One of the most vital skills to master as a parent is the Holding Baby, Active Arm pose. This is where the child is held against you with one increasingly lactic-acid-laden arm, leaving the other arm free for action.
Ethan, regardless of the level of babyproofing here at the in-laws house, will find a way to subvert all safety measures. You will recall from last week that Ethan knows exactly which cabinets contain highly breakable or dangerous items. But even if Ethan isn't finding the Guillotine Cupboard, he's finding other things: a glass of water to soak the carpet and all furniture in a surprisingly large soak radius, a miniature dust+hair+old food living room tumbleweed that is as irresistible as several tons of plankton to a whale, magazines that apparently look far better trampled on the floor than arranged neatly on a table, or pretty much any object that he is just one precarious step away from falling onto, at best creating a hilarious story and at worst a life-altering injury that we will Always Regret.
Therefore, much of Ethan's time is spent being carried around. I took Ethan to the kitchen to get him some water, like a good father does. I spotted his durable-looking The Very Hungry Caterpillar cup that only comes as part of an expensive set which I am not mentioning for any foreshadowing purposes whatsoever and picked it up with my free hand. I have very successfully done tasks with my free hand whilst holding Ethan, from julienning carrots to boisterous badminton, so I had every right to assume that this simple operation would go as smoothly as the rest. I certainly did not anticipate that I would not so much pick up the cup as launch it across the kitchen. The cup entered into what is known as a Shattery Death Plummet, a well-documented scientific phenomenon wherein an object that you would have very much preferred stayed intact travels at such speed and trajectory that it very much does not. Yet, during the descent, time is altered in such a way that you can make one final memory of your object, intact, helpless to do anything else. The Very Hungry Caterpillar Cup That Only Comes As Part of an Expensive Set broke into 3 jagged pieces and now can be used as Ethan's first jigsaw puzzle, I argued ineffectually to Sara, who asked that I replace the set.
Thursday 15 November 2012
Thursday 8 November 2012
When Dolphins Sleep, It's Only With Half Their Brain
Ethan does not talk yet. He does, however, babble constantly and with great animation. I have maintained for some time now that he speaks fluent Baby but we are not evolved enough to understand. Baby - or as we pronounce it, Bebe - sounds like English, Hebrew and Arabic are duking it out for control of Ethan's vocal cords. Crisp, clear words like YEAH clash with HA-YEAH, where the HA is hacked up straight from the back of the throat like the Cutest Rabbi.
The following is an incomplete list of the verbal utterances that Ethan currently utters. They are presented to you entirely in caps because they are often shouted.
YEAH, and variants
Ethan says YEAH and OH YEAH and YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH. We don't know where he picked this up from, although it might have something to do with my practice sessions with Hello, my Yello cover band. (I just made a great reference.)
QUACKMMMMMM
This is the sound that a DuckCow makes. We have a book that has a cow and a duck on the same page and we got in the habit of doing the sounds for a duck followed by the sound for a cow, so now Ethan thinks that ducks say QuackMMMMM. It will be some years before I can tell Ethan the truth that we all know, that ducks are laughing condescendingly at us at all times, those malicious mallards.
DADA
This means: One of several dolls, any bearded man in real life or on television, 'I'm pleased!', 'I'm shouting DADA!' or Ethan's favorite 20th century art movement.
A DA!
Again! Things that are worthy of an A DA! are usually worthy of at least ten A DA!s. This plaudit was recently awarded to Sara's 'Flaily Flaily Flail!!!' which involves saying 'Flaily Flaily Flail!!' to Ethan, whilst flailing. Ethan finds this so funny that it's not enough to laugh, he also has to careen himself around his crib and stick his bottom in the air. This is probably why you've been seeing CIMMCSMBITA (Careening In My Metaphorical Crib Sticking My Butt In The Air) on your America Online chats lately.
DOUGH!
This is Ethan's way of saying no. Ethan uses this mostly in context but in two contrasting ways.
1) Ethan will use this to express his displeasure at something, such as being changed, being put into his pram, being taken out of his pram, being put into his car seat, being taken out of his car seat, being carried, being put down, being put to bed, being taken out of bed, being given a stuffed animal, having a stuffed animal taken away, having a coat put on, having a coat taken off, having shoes put on, having shoes taken off, or being presented with food that he likes most of the time but not this time because who knows maybe we are conspiring to poison him because we've finally found a market for human veal.
