Momma: It looks like a little tractor.

Bean: Loader, actually.

(pause)

Momma: What did you say?

Bean: I say ‘loader.’ Carter say ‘LOADER,’ Momma!

Thank you, Maga and Michael!! We had a wonderful time!

Maybe the giant horse at the sculpture park shook something loose in that little brain, because yesterday, he spontaneously started counting to 9. He’s been counting 1, 2, 3 as part of learning to hop without falling down, so apparently, when he graduated to jumping down from his stool a higher number was required:

“Juan, two, flea, four, fife, six, seben, eight, noyne, JUMP!”

Dave and I dropped him off at Gramma and Papa’s house to go to the hockey game (and for anyone who experienced the weather that night – don’t get me started on whether or not THAT was a good idea). He basically ignored us when we left, so I was the only one who cried – yea, me. Then, despite a good deal of pointless concern, he went to sleep at bedtime with minimal fuss and slept his usual 12 hours. He napped on Wednesday afternoon, just like (or perhaps even better than) he does at home and was well-rested and charming for the festivities on Christmas Eve. We had a wonderful time, even though he wasn’t really that interested in opening presents, and he went to bed like an angel when we got home three hours after bedtime. He even did me the courtesy of waking up and calling for me a couple of hours later, just so I’d know that he did miss me after all.

Dave and I haven’t had a date (a sans-baby date, that is) in … well, a long time, and I’d actually forgotten how much I love going to the hockey game with him. I looked forward to the date (and – trust me – sleeping in the next morning) for weeks, but it was so much harder to walk away than I thought it was going to be! Don’t even know what I was so worried about, just this vague thought that I was abandoning him, that he might need me and I wouldn’t be there. Not so. My little boy is not afraid of anything, and I should have known that he was going to be fine. But it wasn’t just being worried about him. I missed him. Our house was too quiet and empty without him, even during the hours that he would normally have been sleeping. Sure, it was nice to sleep in (and I slept more deeply that I have in the past year and a half) and drink coffee that was actually hot in the morning, but there was definitely something missing from my life.

And the same breath – I’m not going to lie – I really needed a break. As much as I love being a parent – and believe me, I really do – it is a FULL-time gig, and I don’t know how anyone does it without being able to set that responsibility down for a minute from time to time. It’s been a rough year, and I … it was good. I am beyond grateful that Dave and I have parents who are so willing to help out when we need it; okay, so Papa’s motivations are purely selfish, but that works to our advantage too.

Mostly I’m just unspeakably proud of my little one for taking everything in stride. I learn a lot from him.

who’s who in this word game?
Daddy Mama Papa Gramma Maga Boz Chelsea Animal Bert Ernie Elmo Oscar Pooh

and the all-important onomonopeia
brrm-brrm (car)
c-c-c-c, toot-toot (train)
bwee (wagon)
whrr-whrr-whrr (cement mixer)
wee-oo, wee-oo (fire truck)
rowr (tiger or lion)
ooh, ooh (monkey)
meow (cat)
ru-ru (dog)
bak-bak (chicken)
mack-mack (duck)
honk (geese)
mo-mo (cow)
bit (frog – short for ribbit)
doh-doh (turtle – it’s a long story)
sss-sss (snake … or sometimes Ernie laughing)
who-who (owl)
caw (crow, or birds in general)
arf-arf (seal)
rowr-rowr (crab or general monstery things)
dzzzz (bee)
*snort* (pig or sleep, depending on context)
*sniff* (bunny)
*tongue flicking* (lizard)
*maniacal laughter* (horse, goat or sheep)
*blowing* (elephant or hot, depending on context)
*lip smacking* (fish)
*chewing motions* (panda – again, long story)
*kiss*

my personal favorite is “oh, no!” anytime anything is on the floor, but most vehemently when it’s something he’s just thrown on the floor on purpose.

If you love Firefly like I love Firefly (and if you don’t know Firefly, shame on you!), watch it for Nathan Fillion – he’s deliciously smarmy and despicable. If you are a fan of Doogie Howser (or not, whatever), watch it for Neil Patrick Harris, who is nothing short of brilliant. If you’re one of those psychotic Joss Whedon fans (which I am NOT – sorry) … well, then you probably knew about this long before I did, so never mind. Watch it because it’s part of an important movement in intellectual property rights and freedom on the internet. I don’t care. Just watch it – it’s good and it will make you laugh. And we could all use more of that these days.

It’s available to view free online at DrHorrible.com. Better yet, fork over the $6 to buy it at the iTunes Store and help fund the future of unfettered creativity.

Okay, climbing off my soapbox now.

