Paxton, having a ball.
Baby in motion.
Hanging at the library.
Storytime fun.Friday, February 27, 2009
He's very big at sticking his tongue out lately. Not for any reason. Just as a weird aside when he's concentrating. The problem is, he concentrates a lot lately.
Paxton has been putting his toys in the bed of this train a lot. But not just his toys. Yesterday, I found the dog bone and the remote control in there, as well. He's hoarding all of our special items.
He took a break to see what was happening on The Real World. He likes Chet.
He happily plays with dog bones. 
Ah, carcasses.The Family that Plays Together, Stays Together
Darn. I just tried to post a long blog update and it was lost in the process. Any number of curse words come to mind, but I used most of them this morning when I was stuck behind a line of slow cars on my way to story time at the library, running 15 minutes late. I don't like to repeat myself, so I'll spare you.
I'm having a short temper kind of day today. I usually feel that way when I'm trying to squeeze too much into too little time. This morning, I had to rush out of the house to do two jobs and make it back in time to dress Paxton and rush out again for the aforementioned story time in San Marcos. Chris is off work today, so he's been equal parts helpful and the unlucky sucker who is caught in my crossfires. While I did my jobs this morning, he played with Paxton and made him breakfast. That was a great help, but I rushed into the house with five minutes to go before we had to leave. Chris is a turtle to my hare. In the story, the turtle wins the race. The turtle is the good guy and the hare is the egocentric villian who is a little too big for his britches. That sounds about right. But his slow-moving ways still make me pull my hair out when we're running late.
Paxton was due for his nap by the time we got to the library. He was playing shy and leaning his body against mine while he investigated the dozens of kids scattered around. While Miss Ashley read stories to everyone, Paxton pulled at my shirt demanding "Nin-Nin!". For those not in the loop, that's his invented term for nursing. He's said it for as long as he could make sounds. And it's always been in a bossy and demanding way. Now, not only does he command me to produce the Nin, but he points to him mouth repeatedly, his version of the sign for "eat". While I can ignore the tugs at my shirt, it's impossible to turn away from my little guy telling me in no uncertain terms that he's hungry.
This is a new 'trick' of his. He points at his mouth with great emotion when he's hungry. The other day, he ran to the pantry, slapped it, and pointed to his mouth. If we're in a restaurant and the food is taking too long to arrive, he looks at the waiter walking past and points to his mouth. He's even been known to walk up to a stranger and point to his mouth. No mistaking what that means. I'm trying to teach him the sign for "cracker", but it's a little complicated. He already knows the sign for "cheese", but he's burned out on it, so does not ask for it as much as he used to. He knows the sign for "milk", but only as it applies to nursing. I'm also trying to teach him the sign for "water", so he can let us know when he's thirsty. He's a little sponge when it comes to sign language, so we're learning about five new signs every two weeks. It's as fun for me as it is for him.
We're taking him to the Kite Festival in Zilker Park on Sunday. This is a favorite event for both Chris and me. We're excited to share the magic of a sky filled with kites with our little guy. I have no doubt that he'll be in heaven. Even when he spots a bird far away in the sky, he is quick to point it out with an eager "oooooh". Hundreds of kites circling above should blow his mind.
I sure hope this posts. I wrote nothing in this second attempt that was intended for the first. Oh, well. It's all about the boy, so that's good enough for me.
I'm having a short temper kind of day today. I usually feel that way when I'm trying to squeeze too much into too little time. This morning, I had to rush out of the house to do two jobs and make it back in time to dress Paxton and rush out again for the aforementioned story time in San Marcos. Chris is off work today, so he's been equal parts helpful and the unlucky sucker who is caught in my crossfires. While I did my jobs this morning, he played with Paxton and made him breakfast. That was a great help, but I rushed into the house with five minutes to go before we had to leave. Chris is a turtle to my hare. In the story, the turtle wins the race. The turtle is the good guy and the hare is the egocentric villian who is a little too big for his britches. That sounds about right. But his slow-moving ways still make me pull my hair out when we're running late.
