You wake up and turn your music player on. Somehow, you spend the next 40 minutes playing in your crib with your friends Lamby (#1), Raccoony Looney, Doggy, other Doggy, Beary, Bear Arguedas (new name), and two monkeys. You sing and point around the room.
You’ve been a good sport for long enough. Now it’s time for mom and dad to wake up and hang out.
Standing in your crib you try a variety of yells and shouts aimed toward the door. With the monitor sitting on mom’s bedside table, these shouts are highly effective. Mom and dad groan a little and mom heroically gets up and goes into your room, giving dad an extra 5 minutes.
When mom walks into your room, your eyes light up and you start pointing at things, like little marks in the walls. Mom showers you with greetings and kisses as you squirm around the crib. When dad comes to get you, you chuck yourself from one side of the crib to the other to avoid his grasp and the impending diaper change. It is hilarious.
Mom lifts you and gives you a hug before gently laying you down for your diaper change. She comments on what she finds in there because she is an expert, and because earlier in the week some rogue googling led your parents to suspect a case of hepatitis. That led to an emergency call to the doctor, who was less than pleased to return mom’s call at 9 pm to assure us it’s probably nothing. Google is bad for new parents.
Mom puts your diaper on with your “help,” which can include giving mom extra diapers and helping to take out wipes. You also declare the old diaper “trash!” and know where it needs to go. As mom picks out some warm gray sweatpants (it was zero outside when we woke up) and a long-sleeve t-shirt, you stand on the changing table and grab things from the high shelf. Lot of fun to be had with Q-tips.
Now that you’re dressed and mom has picked you up, you point to the door. You’re ready to go.
Mom brings you into the bedroom to say hi to dad. You continue to point to the stairs. Dad can wait.
Mom starts your breakfast, which includes an egg, an eggo, and some blueberries. Dad stumbles downstairs as you’re going into your breakfast chair, which is a cool attachment that hangs on to the breakfast table. You graduated from your high chair (read: you despise your high chair) this week, so it’s only the second morning that you’re sitting at the big table. You look like a big boy to us, two days after your first hair cut, kicking your legs and devouring your Eggo.
Jack, your dog, liked the high chair better. He had a better vantage point and more crumbs on the floor. With the new chair, Jack is forced to sit away from the table and whine and daydream about what used to be. You don’t seem to notice this yet because you don’t seem to feed Jack as much.
After cleaning up the dishes, mom and dad join you at the table with their breakfast of yogurt and fruit and a bagel with cream cheese that mom made for them. Mom is the best. You like all of those things, too, so you participate in their breakfast. You’re not sure about being restrained in any capacity, but you seem to concede that the breakfast table, and company while eating, is an upgrade. You see Jack outside of the window and acknowledge it by saying “Jack.”
You’re eating an epic breakfast. After finishing your food, you take down some bites of dad’s yogurt and fruit. Then you see dad settling down with his bagel and demand to get on his lap. Your first bite is a bad one because it’s too hot, and you make a “what is wrong with you?” face. Your second bite is just right. Dad has to hurry to earn a portion of the bagel in between your bigger and bigger bites.
You take the family into the living room, where you show off yesterday’s impressive block tower. Dad gets on the floor with you and hands you extra blocks, which you carefully place throughout the tower. You’re not interested in height so much as structural integrity, so you find gaps in the construction and try to plug the holes with new blocks. Dad thinks you’re smarter than him. Dad only builds up.
You demand that dad open one of your juice-squeeze thingees. It’s a gamble because you just ate a big breakfast, and once these are open they might go bad. But you insist, so dad unscrews the top and hands it to you. To your parents’ delight, you stop everything and focus on drinking the squeeze thingee. Dad brags about this to mom because it’s the little things.
While impersonating an angry, barking Jack at the top of the stairs, you remember how fun it is downstairs in the playroom. Dad heads down behind you to make sure you don’t fall – or if you do fall, that you don’t fall more than a couple of steps. Mom and dad think you are too good at stairs.
Now that you’re downstairs, you zero in on your favorite activity down there: dots. Mom bought you big dot-making markers in bright colors, and when mom or dad unscrews the tops, you can hammer the sheets of paper to create beautiful artwork. Experts (probably) call this dotilism. Your favorite color is either green or blue, although you know the word “purple” best of all. Yellow doesn’t really show up on the paper.
Yellow is the worst.
While you’re dotting, dad sneaks off to the corner to continue putting together the downstairs coffee table. This involves 4 screws and 5 minutes of work. Progress is slow. As soon as you notice that dad is playing with a screwdriver, you make your way to the table, grab the screwdriver, aim it at the screw, and start helping. But it’s hard to get the screwdriver into the screw, so you decide that instead of helping, you should make your way into the cabinet that you can close behind you. With the screwdriver.
Dad is done building.
Until dad has an idea, and gets you the new toy screwdriver you got from Grammy. Satisfied for a minute, dad is able to complete one screw. He is so happy.
Mom comes down and tells dad he can go upstairs to start his workday. Dad hangs around for a minute before going upstairs, where he makes a coffee and heads into the guest bedroom, steeling himself for the inevitable emails and phone calls ahead. He hears a “Dada” from downstairs and feels grateful that he is living most of his day-to-day life under the same roof as you and your mom.
We’re watching you grow up.