Just as I take him, already almost asleep, into his room to rock for bed, suddenly, he, I and about half of his carpet had been anointed. My cat-like reflexes and killer new mom instinct led me to freeze, staring at my puke-soaked shoulder in horror thinking, “What do I do now?” In my addled state, I even considered going on with the routine like nothing had happened, even though I was standing in – and dripping into – a literal puddle and the smell was nauseating. It wasn’t until Bean started to put his head back down on my previously mentioned shoulder that I was stirred to action.

There was crying – Bean did NOT want to interrupt bedtime routine to clean his carpet and was very angry about being changed into clean PJs – but we got through it. His room even smelled relatively acceptable by the time I got him to sleep. Whew!

hideous and demoralizing, but normal
Bean started sleeping through the night – 12 hours, like clockwork – when he was 3 months old. I would guess less than two months later, I was rocking him at bedtime, then laying him down still awake and listening to him coo and babble himself to sleep more often than not. In the morning, he woke up between 7 and 8 AM, called for me sweetly and smiled at me as soon as he saw me. I’m not exaggerating or idealizing here – he was really that easy.
Then, about a month ago, he started waking up crying about an hour after bedtime a couple nights a week. No problem, just rock him back to sleep. Then, he started waking up again at 11:30, almost on the dot. Then, he started waking up EVERY night at 11:30 PM and 2:30 AM and sometimes took up to 2 hours to get him back to sleep. Unless he was sound asleep, even attempting to lay him back down in his crib started him sobbing like his heart was broken. Then he started refusing to go to sleep at bedtime – clearly exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. Add to this that he’d just started pulling up and then even getting him to stay lying down was a challenge. As soon as it was clear that this was becoming a pattern, I immediately concluded that I was reinforcing this somehow – why else would he be suddenly fighting sleep like this unless I was somehow encouraging it? At Bean’s 9 month checkup, the pediatrician said we should start trying to sooth him without picking him up; this reinforced my feeling that this was my fault, that I had somehow ruined my son’s ability to sleep through the night by rocking him back to sleep when he cried in the night.
What To Expect In The First Year is always the first book I go to; their advice was that at this age, “Your best bet … might be to try to stay away entirely while he gets himself back into the habit of going to sleep on his own.” Not convinced, I broke out Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Child, a book that I’d avoided after the reading the first chapter; all the assertions that my child would be permanently damaged if I didn’t instill good sleep habits kinda freaked me out. But I was at a total loss. This book reassured me that babies need to cry sometimes, that there is absolutely no harm in letting a child cry as long as you know that he is safe and not in need of, say, sustenance or a diaper change, and that the best way to help a child learn to fall asleep on his own is to let him cry until he does. It sounded reasonable. I wanted to do the right thing, be a good parent. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I was going to be firm, for Bean’s sake.
It lasted one night. At bedtime, he cried for 3 hours before I finally couldn’t take it anymore and went in to rock him. He was asleep almost as soon as I picked him up. When he woke up again at 2:30, we checked on him and started the process again. Another 2 hours, and then Dave couldn’t take it. It was horrible. This happened 3 or 4 weeks ago, and it still brings tears to my eyes thinking about it. He was hoarse for a week after. We didn’t even need to talk about it: we were never doing that EVER again.
Enter the magic of the internet. I did a search for “9 month sleep disturbance” and got, I don’t know, about a zillion returns for “9 month sleep regression.” Neither of the books that suggested letting your child “just cry it out” mentioned that it is a very common and perfectly normal for 9 month olds to have sleep disturbances for a wide variety of developmental reasons, and that they often resolve themselves spontaneously without any sleep training whatsoever. And I found this: “Here are the important things to remember: Lots of us have been through it. You will get through it. There is nothing inherently wrong with your child – this is normal. Hideous and demoralizing, but normal. You’re doing a good job.” And page after page of exhausted parents saying: Do whatever you have to do so that everybody gets as much sleep as possible. WHATEVER it takes. This too shall pass.
Now, I don’t know who this Ask Moxie person is, and I don’t much care. All I know is that those five words reassured me and kept me sane during those 3 or 4 weeks that we spent sitting next to Bean’s crib 2 or 3 times each night until he fell asleep. It was the only thing that worked. I would go through bedtime routine and then sit on the floor in his room until he started to snore. If my knee cracked getting up or the door creaked on my way out, he was up like a shot, and we started over at the beginning. When I finally got out of his room, I went straight to bed. Dave took the 11:30PM shift; 2:30AM was a toss-up – whoever was up for it. And then, one night, he didn’t wake up at 2:30AM. And again the next night. It was another week or so before he was back to falling asleep on his own at bedtime (or maybe I was just too paranoid to walk out and let him try), but he’s suddenly right back where he started. And as far as I can tell, I had nothing to do with it.

