This Is Not How I Remember It From Before

The Wife's trip to Portland this past week was the first time I've had to take of NJ by myself for an extended period in quite some time. And in that time, her personality and abilities have grown exponentially. It was a completely new experience.

Here's a rough timeline of events. Times that are bolded are exact; italicized means an estimate.

WEDNESDAY

4.45 p.m. -- I pick NJ up at day care. She doesn't seem to care that I'm not The Wife, who'd dropped her off that morning on her way to Portland. NJ doesn't rush to the door to greet me, though, as she sometimes does -- she's laying on a mat with a boy; she's playing with his feet, which are draped across her tummy. One of the teachers tells me that this boy has no source of income, no gainful employment, so I call NJ away from him and we leave. At the car, NJ says "Mommy at home?" I tell her no, and she wails. It doesn't last long, and soon we're driving home laughing and chatting and occasionally high-fiving.

What, me cry?

5.20 p.m. -- We pull up to the house. "Mommy inside?" NJ asks. I tell her no, and she wails. I hope the neighbors don't think I slapped her or something.

Inside, Mommy's absence is forgotten and we have a lovely time. After a hearty round of "Go to Bed" -- her current fave game, in which she puts two of her dolls to sleep in her crib and then joins them for a succession of 10-second naps -- NJ devours much of the hamburger patty with Provolone I make her, along with some pickle slices and quinoa. And a cookie, of course! NJ's bath is uneventful, other than me failing to keep her from repeatedly drinking bath water.

8 p.m. -- Hilarity ensues when I ask NJ if she's ready to "go to bed" and she cheerily replies "Yes!" She was thinking of "Go to Bed" and her smile fades to sour disappointment when I pulls the shades in her room instead of turning on the music. It was like one of those "Three's Company" episodes (all of them?) when Mr. Roper overhears Jack and Janet talking and thinks they're talking about sex when they actually were talking about getting their car serviced. NJ and I compromise -- I let her play a little "Go to Bed" and actually get out of the crib again for a little while, and she ... huh! I seem to have forgotten her side of the compromise. Anyway, at about 8.20 p.m. I try again and NJ's happy to settle down to sleep. I celebrate with a glass of wine and a couple of "Cheers" reruns.

THURSDAY

2.34 a.m. -- This is why I'm doing exact and estimated times, because 2.34 a.m. is burned in my mind as if someone wrote 2.34 a.m. across it with an acid-tipped pen. This is when NJ's cries on the baby monitor woke me up. It was 2.34 a.m.

2.50 a.m. -- She's still at it, so I head downstairs. A diaper is changed, a rocking chair is utilized, but every time I move to put NJ back to bed, she squawks. So ...

3.30 a.m. -- I put a row of pillows where The Wife usually sleeps in our bed, plant NJ in next to it, then lay down myself on the remaining mattress real estate. She's not going back to sleep yet, but she's calm and cool and collected. I can't see the clock because of the pillows, but after a lengthy stretch, the kid's out.

5 a.m. -- Dad's still awake! I crane my head and check the clock when a sleeping NJ kicks a tiny foot into my ribcage.

6.30 a.m. -- The alarm goes off. I dozed enough that I can't claim I got no rest at all. NJ's a little grouchy, but generally OK. Ninety later I'm driving back home after taking her to day care.

I'll let you know when I'm ready to leave for day care, Daddy.

4.45 p.m. -- On the way to pick NJ up, I admire a cool, vintage motorcycle parked around the corner, even though I'm not a "motorcycle guy." (What I am, on this day, is a zombie after being up most of the night.) At day care, NJ's teacher tells me she didn't nap well because of coughing. The drive home is highlighted by a trip through the car wash, which amazes a wide-eyed NJ.

5.45 p.m. -- NJ asks if Mommy's home and, when informed that Mommy was still away, crying commences. Once we're inside and NJ sees I'm not lying, crying becomes wailing, and "wailing" becomes the Theme of the Evening. Literally, the worst I've ever seen her. NJ wails through play time, dinner, bath (it was shampoo night, never a picnic under the cheeriest of circumstances), post-bath play time, and bedtime. A list of things that upset NJ greatly during this period includes (but isn't limited to):

• Daddy asking for one of her many Cheddar Bunnies (not taking one, mind you, but asking);
• Her sippy cup;
• Getting ready for her bath;
• Being placed in the bath;
• Being asked repeatedly to sit down in the bath;
• Getting her hair wet;
• Getting her hair shampooed;
• Getting her hair rinsed;
• Being asked to get out of the tub;
• Being presented with the wrong book during post-bath Reading Time;
• Learning that it absolutely, positively is time to go to bed.

8 p.m. -- I walk out of her room, and within 20 seconds NJ has stopped wailing. She doesn't peep again for the rest of the evening. I eat some well-deserved ice cream.

FRIDAY

1.30 a.m. -- The roar of what sounds like a vintage motorcycle engine wakes me. It starts up and immediately dies. Whoever's trying to start this engine spends the next 20 minutes revving, or trying to rev, it. There is time for tinkering, then more attempts, and finally the thing starts. Then there's a good five minutes of roaring engine noise, as if someone was hot-rodding a vintage motorcycle up and down the street. During this 45-minute ordeal, not one sound emits from the baby monitor.