2) Ethan will say this for us to save us time when he's done something he knows we don't like. Case in point - the two cabinets in what is called The Morning Room. Given that the sun comes up on the other side of the house, this room should more accurately be called The Room Where We Eat In A Poorly-Lit Alcove Some Of The Time And Where There Are Many Trinkets (Especially Thimbles) And Also Where Laundry Hangs From Wooden Beams In The Ceiling And Also Where Christmas Decorations Are Stored And Also Where Some Mail Has Been Bunched Up For A Long Time And Should Probably Be Examined In Case It Is Important And Also Where There Is A Photograph Of A Bunny (Hare?) In A Field That Is Looking At You With A Disconcerting Level of Agression and Also Where Opposite That Photograph Is Another Photograph of Two Tiny Birds At The End Of A Branch Where The One Bird Which Either Has Red Plumage On Its Head Or Has Been Scalped (I Doubt This Happens In Birdlandia Which Is Where All Birds Think They Live) Is Puffed Up And Ready To Fight This Other Bird Who Looks Like He Just Wanted To Hang Out On A Branch For Like Two Seconds, GEEZ. Within both of these unsecured cabinets is glassware intended for fine spirits and wine. These glasses are pretty, but they appear to be made with great fragility, to the point where I believe if you poured out your fine spirit from more than 5 inches, the glass would shatter into sparkly, lung-lacerating dust. We have told Ethan approaching 8,000 times 'No' when he approaches these cabinets. Ethan now considers this part of the process of opening these cabinets. He opens, says DOUGH, and grins at us with great cheek.
---
Regarding Ethan's sleep habits:
The day after I posted my tirade against Ethan's waking habits, Ethan really went for it and woke up at 3am. I don't know if you know this, but no one is awake at 3am. People on the night shift? Sleeping. By 4am, they're awake. I guess I'm saying, don't have surgery at 3am. Have it at 4am. Ethan is not aware of this rule. He got up for the day at 3am. He made sure everyone in the house knew it which I felt incredibly guilty about. Do you even know how much I hate waking people up? It's the worst. I'd rather be caught stealing your underwear with my face than wake you up. So here's this uncontrollable human klaxon, evolutionarily designed to have a voice that cuts through walls and doors like so many shrill sledgehammers, waking absolutely everyone up. Waking them up So Hard!
I said to myself, this is the pattern. He slept until 7. Then 5. Now 3. Will it be 1am next?
YES IT WAS. 1 goddamn 30 in the goddamn next morning. This time, I SHUSHed him successfully. But this could continue. Will Ethan evolve out of sleep? Will it be 11, then 9, then when we put him down to bed at 7 will he immediately spring back to life at 7:01, demanding milk and playtime? Will he enter Dolphin Sleep?!
The following is an incomplete list of the verbal utterances that Ethan currently utters. They are presented to you entirely in caps because they are often shouted.
YEAH, and variants
Ethan says YEAH and OH YEAH and YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH. We don't know where he picked this up from, although it might have something to do with my practice sessions with Hello, my Yello cover band. (I just made a great reference.)
QUACKMMMMMM
This is the sound that a DuckCow makes. We have a book that has a cow and a duck on the same page and we got in the habit of doing the sounds for a duck followed by the sound for a cow, so now Ethan thinks that ducks say QuackMMMMM. It will be some years before I can tell Ethan the truth that we all know, that ducks are laughing condescendingly at us at all times, those malicious mallards.
DADA
This means: One of several dolls, any bearded man in real life or on television, 'I'm pleased!', 'I'm shouting DADA!' or Ethan's favorite 20th century art movement.
A DA!
Again! Things that are worthy of an A DA! are usually worthy of at least ten A DA!s. This plaudit was recently awarded to Sara's 'Flaily Flaily Flail!!!' which involves saying 'Flaily Flaily Flail!!' to Ethan, whilst flailing. Ethan finds this so funny that it's not enough to laugh, he also has to careen himself around his crib and stick his bottom in the air. This is probably why you've been seeing CIMMCSMBITA (Careening In My Metaphorical Crib Sticking My Butt In The Air) on your America Online chats lately.
DOUGH!
This is Ethan's way of saying no. Ethan uses this mostly in context but in two contrasting ways.
1) Ethan will use this to express his displeasure at something, such as being changed, being put into his pram, being taken out of his pram, being put into his car seat, being taken out of his car seat, being carried, being put down, being put to bed, being taken out of bed, being given a stuffed animal, having a stuffed animal taken away, having a coat put on, having a coat taken off, having shoes put on, having shoes taken off, or being presented with food that he likes most of the time but not this time because who knows maybe we are conspiring to poison him because we've finally found a market for human veal.
