A Day In The Life

A typical day at Casa de Dad Solo, compressed to its 3-second essence.

Freedom Has A Scent, Like The Top Of A Newborn Baby's Head

I was a little surprised a few weeks ago when The Wife declared she was going to recruit my parents to babysit NJ. We had plans to attend a rock and roll show next month, put on by a little combo out of Ireland who call themselves U2. Not that the grandparents aren't willing to babysit, mind you, but they agreed to travel from Houston to Seattle to do it. So she called them, spoke on the phone for about 15 minutes in the kitchen, and came out declaring that they'd be here for a week. I thought it was a pretty spectacular feat at the time, but quickly realized that the folks will jump at any chance to see their granddaughter. They positively adore NJ and they haven't seen her since Christmas -- and, of course, she's a completely different person now.

Of course, U2 isn't coming since Bono had to have emergency back surgery. (You know you're getting old when a concert is postponed not because the star got busted for public intoxication or punching a cop, but because he threw out his back.) My parents are still coming, though, and that's great. My mother even offered to come back again whenever the show's rescheduled (that'll be in 2011, apparently). She laughed when I said that by then, NJ will be old enough to go with us -- after all, for months she fell asleep to the sweet lullaby sounds of the band -- but Mom sounded a little nervous so I assured her I was joking.

So: No U2, but babysitters. Of course, we can always pop a U2 DVD in the machine. I'm sure Mom and Dad will love that.

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 Curious Case Of The Bloody Baby

What's that, angel pie -- a little scar on your temple? Man, your mom needs to trim those fingernails!

Oh: There's the baby nail clipper, on the end table. I guess your mom trimmed your nails earlier today. Hey, is that another scar, on your cheek? It sure is red.

Jeez, another one? Three red scars on the right side of your face? That is so very, very weird.

Wait a second, that's not a scar. It wiped right off! Was that ... BLOOD?

None of these are scars, they're all blood smears. Holy cow!

Hey, what the -- your entire index finger is covered in blood! Man oh man. OK, don't panic. Where has that finger been ...

OHMYGOD! Your ear is a nasty, bloody mess! It looks like a pasta shell filled with tomato gravy! Did Mr. Blonde visit your crib when I was in the bathroom?

Dad Solo would have leaped into action if only he'd heard the tell-tale 'Stuck in the Middle With You.'

Let's clean that out with a baby wipe. How's that feel? Cool and moist, right? Man, this is a lot of blood.

Ah, there it is -- a pin-point nick inside the ear. It's producing a nice little bead of blood now. How'd that happen?

OK, the bleeding seems to have stopped. No, don't stick your finger back in there. Here, let's go eat some cereal puffs. And don't ever do that again. Whatever it was.

Funny How Time Slips Away

NJ had her 9-month checkup today -- 28 inches long, almost 22 pounds, and no shots this time -- and a little while ago the obvious dawned on me: she'll be a year old in three short months. Before Garrett Gilbert takes a snap as a starter, even. That is right around the friggin' corner.

Yikes.

A belated happy birthday to, as my Uncle Billy Clyde so astutely dubbed him, the King of Texas.