6.30 a.m. -- I walk into NJ's room and she's already awake, and ... laughing? Laughing! "Mommy's gone," she says, smiling. A good night's sleep is key to acceptance of bad news, apparently -- a fresher perspective and all that. She smiles and giggles through breakfast and eventually marches into day care with a determined jaunt. I must have pinched myself five times during this period.

10 a.m. -- The Wife calls to say she'll be home early today. I perform a celebratory dance in the basement.

Now NJ's got a little fever, so if she was coming down with something that certainly explains her wild behavior. I'm just glad The Wife's back. This morning, I didn't even hear it when NJ woke up at 3 a.m.

The Apple Of My Heart*

*Is that right? Seems sort of off.

I sort of fell in love with NJ all over again this week.

The Wife took an overnighter to Portland. It was the first time the kid and I have been alone for a long time (I started to actually look up the last time The Wife had to go out of town, but I'm lazy and semi-hopped up on cold medicine, so let's just say "a long time" and leave it at that). The time frame was short -- The Wife left mid-afternoon Sunday and returned Monday night, after NJ went to bed -- but NJ and I had a lot of fun. Nothing unusual: playing around the house, trip to the supermarket, kitchen dancing, bath and reading time, etc. What made it stand out from past Super Solo events is NJ's bursting-at-the-seams personality. (And the walking. The walking is definitely a difference. Man, is it a difference.) She's become an irrepressible force of nature who takes no prisoners, knows what she wants and how to get it, yadda yadda insert cliche here etc. etc.

NJ's vocabulary, for instance, seems to be expanding exponentially. "Hat," "bubbles," "moon," "Daddy," "Mama," "doggy" -- these are but a few of the words she has mastered. (And, of course: "Elmo.") The list of words that she's got a 75 percent handle on is even longer -- "quack" is "cack," for example, and "coat" is "co." (Actually, "CO!" is coat. I don't know why she gets so excited about putting her coat on, or watching me put mine on, but apparently it's a Big Deal.)

Now, though, my favorite word of hers is "more."

We were playing upstairs and I gently tossed NJ onto the bed to play Earthquaaaaaake, a favorite thing of hers from months ago that she seemed to outgrow. She lays on the bed, I loom over her and put one hand on either side and shake the mattress until she bounces up and down. Hilarity ensues, I stop, and just when she thinks it's over, another earthquake hits. Rinse, repeat, until my arms get tired or something comes up. So we played Earthquaaaaaaake and NJ loved, loved, loved it -- belly laughs louder than I'd ever heard before, and she actually lost her breath a little bit once. After three tremors I turned around and walked to my dresser for a water bottle, and behind me I heard NJ shouting "More! More!" I turned around and she was giggling and making the "more" hand sign she learned at day care.

I'd heard NJ say "more" plenty of times before, and seen the sign language a lot, but only when she was asking for food -- more yogurt, more cheese, more macaroni. But never in the context of playing, or entertainment, or anything I was doing. And since I'm an incredibly easy mark, I smiled big enough to hurt my face and rushed back to the bed for more horseplay. And for the first time ever, a round of Earthquaaaaaaake ended because I got tired of it, not her.

NJ missed her mom, I'm sure, and even called out for her at bath time Sunday evening, but she also had a great time with me. Sure, I might have cut some corners here and there -- I didn't wash her hair in the bath, which she hates, and her toothbrushing exercise before bedtime was probably the shortest on record -- but I don't care. We had a great time, and any worries I had about Super Soloing with a feisty, always-moving toddler vanished pretty quickly.

Which is good, because The Wife is abandoning us again next week for a couple of days. She'll be missing some pretty awesome Earthquaaaaaaakes, I'll wager.

For a day, at least, it was: Dad's up, Elmo's down.

The Party's Over

Turn out the lights, the party's over
They say that all good things must end

Certain NJ-related developments around the household have that chorus running through my head at seemingly regular intervals. (It's usually Dandy Don Meredith's voice in my head, what with me being a football fan and a child of the '70s and all, but Willie's version is just so damn smooth. You're welcome!) The kid that I used to rave about, well ... oh, I'm still raving. But things aren't like they used to be. To wit:

Crying and whining. The kid was pretty good about this for a long, long time. Now, though, she's learned that crying and whining gets results. It really started during the Daycare Sickness Jubilee, and who could blame her for crying and whining then? Not me. But -- and it seems like some sort of world record -- she's been illness-free for at least a week now. The crying and whining? It's survived. Long ago, I think it was in NJ's first week, someone warned us against bending to the will of a baby who would "manipulate us." It was premature advice -- I didn't think a one-week-old knew much from manipulation -- but now I'm starting to get it. Particularly when she throws a loud, blubbery six-second fit and then calmly, coolly inserts her thumb in her mouth and clams up. Plotting her next move, no doubt.

Sleeping. I said once before that the contently sleeping infant who made us the envy of new parents all across north Seattle was long gone, and it's still true even though the daycare colds and bugs are gone. She can be counted on to wake up once per night these days. Thankfully it's not as bad as when she was sick -- last week, her nose was so stuffed up that when she sucked her thumb, she couldn't breathe. I imagine that was pretty frustrating for the little kid. Again, though, it's better now that -- for the moment -- she isn't sick. Also, I'm sure this can be blamed in part on her teething: Her teeth took their sweet time showing up, and now they're making up for lost time -- three are coming in now on the top, maybe even four. So we coasted for a while there on the teething front, and now it's catching up to us. This is a factor in the crying/whining, too, I'm sure.