2) Ethan will say this for us to save us time when he's done something he knows we don't like. Case in point - the two cabinets in what is called The Morning Room. Given that the sun comes up on the other side of the house, this room should more accurately be called The Room Where We Eat In A Poorly-Lit Alcove Some Of The Time And Where There Are Many Trinkets (Especially Thimbles) And Also Where Laundry Hangs From Wooden Beams In The Ceiling And Also Where Christmas Decorations Are Stored And Also Where Some Mail Has Been Bunched Up For A Long Time And Should Probably Be Examined In Case It Is Important And Also Where There Is A Photograph Of A Bunny (Hare?) In A Field That Is Looking At You With A Disconcerting Level of Agression and Also Where Opposite That Photograph Is Another Photograph of Two Tiny Birds At The End Of A Branch Where The One Bird Which Either Has Red Plumage On Its Head Or Has Been Scalped (I Doubt This Happens In Birdlandia Which Is Where All Birds Think They Live) Is Puffed Up And Ready To Fight This Other Bird Who Looks Like He Just Wanted To Hang Out On A Branch For Like Two Seconds, GEEZ. Within both of these unsecured cabinets is glassware intended for fine spirits and wine. These glasses are pretty, but they appear to be made with great fragility, to the point where I believe if you poured out your fine spirit from more than 5 inches, the glass would shatter into sparkly, lung-lacerating dust. We have told Ethan approaching 8,000 times 'No' when he approaches these cabinets. Ethan now considers this part of the process of opening these cabinets. He opens, says DOUGH, and grins at us with great cheek.
---
Regarding Ethan's sleep habits:
The day after I posted my tirade against Ethan's waking habits, Ethan really went for it and woke up at 3am. I don't know if you know this, but no one is awake at 3am. People on the night shift? Sleeping. By 4am, they're awake. I guess I'm saying, don't have surgery at 3am. Have it at 4am. Ethan is not aware of this rule. He got up for the day at 3am. He made sure everyone in the house knew it which I felt incredibly guilty about. Do you even know how much I hate waking people up? It's the worst. I'd rather be caught stealing your underwear with my face than wake you up. So here's this uncontrollable human klaxon, evolutionarily designed to have a voice that cuts through walls and doors like so many shrill sledgehammers, waking absolutely everyone up. Waking them up So Hard!
I said to myself, this is the pattern. He slept until 7. Then 5. Now 3. Will it be 1am next?
YES IT WAS. 1 goddamn 30 in the goddamn next morning. This time, I SHUSHed him successfully. But this could continue. Will Ethan evolve out of sleep? Will it be 11, then 9, then when we put him down to bed at 7 will he immediately spring back to life at 7:01, demanding milk and playtime? Will he enter Dolphin Sleep?!
Thursday 1 November 2012
Theeeeeeeeeeeese fooolish gaaaaaaaaames
There are things that I expect to happen at 4:45 in the morning. I expect that I will be awake, my body instinctively knowing that my alarm is about to go off in 20 minutes, so what's the point of falling asleep? Could something be happening on Twitter or on my email at that very second? Shouldn't I check it? But won't it be bright and hurt my eyes? Maybe I better not check it. Let me lie on my other side. Oh God, my fat thighs are radiating directly on to each other and it's so uncomfortable. On my back? Why am I breathing funny on my back? Should I see a specialist? Should I breathe through my nose more consciously? I should get back into that meditation CD I have, the one for ADD. Do I remember right that it helped bowlers, but the British kind, not the big ball kind. I watched bowling once and it seemed like grassy shuffleboard had a baby with curling.
I expect to be running through all these thoughts until my alarm goes off. My hand will fly to it, shutting it down immediately, lest I wake 18-month old Ethan up who sleeps in the room with me. I expect that he will remain asleep and I will stealthily sneak out and down the stairs of my in-laws house and into the kitchen, where I will very slowly and confusedly prepare breakfast and then eat that breakfast in peace with no one else around.
I don't expect Ethan to be up at 4:50am, barreling toward a Milk Rage. This is what happened today. This is what happened yesterday. This will happen every day for the rest of time, right? Do I have to wake at 4am? At 3? I just want to have breakfast and The Daily Show. I am a simple man with simple needs, despite my preference for dark chocolate made exclusively by men with overwhelming, lush beards.
When Ethan started crying for milk that early, I got down to the side of the crib and I stared at my child in the dark, saying things like ssssshhhh and ssssssssshhhHHHH and SSSSSSHHHHH and FOR GOD SAKE SSSSSSHHHHHHH and 'What's happened?!' and 'Come on!' and 'But, Jon Stewart!' and 'Go back to sleep' and 'Ethan. Ethan! Ethan no. Ethan stop this! Ethan....SSSSSHHHH.' Ethan's response was to cry in a more determined, higher-pitched shriek, punctuated by emphysema coughs, combined with the sign language that he learned for milk, which is squeezing a cow teat over and over again.
