the cliche) and life seems so much more complicated than it was 30 years ago. I can only hope that Daniel's current point of view on history is as innocent as mine was way back when. I hope that he looks back on his childhood as a time of family trips, cherished toys, and special occasions. He has the rest of his life to read all about the other stuff.

Dancing Machine

As a child, I never passed up the opportunity to perform in front of other people. At family gatherings I would don my tutu and tap shoes, and dance my way across the fireplace hearth. So it's not much of a stretch to imagine that my little boy will be anything but a wallflower. Daniel has loved music since he was a newborn, and he especially enjoys music class with its movement, incorporation of props, and instrumentation. Until recently, however, he has been content to clap along with the music or rock back and forth a little bit (see post about musical Hallmark cards). It seems that he finally getting the idea of dancing.

For the past two nights, Peter has played The Police's greatest hits in our downstairs CD player. Peter keeps the rhythm on Daniel's plastic toy drum, of course. Daniel stands in awe of the music for just a moment. Then his upper torso begins to sway, along with his arms. Pretty soon, his knees are bent and he's bopping up and down with the beat. His little tush sticks out and his face remains serious. But he's definitely responding to the music!

I can't wait until he reaches the age of maximum dancing pleasure. It's the age my brothers were when they would each grab a sparkly glove and imitate my dance moves to Michael Jackson's "Thriller." Watching home movies of this spectacle is known to bring about both hysterics and the wetting of one's pants. I hope that Daniel never stops dancing, and that he'll permit me to dance alongside him for as long as my body will allow.

Ignorance is...Just Ignorance

A pregnant friend of mine recently asked my opinion on childhood vaccinations. She had been speaking to her neighbor, who informed my friend of her hesitancy in following her pediatrician's "aggressive" vaccination schedule. She even told my friend about a woman she knew who was "anti-vaccine" because of the "dangerous link to autism." True story. I'm not making this up.

Sadly, it is ignorant people like this who are contributing to a growing health crisis in this country. I must admit, I have a very strong opinion on this subject. I don't mean to lecture or criticize, but I wholeheartedly resent those people who feel they know more than the doctors. We hear almost daily that there is NO PROVEN LINK between childhood vaccines and autism. In fact, more and more studies are released each year which further disprove this "theory." Yet, ignorance exists. I believe in personal freedom, but not at the cost of my child's safety and well-being. I recently heard about an outbreak of measles somewhere in the Midwest. Measles!!! The CDC hypothesized that the disease originated with a child whose parents refused the MMR vaccine because of its rumored link to autism. Because of the selfishness of those parents, other children were put at serious risk.

Daniel gets vaccinated according to the pediatrician's schedule. Whatever they recommend at a particular visit, I accept. I certainly don't presume to know more about it than the pediatricians do, and I truly believe that they have Daniel's best interest at heart. Vaccines SAVE LIVES. Period. I am not at all worried about autism. I'm a hell of a lot more concerned about measles, mumps, rubella, polio, hepatitis, etc.

Some people favor a "staggered" vaccination schedule, meaning that their children receive only one vaccine at a time in hopes of lessening the impact these vaccines have on the body. I think this whole staggering idea is trendy -- the word spread via the media because some know-it-all celebrity like Jenny McCarthy shot her mouth off and made a bunch of already self-doubting mothers even more anxious. I have no doubt that I am doing what is best for Daniel. You want statistics? He is a happy, expressive, inquisitive little boy. At the end of the day, that is all I need to know.

Daniel's First Wedding

There may not have been any smiles, but there certainly weren't any tears -- and for that, I am thankful. I'm talking about Daniel, of course, as he walked down the aisle at his Uncle David's wedding to Aunt Chandra. Everyone was nervous at the prospect. Some were even pessimistic that the boys would even complete the task they had been given. Daniel had taken a long nap that afternoon, however, so I was confident that he would be okay.


When it came time for Isaac and Daniel to enter the room, I was already up front by the Chuppah. I felt bad for leaving Daniel outside with Amanda and Leah, Val and Ray, and Chandra, the bride! Aside from keeping Isaac happy, I knew they'd be saddled with the task of keeping Daniel from running off before he even had a chance to walk through the door! I was told, much later in the evening, that Daniel had been so eager to enter the room that he wanted to go ahead of his Aunt Caitlin! I held my breath as the boys came into view. Amanda was by their sides, holding Leah in her arms. As Isaac took a reluctant step, she grabbed his hand. Daniel looked confused, as if he had been blindfolded and driven to a remote location, only to be left alone to find his way back home. Luckily, Peter's aunts came to the rescue. Aunt Carole and Aunt Amy took Daniel's hands and guided him to the beginning of the aisle. He didn't protest.


As the women steered the boys down the aisle, I began to get all choked up. It was an overwhelmingly emotional experience to see my baby boy walking down the aisle, looking so handsome. He was absolutely precious and serious as can be. Once he spotted my Dad in a chair next to the aisle, he relaxed. His Pop-pop extended his arms and Daniel reached up for him. He must have felt so relieved to see a familiar face in that sea of people! I was a proud Mommy. Daniel had successfully completed his wedding duties!