Paxton was due for his nap by the time we got to the library. He was playing shy and leaning his body against mine while he investigated the dozens of kids scattered around. While Miss Ashley read stories to everyone, Paxton pulled at my shirt demanding "Nin-Nin!". For those not in the loop, that's his invented term for nursing. He's said it for as long as he could make sounds. And it's always been in a bossy and demanding way. Now, not only does he command me to produce the Nin, but he points to him mouth repeatedly, his version of the sign for "eat". While I can ignore the tugs at my shirt, it's impossible to turn away from my little guy telling me in no uncertain terms that he's hungry.
This is a new 'trick' of his. He points at his mouth with great emotion when he's hungry. The other day, he ran to the pantry, slapped it, and pointed to his mouth. If we're in a restaurant and the food is taking too long to arrive, he looks at the waiter walking past and points to his mouth. He's even been known to walk up to a stranger and point to his mouth. No mistaking what that means. I'm trying to teach him the sign for "cracker", but it's a little complicated. He already knows the sign for "cheese", but he's burned out on it, so does not ask for it as much as he used to. He knows the sign for "milk", but only as it applies to nursing. I'm also trying to teach him the sign for "water", so he can let us know when he's thirsty. He's a little sponge when it comes to sign language, so we're learning about five new signs every two weeks. It's as fun for me as it is for him.
We're taking him to the Kite Festival in Zilker Park on Sunday. This is a favorite event for both Chris and me. We're excited to share the magic of a sky filled with kites with our little guy. I have no doubt that he'll be in heaven. Even when he spots a bird far away in the sky, he is quick to point it out with an eager "oooooh". Hundreds of kites circling above should blow his mind.
I sure hope this posts. I wrote nothing in this second attempt that was intended for the first. Oh, well. It's all about the boy, so that's good enough for me.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
My son, walking in his pajamas to the street in front of our house while I just snap a pic. Luckily, few cars traverse our street.
Paxton and Tatum at a playdate at Tatum's house. She's the only girl in our "posse" and she likes to kiss the boys. I love her!
Making Valentines for Tizzy and Daddy.
He colors very lightly, but it's a big step up from eating the crayons.Don't Trust the Applesauce
Paxton does so many things now that my head spins, trying to remember what is new and what has just improved from the past. Right now, he's playing with one of his Hot Wheels on the floor, making the "brrrrrrruuum" truck noise that boys inherently know. I've suspected this for a lifetime. When I make truck noises, they sound much like a cartoon word would convey. "Beep, beep! Vroom!" Paxton is 14-months-old and he's already making realistic sound effects. I always tried to mimic them from my big brother when I was a kid, but I'm convinced that a woman's mouth just isn't physiologically capable of making those sounds.
And now he has wandered into the living room with a drum stick (courtesy of Dada) and he's telling me to throw my hands in the air. That one bit of real power in music class made an eternal impression. He's forever guiding us when is the right time to throw our hands in the air.
After two weekend nights of coughing in his sleep so much that he could only moan forlornly when between bouts, we took him to the doctor on President's Day. Our usual doctor was out, but I like the other guy fine. Some of the other moms find him creepy, but I've never gotten that vibe. I don't have the same confidence I have with our other doctor, but I trust him. He listened to Paxton's lungs for, oh, about 46 days. The kid was patient for an exceedingly long time, I think, before he was just over the stethoscope being pressed against his chest and him being forced to sit still. Frankly, I was with him, although I played the dutiful mom and continued to hold him still in my lap. Poor kid. Finally the doctor declared that Paxton had pneumonia. I didn't panic. He caught me pre-panic to liken it to the oft-heard of "walking pneumonia". He said it was just in one lung, slightly. His left, for future reference. I don't actually know much about pneumonia. From what I am guessing, it starts as some other ailment and can drain into the lungs and cause an infection? I dunno. But he sent us home with a prescription for antibiotics (Paxton's first) and told us to pick up some Mucinex to thin out the mucous. He also told us that the idea that greenish-yellow snot means there's an infection, isn't necessarily true. It more often relates to the amount of time it has been in the sinus passage. Interesting.