Eating. NJ is no longer the Hungry Monkey who'll eat whatever is put in front of her. The first thing she struck off her to-eat list? Broccoli. She seems to get pickier by the day. And worse, she's started holding out for the things she likes best. A couple of evenings ago I made the mistake of saying the word "yogurt" aloud, and she was inconsolable (see "Crying and whining," above) until The Wife was shoveling creamy, peachy goodness into her mouth.

Preferring her mom to me. This one is the toughest to take. NJ's shown a decisive preference for The Wife, as compared to Dad Solo. The Wife brings her upstairs in the morning and she can't put her down on the bed with me to get dressed because NJ starts crying. The Wife goes into the kitchen to make dinner and she can't leave NJ with me because the kid starts crying; instead, she sits in her high chair in the kitchen and watches her mom. It's not that she dislikes me or anything -- she just was practicing standing up and beamed at me every time for approval -- it's just that she is into her mom right now and makes it clear. She's playing favorites and right now I'm lagging. The Wife spent an hour at day care last Friday for some pumpkin-carving goings-on, and a couple was there with their kid. The mom left and the kid started crying in dad's arms. The Wife leaned over to another father and said, "I wish my husband was here to see this, he'd feel better." The man (allegedly) replied, "Happens at our house, too. It's normal." I put a year into caring for her exclusively, you'd think I'd have some good will stored up by now. But: No. I still have to earn it every day.

Night And Day

The Wife was out of town from Sunday through today around noon. You're learning about that now because me Super Soloing with the kid is now old hat and not worth mentioning, really. This time it was pretty hectic -- I'll spell out my renewed admiration for single parents in a future post -- but it went very well. One thing I noticed was that NJ was a little irritable; she'd go from happy to whiny at the drop of the proverbial hat. I thought it may have something to do with her cough, which actually has petered out to almost nothing, or her new case of the snotties, which started up yesterday.

Now, I know it was because she missed her mom. A lot.

The Wife retrieved her from day care early, and ever since the two of them got home NJ has been a smile-and-giggle machine. It's so cute it's almost appalling -- and insulting. I bent over backward to please you, with no help at all! Hey kid, how about, you know, a little something for the effort, you know?

You know I love ya, Daddy, but look! Mommy's home!

BLARGH

NJ started day care 28 days ago.

Her first day care cold surfaced the following week. That lasted for a few days, and the cough that came with it has stayed behind and intensified to the point that, like clockwork, she'd had hacking fits around midnight or 1 a.m. every night for close to a week now. And they last a long time. The pediatrician says it's just that, a cough and nothing more. But it sounds like NJ's a two-pack-per-day smoker.

The Wife was pretty sick over the weekend, too. It didn't last long, but it was brutal.

Me? I've had a stuffy head and nasty cough for going on three weeks now. A couple of days ago I was unfortunate enough to catch whatever The Wife had over the weekend. Yesterday I went to bed at 4 p.m. I've mowed through more Sudafed, Tylenol PM, cough lozenges and other medications in the past few days than I did in the previous calendar year.

All of this I blame on day care.

What's in my lunch box? Disease, virus, bugs, sickness. Have some, Daddy!

Super Solo Redux

The Wife leaves for a road trip in a couple of days, the first of three in the next five weeks. My loyal readers know that I've aced past Super Solo assignments with trumpets wailing and colors flying and everything short of Padma Lakshmi smiling warmly and murmuring, "Congratulations, you are the Top Dad." This go-around should be just as smooth, hopefully, but it'll be a little different because of some new factors:

The Sick
NJ is winding up her first prolonged illness. Her day care cold is mostly gone, except for what sounds like a brutal cough that crops up from time to time. One of those times is around 2.30 a.m., after she's been laying horizontal for a long time. Hopefully we won't hear that number on our baby monitor in the wee hours this morning, and by Wednesday -- when The Wife hits the road -- it should all be over. (Including the diarrhea. Please, sweet little baby Jesus, let that include the diarrhea.)

The Day Care
I've yet to drop NJ off at day care. It's no big thing, obviously, but there is something of a routine that I'll need to know. What if, for example, I walk into the play area with my shoes still on? Heaven forefend! Or I fail to sign in in the morning, or out in the afternoon when I take her away? (OK, that one is important.) There's also all the stuff I need to take in with us -- the diapers, the blanket, the packed lunch. Yeah, that packed lunch: I'll have to pay attention tomorrow evening when The Wife puts it together. All I really know now is that when I load the dishwasher, there are about 47 tiny bowls, lids and other Tupperware-like objects.

The Job
There's an office reasonably close to NJ's day care I can go to after dropping her off (since I'll be more than halfway there anyway). And: going to an office means incentive to shower, something all work-at-homers need.

The Standing
Nothing to do with The Wife leaving town, but I thought I'd bury the lead because it's my blog and there are no editors clamoring for a rewrite. NJ's interest in and ability to stand has increased ten-fold since starting day care. She stands up from her knees or from her butt with ease, hangs on to the coffee table or sofa edge with one hand while waving a toy (or just waving) the other. She also has walked a few steps while holding on to said sofa edge or coffee table. I guess I'd better get on that babyproofing stat.