point & shriek
Communication advances on a daily basis. We haven’t progressed much farther than “na-na” on the word front, but “na-na” has expanded to encompass nourishment in all forms and clearly translates to “more comma faster!” “Da-da” is screamed in delight whenever Dave appears; Dave’s favorite time for this is first thing in the morning while he’s still in bed, sometimes before his eyes are technically open, ideally as Bean crawls on his face. “Da-da” is also enthusiastically used whenever anyone (like, I don’t know, me) tries to encourage Bean to say “mama.” I got one day of “mama” on, of course, Mothers’ Day, and I don’t think I’ve heard him make an “m” sound since. He will faithfully try to reproduce any sound I make – including “yucky,” which came out “yagi” – but when I say “mama,” he yells “da-da” and grins. Tell me he’s not just screwing with my head.
He has a distinct sound for each of the cats, both of which can only be uttered at top volume and – I think – mean “come here immediately so I can put my finger in your eye.” But the biggest leap in communication has been pointing, which he does with abandon. Dinnertime suddenly got a lot more fun when I could give him choices, and he could tell me what he wanted. This weekend, he even chose grapes and cheese over banana! He can tell me where he wants to go or that he hears a bird outside (this currently fascinates him almost as much as cars driving by the house) or that he wants me to move the magnets on the fridge down where he can reach them. Come to think of it, everything got a lot more fun when it became a conversation.

faster than the eye can see
And, yes, he’s walking. Actually walking. When did this happen? I wish that I’d been good mommy and marked the occasion of his first tentative steps. He started pulling up on the coffee table over a month ago. Then cruising around the coffee table. Then pulling up on anything that would hold still long enough. Bath time is still an exercise in how many times I can patiently say, “Sit down, please.” Now he can brace himself on flat surfaces (like a wall) and get to his feet that way. This past weekend, I sat on the couch and watched him walk hands-free from the door of his room to the end of the couch; the linoleum-to-carpet transition didn’t even faze him. Other firsts for the weekend included climbing the steps the to back door holding only one mama finger and deliberately cruising over to me, grabbing my finger and walking away like “we’re going for a walk now” (always before I’ve had to offer him my hand, never had him ask – or in this case demand – it).
He is endlessly fascinated by putting things inside other things. It started with putting little plastic people into his cup in the bathtub – put it in, pull it out, put it in, pull it out – for what seemed like hours. Now, his coordination is good enough to put the cylinder from his wooden block set through the ring. I could watch him do that literally for hours it’s so beautiful; he’s so completely absorbed in the process of getting the blocks lined up perfectly. We’re even starting to be able to work the shape sorter … kinda. He has to be in the mood to sit still (good luck with THAT), and I usually have to point to the shape for him, but he’s crazy good at lining the blocks up.
We also made it through several meals this weekend that involved Bean eating from a bowl. No utensils yet, and I have to monitor pretty closely how much he shoves into his mouth at one time, but he didn’t turn the bowl over or throw it on the floor. At least until after he’d eaten all of the watermelon/cantelope/grapes that were in it. He’s traded morning nap in bed with Dave in favor of one long afternoon nap in his crib, so we all started to have breakfast together during Dave’s vacation (seriously, Dave took a WHOLE WEEK off work … unfortunately, it was so I could work 12 hours a day for a week); we had scrambled eggs with sausage and pancakes and homemade waffles and yogurt … but not all on the same day. Watching my boys share French toast this morning was the best possible way to start the day.

That’s almost certainly not everything, but it’s all I have in my brain right now and I’ve delayed MY bedtime far too long. So I’ll sign off with a promise to myself that from now on whenever Bean gives me that amazing “did he really just do that?” jolt, I will post it that day it so I don’t have to wish I’d marked the occasion after it’s gotten all vague and fuzzy.

… NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA!!

Baby’s first word? I’m not sure. But he knows that he likes them, and he would eat them at every meal if we let him. So I’m gonna go on record with “banana.”

And then, Bean breaks out in hives yesterday morning for no apparent reason. Dave and I wracked our brains to think of new foods, new soap, new clothes … but nothing. We even brought all our own food from home for the trip. Of course, the hives disappeared by the time we got in to see our pediatrician, who spent 5 minutes with us and basically said, “These things happen,” before sending us on our way. Alls well, right? Not so much. Bean woke up at 2AM last night with hives AND a 101 degree fever. Gave him Benadryl, and he went back to sleep. No hives this morning, but a low grade fever that went away shortly after he got up. Fine for most of the day, but he woke up from his afternoon nap with a temp of 103. His fever started falling almost immediately, but he was still warm when I put him to bed. He’s a little cranky and very tired last couple of days, but no other symptoms. I’ve been vaguely queasy all day, and Dave started having dizzy spells right before he left for work. We’re all just a mess.