As we always seem to learn when Paxton gets his mouth checked at the doctor's office, he's...TEETHING! Shocker. He's had two coming in for ages. The front eight are all full-size baby teeth now and they're awfully cute. We had no big problems with those, aside from the vast amounts of drool. But these molars are living up to their bad reputation. They are making our little dude miserable. He constantly has a finger in his mouth, rubbing them. The doctor informed us that he has molars coming in on both the top and bottom, left and right sides. No wonder the kid is bummed. And that also accounts for all these illnesses he's been picking up. None of his other friends have their hands in their mouths nearly as much as Paxton. In fact, I can't think of a single time I've seen them chomping on their hands. For Paxton, it's a fact of life. But so is teething. He cut his first tooth early, and it's been one after another since then. I hope when all this is done, he manages to stay a lot healthier. And not just because every illness he has, I catch three days later. I had to sleep with my head on two pillows last night just so I could breathe somewhat. Paxton now laughingly mimics my coughing.
I started giving Paxton Motrin twice a day, per doctor's orders, and I now believe it was created by God. Paxton hasn't had his hands in his mouth for days. He's so much happier. Of course, I'm lacing his applesauce with it to get him to take it. Unlike most of my friend's babies, he has no love for the sweet taste of baby medicine. His antibiotics taste like bubblegum. I, personally, could probably drink a bucket of it happily. He makes a face like I've asked him to lick a dirty armpit. I also lace his applesauce with it, and he's gotten wise to me. This morning, at breakfast, he wouldn't touch the applesauce with a ten-foot pole.
While Paxton shows a startling capacity for learning, he also shows that he needs to temporarily push back old information to make room for the new. For instance, he no longer says "cat" or "dog". Now he only refers to the cats, and they are all "kitty!". Every kitty is exciting and endearing. He can be in the middle of a crying fit because I'm trying to pry the dried snot off his nose with a wet wipe, and, if, in the middle of shaking his head wilding to escape me, a cat should enter his line of vision, he smiles happily and declares that the world is good again with one word: "KITTY!".
He is getting his signs a little mixed up, but it does take a while to hone them. He still points out every fan, everywhere. We ate at a restaurant last night with no fewer than 13-ceiling fans in one room. The switch was off, so he pointed at them for Chris to obediently spin by hand. Chris drew the line at four. He also always does the sign for light if he sees an interesting one worth mentioning. At music class, when Miss Petra turns off the lights for quiet time, he always does the sign for "light" to show that he noticed the change.
We're currently working on the sign for "water". He knows the sign for "milk", and we do it when he's nursing. He is trying to master the sign for "ball", which is a little tough. He loves to do the sign for "shoes", but is still figuring out that the sign for "socks" involves pointing down, rather than up. "Cheese" is an easy one that he does only when he wants it. "Eat" is getting a little confused with his new skill of blowing kisses.
He's just a great little boy. He's so smart and funny and active and clever. We are more tightly wrapped around his finger by the day. I half-joke that I want my next child to be more like Chris, because Paxton is a mirror-image of my headstrong, sometimes bratty personality and I've always said that I would never date someone like me. Too high-strung. But he is teaching me patience--with him and myself. I am learning to read his signs and work within his limits and my own. For a week, everything we fed him, he would spit out of his mouth. I was ready to let him starve, thinking back to moms who put children to bed with no dinner for offenses such as these. But he's 14-months-old, and I don't think he's doing these things to antagonize me. Rather, I wrote it off to him learning a new skill that he wanted to show off, and seeing that it got a reaction from me just reinforced the action. Chris, meanwhile, would bend over backwards, cooking up alternatives to see what pleased his baby pallet. Once I got sick, I realized that all the sinus drainage going into my stomach was leaving me with an appetite for nothing. Since I was a few days behind Paxton in the symptoms, it all made sense. As soon as he was feeling better, he ate like a champ once again. I felt bad for making wrong assumptions, but I'm learning to think outside of my small box. Paxton is teaching me now just the kind of person I want to be, but that I have to actively choose to be that person in every situation. My mood is a choice. My reactions are a choice. Even my perception can be a choice. It's liberating.