End Of An Era

It was a day of milestones around here -- NJ's last day home-free, my last day of juggling her and my new job, and the arrival of my first paycheck from the aforementioned new job. It's been a little bittersweet, but don't let this fool you -- I'm not as morose about the situation as I seem to be in this clip:




NJ was her usual stellar self, at one point spending an entire hour in her play pen, playing and hanging out calmly and quietly, when I got trapped on a long conference call. Then we ran a couple of errands, and her mood then is adequately captured in the photograph here. It's only now, as The Wife came home and promptly started fawning over NJ, that it's really hitting me. Even though we've known for more than a year that tomorrow was on the calendar, it's still a little weird. I know I'm going to miss things like opening the blinds after NJ's morning nap and turning to see her stretching and grunting in her crib, right before she smiles and goes "Daaaaaaaaaaaahh!" I most definitely will not miss working and caring for her simultaneously. Today was the worst day yet on that front, and it seemed inevitable because the days have steadily gotten busier and hairier. Today I had to finish one project that was late and complete another that was moved up on the calendar, and cram this all into the two hours of NJ's afternoon nap. What's worse, I had to walk away from the computer after the previously mentioned conference call, knowing these things were hanging over my head like Damocles' sword. (I guess two projects actually means two swords, right? His dress sword and his battle sword, I suppose. Or can two ominous things be described as one so the proverb is intact, with one sword representing the overall workload. Hey, look: I'm way off topic. Whoops.)

So here's hoping tomorrow morning goes smoothly. I'll probably be leaving home at the same time The Wife packs up the kid up for her first day of day care. The Wife is worried that NJ won't understand what's going on when she drops her off -- when she leaves her child behind -- but even if that upsets NJ, I don't think it'll last very long. She'll have plenty of new things to do, plenty of new toys to play with, plenty of new friends to make. And then, of course, she'll be freak-out delighted to see her mom when she picks her up at the end of the day, I always mention. Don't know if The Wife's buying it, though.

I am very, very proud of this little girl. I can't wait to sit her down one day and tell her about the best year of my life. It will probably bore her to death -- you know how these kids are today -- but I'll love telling it.

You're A Pal And A Confidant

NJ had a play date late last week with the lovely Olivia, who's one month older than NJ and apparently grew about six inches longer since I saw her last, just a couple of weeks before. Once Olivia stopped crying at the sight of the big, bearded doofus -- I think NJ put in a good word for me -- they had a grand time. Here they are smiling big for Olivia's mother, who has a knack for getting babies to really ramp up the cute.

International news reports indicated that yes, indeed, the whole world was smiling with them at the exact moment this photograph was taken.

Olivia's mom is a 5-foot-2 spitfire who was cool enough to bring scones and cookies from Seattle's best bakery, and she knows lots of things about many subjects (sadly, music is not one of them). She recently plugged Mrs. Mustard's Baby Faces, and The Wife immediately bought it. (I make a suggestion and The Wife might -- might -- get around to considering it several weeks later. This, she did right away: "Whatever you say, Olivia's mom!") I'm sure it's a delightful little tool for honing kids' emotional intelligence, but truth be told I find it to be a little creepy. What with the disembodied baby heads and all. If you ate a giant plate of dodgy Chinese food and then read several issues of some sort of Spy magazine for infants, your dreams that night would look something like this:

Yes, we're happy. Happy because we're plotting to kill you in your sleep.

One Hand Feeds The Other

NJ has decided to pitch in around the house whenever she can. In addition to picking up little tufts of dog hair off the carpet (which I then have to somehow keep out of her mouth), that means returning the favor at dinnertime:

You stuff my cakehole, Mommy, and I'll stuff yours.

UPDATE: NJ tried to feed me at lunch today -- rice and a cracker. I wasn't going for it, though.

Cross-Country Kid

NJ's first cross-country trip was a rousing success. I've put this off for a couple of days because I was laid low by a nasty cold (thanks, mother-in-law!) that I brought back to Seattle (you're welcome, Alaska Flight 15!). I've tried to keep out of NJ's face since then, but that's been pretty hard to do. On the other hand, she's been a regular Super Baby when it comes to ailments, so maybe this illness will bounce dully off of her like a bullet hitting Superman in the chest. Anyway, on to the trip:

Flight to Boston: The worst moment. After checking three bags, we headed to the plane with two carry-ons, the lightweight stroller and the car seat. The car seat is the most ridiculously shaped thing in the world to have to carry around for long periods of time. We checked the stroller at the gate and put the car seat in NJ's seat, where it listed forward slightly. She didn't seem to experience any of the take-off (and landing) ear pressure problems I've seen spark screaming jags in other kids. NJ was restless, though, and The Wife spent some time walking in the aisle with her. Finally NJ fell asleep in her mother's lap and we put her in the car seat, where she continued to sleep (dangling at a precarious angle). After a half-hour, though, the woman behind us yelled at her kid and startled NJ awake -- and she never went back to sleep. So: More whiny crying. The Wife and I each walked her around some, and finally NJ settled down for the last 30 minutes or so of the flight. And she wasn't even the worst-behaved baby on the flight, there was no need to invoke the It's My Turn rule. After landing, rounding up luggage and getting our rental car, we finally hit the hotel before 7 p.m.