I said to Ethan, defeated, 'Okay Ethan, let's go downstairs and get your milk.' I lifted him out of the crib and took him to see Sara. Sara was already up, probably since 3am, because her pregnant body has turned her body clock into a melted Dali shambles. I pointed at Ethan as if to say, 'Can you believe this jerk? Look at him. I know we love him, but at what cost, Sara? At what cost?'
Ethan Teat Squeezed, coughed, cried and flopped down horizontally, an annoying senseless habit that would send him plummeting to earth several times a day if I didn't stop him with my Father Strength. I save his life dozens of times a month. And what thanks do I get? A milk-ravenous fiend interrupting my sacred breakfast time. And when he's older he'll probably want pants.
Downstairs, I prepared his bottle. I explained to him that his bottle at the present moment is too hot, but in a very soon future moment, it will be Just Right, at which point I will give it to him. However, Ethan had Helen Kellered himself, having scrunched his face into a desperate, red mask of pained exasperation whilst suppressing any calming words from DaDa with nonstop screaming. Finally, the bottle was indeed Just Right. It was my intention to take him up stairs to let Sara feed him but Ethan continued to screech, aware the bottle was there and that it wasn't securely in his baby mouth. I had no choice but to feed him on the go, like an uncomprehending lamb, all the way up the stairs until he was with Sara.
And yet we love him. He does a giggle or some new sound and things like this fall down the memory hole or become hilarious, to the point that we're having another one. It's insanity. It's awesome, maddening, addictive insanity.
I expect to be running through all these thoughts until my alarm goes off. My hand will fly to it, shutting it down immediately, lest I wake 18-month old Ethan up who sleeps in the room with me. I expect that he will remain asleep and I will stealthily sneak out and down the stairs of my in-laws house and into the kitchen, where I will very slowly and confusedly prepare breakfast and then eat that breakfast in peace with no one else around.
I don't expect Ethan to be up at 4:50am, barreling toward a Milk Rage. This is what happened today. This is what happened yesterday. This will happen every day for the rest of time, right? Do I have to wake at 4am? At 3? I just want to have breakfast and The Daily Show. I am a simple man with simple needs, despite my preference for dark chocolate made exclusively by men with overwhelming, lush beards.
When Ethan started crying for milk that early, I got down to the side of the crib and I stared at my child in the dark, saying things like ssssshhhh and ssssssssshhhHHHH and SSSSSSHHHHH and FOR GOD SAKE SSSSSSHHHHHHH and 'What's happened?!' and 'Come on!' and 'But, Jon Stewart!' and 'Go back to sleep' and 'Ethan. Ethan! Ethan no. Ethan stop this! Ethan....SSSSSHHHH.' Ethan's response was to cry in a more determined, higher-pitched shriek, punctuated by emphysema coughs, combined with the sign language that he learned for milk, which is squeezing a cow teat over and over again.
I said to Ethan, defeated, 'Okay Ethan, let's go downstairs and get your milk.' I lifted him out of the crib and took him to see Sara. Sara was already up, probably since 3am, because her pregnant body has turned her body clock into a melted Dali shambles. I pointed at Ethan as if to say, 'Can you believe this jerk? Look at him. I know we love him, but at what cost, Sara? At what cost?'
Ethan Teat Squeezed, coughed, cried and flopped down horizontally, an annoying senseless habit that would send him plummeting to earth several times a day if I didn't stop him with my Father Strength. I save his life dozens of times a month. And what thanks do I get? A milk-ravenous fiend interrupting my sacred breakfast time. And when he's older he'll probably want pants.
Downstairs, I prepared his bottle. I explained to him that his bottle at the present moment is too hot, but in a very soon future moment, it will be Just Right, at which point I will give it to him. However, Ethan had Helen Kellered himself, having scrunched his face into a desperate, red mask of pained exasperation whilst suppressing any calming words from DaDa with nonstop screaming. Finally, the bottle was indeed Just Right. It was my intention to take him up stairs to let Sara feed him but Ethan continued to screech, aware the bottle was there and that it wasn't securely in his baby mouth. I had no choice but to feed him on the go, like an uncomprehending lamb, all the way up the stairs until he was with Sara.
And yet we love him. He does a giggle or some new sound and things like this fall down the memory hole or become hilarious, to the point that we're having another one. It's insanity. It's awesome, maddening, addictive insanity.
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