Boston: We stayed in a nice place downtown and had a spectacular view of the Statehouse's golden dome, the Charles River, Cambridge and the Back Bay. NJ fussed mightily for about ten minutes after we put her down, then slept like a log -- a very, very tired log that had a big, long day. The next morning we spent at the Common and the Public Garden, where Norah charmed passers-by with a big smile and her adeptness at sitting on bronze ducks. Even though it's been almost 15 years since I left Boston and political reporting, when the Park Street Church bells tolled 9 a.m. I instinctively took a couple of steps toward the Statehouse, figuring I'd better grab a coffee and get to work in the Press Gallery. Instead, though, we returned to the hotel to have breakfast with old friends Mark and Mer before driving off to The Wife's parents' house in Connecticut.

A sad NJ turns away after being informed that the duck would not start moving.

Drive to Connecticut: Uneventful.

Connecticut: Eventful. The Wife's parents are a delight and love their newest granddaughter. Their spread in Northwest Connecticut is nice, too -- NJ loved looking at the goldfish in their backyard pond, and her Grandpa bought her a wading pool that was probably NJ's favorite part of the week. To wit:

O ...

... M ...

... G!

She also visited a nearby house to look at a couple of steers, hit a nearby park for some swing time, and played a lot in her grandparents' living room with all the new toys she collected from family.

Family: NJ met lots of new folks. My brother, his wife and their son and daughter came up from D.C. The Wife's sister and her five-year-old daughter drove over from New Jersey. The Wife's other sister lives about ten minutes away in Connecticut, and we hung out a lot with her, her husband and their two boys. Also, The Wife's best friend drove over for dinner one night with her son. All these folks were properly impressed and quite taken with NJ. (Well, maybe not the grade school- and middle school-aged boys, but who can blame them? After all, there was a hot tub.) NJ slept really well, except for one nap when her five-year-old cousin just couldn't wait to play with her and crept into her room.

Look, guys, I'm crawling. Quick, laugh and smile and clap and shower me with gifts! That how this works, right?

Mystic: One day we drove to Mystic, Conn., to see the aquarium. NJ loves the aquarium in Seattle, and Mystic didn't disappoint, either. Her favorite exhibit was the jellyfish tank. I was partial to the trained seals and sea lions. Then we ate at a restaurant where I consumed fresh lobster (a sandwich) for the first time in years, and the waitress didn't keep the water glasses filled to my nephew's liking.

Back to the jellyfish, Aunt D. Let's go!

Food: The Wife's parents spoiled us with big, delicious meals. A big hot dog/hamburger blowout, lobsters and a delicious fish chowder were the highlights. NJ ate the fish chowder and all the vegetables put in front of her, to the delight and amusement of her relatives. She, The Wife and I also stopped in a Willington, Conn., restaurant where NJ feasted on bits of turkey sandwich and some of my pepperoni-and-anchovies calzone (no anchovies for her, though). We also made a stop at the UConn Dairy Bar, where The Wife and I ate ice cream while a smiling NJ charmed a couple of bikers who were waiting in line. It was semi-surreal.

Animals: NJ met her grandparents' dogs, Winston and Jake (seen here crashing a photo op). They're getting up there in years, and one of them is deaf now, but they were incredibly tolerant of the crawling little minx and her tiny, curious hands. I think she still prefers The Two Idiots, though. There was also a cat that peaked NJ's curiosity greatly (and she wasn't even aware of the cat's most outstanding feature: 25 toes). She doesn't remember Elmore -- a.k.a. the Magnificent Bastard, who was 15 years old when she was born and had to be laid to rest just a couple of weeks after she came home from the hospital -- so the idea of a sleek, aloof, not-at-all-clumsy-and-loud animal prowling the house intrigued her.

Drive to Boston: Uneventful. Although, after listening to Beantown sports talk radio all week, let me say this: Red Sox fans, get over yourselves. Seriously.

Flight home: Much, much, much smoother than the trip out. Now a seasoned air travel veteran, NJ was an angel in the Boston airport. The car seat fit better this time around, and NJ slept for three solid hours on the flight. I would have enjoyed that a lot more if I wasn't sitting there feeling my cold coming on. We got home at almost 11 p.m. and NJ went right back to sleep.

Overall: The Wife and I were extremely glad and grateful that NJ got to spend a week with her New England grandparents (they came out to Seattle last fall, too), and that her extended family members flocked to Connecticut for an audience with her. It wasn't easy for everyone -- my brother's family had to juggle four jobs and his daughter's fast-approaching college debut, for example, to make a week-long trip to southern New England. We appreciate it very much. NJ in particular.

Thanks, guys! Right back atcha!

Ballard Of A Sunday Afternoon

The kid's big achievements of the week have been lifting up so she's standing flat on her feet and hands (is standing next?) and deftly honing her mood swings. The former is self-explanatory, right? So: The latter.

NJ has been a giggling, smiling, delightful delight for the past several days. Except when she's been a screaming, crying feral creature. Ever since we returned from Oregon she's done a lot of wailing to get attention. Lately, I haven't been clued in to the fact that her nap is over by the sweet, lilting sounds of her jibber-jabber over the monitor, as per usual; it's been zero-to-sixty crying. Same when we put her down -- crying, not talking. And as often as not, the middle of her nap has been punctuated by a short wailing burst. Nothing is really wrong, of course, but she's really perfecting her crying-as-attention-getting skills.

Otherwise, she's been a dream. Her latest move is to look at a toy, hold it up to me or The Wife, and flash a big, toothy, "I love this thing!" grin. ("Toothy" meaning "two tooth nubbins.") It's pretty cute. Also pretty cute: stream-of-consciousness jabbering that would make James Joyce proud. No longer does it come simply in spurts -- now she talks in sentences, only with words that make no sense (to me, at least). "Baden," "daden," "doy" and "ooooyyeeee," which is something of a wistful sigh, are her favorites. In her mind, they are probably all swear words directed at me.

Today was a big day for NJ. We went to a toy store to buy some new toys, toys that she can't have for another week when we fly to New England. Hopefully, brand new things to play with on the airplane will keep her more happily occupied than the tired old things she's currently got strewn all over the house. It'll buy me some time before I have to invoke the It's My Turn rule.

NJ with an anonymous toy store patron.

After that we hit Ballard for the street market, where NJ saw another girl in a stroller who has co-opted her "antique telephone" method of thumb-sucking (thumb in mouth, other hand clutching ear). We got lunch at the extremely kid-friendly Old Town Alehouse (the first place we took her to, I believe, back in the fall). Her wailing was on full display as she scarfed down a lunch of roast beef, fries and bread dipped in minestrone:




Nom nom nom. Waaahh! Nom nom nom. Waaahh! Nom nom nom ...

Finally, at the end of the meal, NJ gave it her hearty seal of approval.

I'll smile for the camera, but I won't let you see my tooth nubbins.

Caught You Smiling At Me

Occasionally NJ and I sit here in front of the computer and shoot a video for The Wife's enjoyment. Her company's network doesn't permit large e-mail attachments, so the clips are usually in the two- to three-second range, just a dash of cute. Yesterday's theme was Led Zeppelin:



For this particular shoot, all it took to get NJ rocking (in her new Zep shirt, which The Wife hates) was to TURN THE MUSIC UP. The party lasted longer than this clip, trust me.

I hope this is the last time my daughter ever rocks out with some obnoxious jackass shouting her ear. What are the odds on that? Oh, wait, never mind. I don't want to know.

Lazy Sunday (And a Blog Post That Reflects It)

It's almost twenty-four hours later, and The Wife is still walking on air because yesterday, in line at Piroshky Piroshky in Pike Place Market, a stranger snapped a photo of NJ. (I know what you're wondering, the real question, and the answer is: I had the beef and cheese.)

NJ was decked out in the new sun hat we'd purchased moments earlier at a place that I'm going to have to sneak back to without The Wife, because they had some awesome rock and roll baby clothes. (Actually, I'm on the fence about returning because I overheard one saleswoman tell the other that she didn't like Eric Clapton, something I cannot abide. That's like saying you don't like sunshine.) Turning 9 months old has marked a growing milestone of sorts for the kid; no growth spurt, per se, but lots of clothes she's worn for a while have ended up in the "too small" pile over the past week. The Wife bought a couple of garments that I figured NJ would have to grow into over a few weeks; she's wearing them today, though, and they fit perfectly. Kid is growing -- pretty soon she won't be able to perform her favorite sleeping trick anymore, the Horizontal Spin:

NJ in 15 years: "Yes, Dad, it was creepy to photograph me while I was asleep."

Random Notes: NJ scooted backwards about two feet two days ago, further proof that babyproofing is in my near future ... Current favorite meal? Chicken and yogurt. Maybe NJ inherited my parents' distaste for lamb ... We think we taught her to "slip me some crimson, Timson" this morning, but her moves need work ... NJ also has been crushing hard on The Two Idiots lately, waving and/or clapping at them whenever they appear, and her affection is almost -- almost -- reciprocated. Willie the Lab has relaxed around her a great deal, and Zeus will even hang around her for a few moments. Still, there's no better way to get them out of a room than for NJ to let out one of her happy shrieks.

The Reluctant Carnivore

Yesterday marked NJ's first real foray into the order of Carnivora. In the only bit of work she performed on her first Mother's Day, The Wife made a lamb-and-lentils recipe, and the resulting dish was actually quite tasty. NJ will need some more convincing, though.

Great Odin's raven!

You know, mixing this vile concoction with the plain yogurt, which I love, doesn't make it any better.

Admit it: You're flat-0ut torturing me so Dad Solo will have another excuse to post one of those dumb photo sequences of me making funny faces on the Internet. That's just lazy blogging right there. I'm so disappointed in you. And on Mother's Day even!

Eventually we moved on to plain yogurt, but there's lamb and lentils in the fridge and I'll be making another go of it later today.

UPDATE: NJ ate the lamb and lentils for lunch today, but only when it was slathered in yogurt. In fact, only yogurt could be visible on the spoon before she'd take it. Then there'd be a head shake and a stream of what sounded like Polish swearing. But: She ate it. So there, kid! So there.

NJ's Ever-Evolving Social Skills: A Case Study

How She Gets What She Wants
Something I learned this week: If you go into your favorite sports replica clothing store wearing a cute baby who's happy and joyfully smiling at everyone she comes into contact with, the charmed storekeepers are likely to give her a free Seattle Angels t-shirt that she'll be big enough to wear in about three years.

How She Ignores What She Doesn't Want
NJ quite obviously and wantonly humored her father yesterday, something I'm sure I'll see again and again for the rest of my days. We were sitting on the couch playing with one of her ring toss games, and I started talking about something I'd just seen on the Internet. I'm doing my best to ix-nay the baby talk, lest she grow up thinking "boo-pa-doo-ba-doo" is an actual greeting to be used in all of society. So after I talked about what I was talking about I poked her in the tummy lightly and said "Know what I mean, kid?" She'd been watching the dog, who was by the end of the sofa, and when I poked her she turned toward me and widened her eyes a bit -- as if she'd been busted in class for not paying attention. Then she nodded her head, uttered a sound that was about ninety percent of "Uh-huh" and flashed the fakest, most last-minute, half-hearted, half-smile I've ever seen. I was actually a little taken aback at how cavalierly she'd treated me as she went back to watching the dog. Then, to add insult to injury, she darted her eyes back toward me -- to see if I was still looking at her -- and, upon seeing that I was, she quickly turned away again and began playing with toys and uttering noises that sounded suspiciously like the "duh-ta-da-ta-da" humming people do in movies when they're being conspicuously inconspicuous. It was a little soul-crushing, but a few minutes later she'd forgotten that I'd bored her silly with info on that night's starting pitchers. Hooray for short baby attention spans. I'm dreading the day she learns how to roll her eyes dismissively, though.

Otherwise, it's been a pretty uneventful week here at Dad Solo HQ. We're gearing up for The Wife's first Mother's Day as an honoree, something I need to think about this afternoon. I told The Wife my original plans a couple of evenings ago, and her response was about as enthusiastic as NJ's reaction to Felix Hernandez's ERA.

When Dad's Head Weighs Forty Pounds

I've been sick all week. It started last Saturday with a very sore throat, which ebbed a bit the following day before hitting again on Monday with full force, along with a stuffed head and all the other bells and whistles that accompany a cold. It was so bad that The Wife worked from home yesterday so she could look after NJ and, to a lesser extent, me. I even had to skip going out to watch the NFL Draft with The Guys, something I've only been looking forward to since last April. (Longer, actually -- Dallas didn't have a first-round pick last year, so I was already anticipating this year's draft two years ago. But I digress.) After about 18 hours on the couch yesterday (the Draft, 'Blade Runner' on blu-ray, etc.), I seemed to have turned the corner and hopefully will be right again by the time the weekend starts this evening.

So with me lugging around what felt like a giant concrete head, hocking and nose-blowing and spitting all day, and slipping into the occasional Nyquil-induced funk, you may ask: How did things go with the kid? Things went fine. Monday and Tuesday went as per usual, and we even went for very long walk on Tuesday -- to the drugstore for throat lozenges. The bad day was Wednesday, when I was laid too low to do anything other than sit around. And NJ was a champ. She played with her bazillion toys and napped like a pro and didn't complain about anything, ever. Which leads me to the buried lead of this post:

At eight-plus months, NJ is a very happy baby.

Yesterday she started fussing and crying at about 5 p.m., and after a few minutes deliberation The Wife and I realized she didn't get a meal after her afternoon nap and was hungry. So she got a bottle, and I tried to think back to the last time she'd cried like that. And I couldn't remember. I can count on one hand the number of times she's woken up in the night crying. Putting her down for a nap, or at bedtime, used to mean enduring a five- or ten-minute temper-tantrum cry; now she hits the mattress and either goes to sleep or jibbers and jabbers to herself for a while until she's out. (The Thumb helps, too.) No crying on wake-up, either -- oh, perhaps a couple of baby shrieks, but once you're in the room you're greeted by a smile that'll melt your heart and put a cartoon bluebird on your shoulder. And yesterday, I was laying on the couch when I realized that I'd been hearing NJ laughing hard for a couple of minutes straight. I got up to find she and The Wife having a laugh-off at the high chair. The Wife was damned if she could tell me what started it. Organic laugh-offs are the best.

I could go on forever about this stuff, but if you want more Internet cheese I suggest you go here. I need to keep in mind the unwritten rule that hangs over this blog, which is that while all these things are new and wonderful to me, I'm late to the game and all parents have been there and done that. But mostly, I feel like I'm jinxing the whole thing by typing it out like this. So I'll end it here and go blow my nose.

Mother and Child Reunion

The Wife comes home tonight after leaving town Monday morning, and she's returning to a calm, peaceful household. NJ and I got along famously, adjusting our routines to account for her mother's absence. There are only two real changes: One is that NJ's evening bath/meal/bed routine is a little different because she finishes a bottle a lot faster than she nurses. The other, of course, is that I have to get up early, when NJ does, instead of relying on The Wife to do that and waking me later. A small sacrifice for the sake of the child's welfare, but make no mistake -- a small, happily made sacrifice is still a sacrifice.

The only threat of driving off the metaphorical cliff came Tuesday afternoon, when the kid awoke from her nap very early and threw a hysterical fit. It took about thirty minutes just to get her settled down. I don't know if she had the world's worst nightmare or if, despite there being no obvious visual evidence, teething has finally hit (seven and a half months and no teeth yet!) A little kitchen dancing soothed her, as did Dad Solo's singing. At last, I'm not the only person who appreciates -- or has even heard -- my Van Morrison impression.

Unfortunately for NJ, her mother won't be getting home until after her bedtime tonight. And unfortunately for The Wife, she won't be getting home until after NJ's bedtime tonight. So their reunion will have to take place tomorrow. It would be a lot of fun to watch, because NJ lights up like a Christmas tree when either one of us is gone for a while and then reappears. I'll miss that, though. I'm sleeping in.

NJ's David Lynch to My Warren Zevon

The Wife was out of town Tuesday night, and my second round of Super Soloing with NJ went well, up to a point -- that point being mid-afternoon Wednesday. That's when things turned a little bit David Lynchian. Odd, steady whimpering. Angry eating. Refusal to eat. Wild mood swings. Sweeping, seemingly arbitrary rejection of previously established norms. It only lasted about four hours, but it seemed like an eternity.

The face of cruel, unyielding defiance

Sure, there was a delightful moment in the midst of the Meltdown that involved fart noises, stomach-poking and infectious baby laughter (see: Wild mood swings, above), but overall it was like running clean for the first two-thirds of a NASCAR race before getting rammed and sliding around the oval for the rest of the race. By the end of it all I was happy to drive into a wall just to end it. That wall was The Wife, finally coming through the door. NJ was so happy to see her that I had a hard time convincing The Wife how bad it all was. Their reunion was sweet enough under normal circumstances; to me, The Wife's arrival was akin to that of a Marine kicking in the door and releasing the hostages.

A lot of it is her missing her mom, of course, and there's also a gradual weaning process in progress. ('Process in progress' -- say it five times, fast!) I think NJ's not too happy with gradual dominance of formula over breast milk, and I'm not sure I blame her because this formula stinks something terrible. Her formula burps are almost as bad as our dog's.

The other thing at play is NJ's recent realization that sometimes, when she's being put in her crib or on the floor mat on her own, she can elicit the beginnings of a crying jag and one of her parents will swoop in to her rescue, picking her back up and lavishing her with love and attention. I'm wise to this and have started to ignore it, so now there's the initial bleat of crying at being put down, then another as she realizes that the first bleat isn't bending me to her will. Then (I imagine) she sighs and shrugs her shoulders, because almost instantly she's shaking a rattle or batting a squeaky bird around. But I still think there's resentment there. It'll probably finally boil over when she's 35.

The weaning and the manipulation ("The Weaning and the Manipulation" -- isn't that an old Truffaut film?) have me a little worried about next week, when The Wife goes to New York City (the town so nice they named it twice -- the other name is "Manhattan") for four days. Call it Super Solo: Armageddon. If I haven't blogged my guts out after two days, pray to your god and send lawyers, guns and money.

Crib Notes

Three months ago we began the transition from the Moses basket in our bedroom to the crib in her room. Even with a highly sensitive baby monitor, it wasn't easy psychologically on The Wife. It went well, though -- the first two nights we visited her in the grand tradition of Dr. Richard Ferber, and after that she's slept like a ... hold on, wait for it ... like a baby. Since that first week, NJ has awakened and cried only three times (ironically, last night was one of them). We've heard tales of kids waking every two hours during their teething and growth spurts, but NJ hasn't sprouted a tooth yet and, while she's definitely growing, there hasn't been a spurt uncomfortable enough to set her wailing. The vast majority of the time, NJ"s sleeping from about 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. or later now.

A couple of weeks after that transition began, we decided to move her naps to the crib, too, and out of the basement, home of the swing and soothing rock music lullabies. How'd that go? Thanks for asking -- not too good. NJ pitched fits that would have made Dr. Ferber reach for the whiskey, cigarettes and Xanax after a few minutes. We felt like we were lucky that she was sleeping through the night, so we decided to cut our losses and return to the basement for naps for a while.

"A while" ended this week.

Her afternoon naps in her crib have been short -- half as long as a typical basement swing nap -- but she has, indeed, slept. The room has blackout shades that darken the room to the appropriate level, and I shut the door so no dog wanders into her room to see what's in her waste basket. I zip her up in her sleep sack, borrowing part of the evening routine in hopes of making it more soothing and familiar. On the monitor, I can hear her yammering softly to herself for a few minutes, then ... silence. Sleep. Sleep good. But when she wakes up, she screams and cries like it's the end of the world. It's excruciating -- the kind of crying that makes your shoulders involuntarily hunch and your eyes get as big as saucers. The room is plenty dark and there's no extra noise; I don't understand the difference between sleeping in there at night and during the day. Apparently, though, there is one. As soon as NJ learns to talk, I'm going to ask her what it is.

Once we nail this crib nap thing, we'll expand it and NJ will take her morning nap there as well. (The Wife could, theoretically, put her down right before she leaves for work, letting Dad Solo slumber peacefully until NJ wakes up again. In reality, this will never happen.) But it's going to be a long, loud road.