He's off to nap and Chris is sleeping-in, so I suppose I'll close and hit some of my morning pet sitting jobs. It's getting busy again, and I'm rediscovering my love of caring for animals. My life is feeling awfully blessed lately. God is beyond good.
And now he has wandered into the living room with a drum stick (courtesy of Dada) and he's telling me to throw my hands in the air. That one bit of real power in music class made an eternal impression. He's forever guiding us when is the right time to throw our hands in the air.
After two weekend nights of coughing in his sleep so much that he could only moan forlornly when between bouts, we took him to the doctor on President's Day. Our usual doctor was out, but I like the other guy fine. Some of the other moms find him creepy, but I've never gotten that vibe. I don't have the same confidence I have with our other doctor, but I trust him. He listened to Paxton's lungs for, oh, about 46 days. The kid was patient for an exceedingly long time, I think, before he was just over the stethoscope being pressed against his chest and him being forced to sit still. Frankly, I was with him, although I played the dutiful mom and continued to hold him still in my lap. Poor kid. Finally the doctor declared that Paxton had pneumonia. I didn't panic. He caught me pre-panic to liken it to the oft-heard of "walking pneumonia". He said it was just in one lung, slightly. His left, for future reference. I don't actually know much about pneumonia. From what I am guessing, it starts as some other ailment and can drain into the lungs and cause an infection? I dunno. But he sent us home with a prescription for antibiotics (Paxton's first) and told us to pick up some Mucinex to thin out the mucous. He also told us that the idea that greenish-yellow snot means there's an infection, isn't necessarily true. It more often relates to the amount of time it has been in the sinus passage. Interesting.
As we always seem to learn when Paxton gets his mouth checked at the doctor's office, he's...TEETHING! Shocker. He's had two coming in for ages. The front eight are all full-size baby teeth now and they're awfully cute. We had no big problems with those, aside from the vast amounts of drool. But these molars are living up to their bad reputation. They are making our little dude miserable. He constantly has a finger in his mouth, rubbing them. The doctor informed us that he has molars coming in on both the top and bottom, left and right sides. No wonder the kid is bummed. And that also accounts for all these illnesses he's been picking up. None of his other friends have their hands in their mouths nearly as much as Paxton. In fact, I can't think of a single time I've seen them chomping on their hands. For Paxton, it's a fact of life. But so is teething. He cut his first tooth early, and it's been one after another since then. I hope when all this is done, he manages to stay a lot healthier. And not just because every illness he has, I catch three days later. I had to sleep with my head on two pillows last night just so I could breathe somewhat. Paxton now laughingly mimics my coughing.
I started giving Paxton Motrin twice a day, per doctor's orders, and I now believe it was created by God. Paxton hasn't had his hands in his mouth for days. He's so much happier. Of course, I'm lacing his applesauce with it to get him to take it. Unlike most of my friend's babies, he has no love for the sweet taste of baby medicine. His antibiotics taste like bubblegum. I, personally, could probably drink a bucket of it happily. He makes a face like I've asked him to lick a dirty armpit. I also lace his applesauce with it, and he's gotten wise to me. This morning, at breakfast, he wouldn't touch the applesauce with a ten-foot pole.
While Paxton shows a startling capacity for learning, he also shows that he needs to temporarily push back old information to make room for the new. For instance, he no longer says "cat" or "dog". Now he only refers to the cats, and they are all "kitty!". Every kitty is exciting and endearing. He can be in the middle of a crying fit because I'm trying to pry the dried snot off his nose with a wet wipe, and, if, in the middle of shaking his head wilding to escape me, a cat should enter his line of vision, he smiles happily and declares that the world is good again with one word: "KITTY!".
He is getting his signs a little mixed up, but it does take a while to hone them. He still points out every fan, everywhere. We ate at a restaurant last night with no fewer than 13-ceiling fans in one room. The switch was off, so he pointed at them for Chris to obediently spin by hand. Chris drew the line at four. He also always does the sign for light if he sees an interesting one worth mentioning. At music class, when Miss Petra turns off the lights for quiet time, he always does the sign for "light" to show that he noticed the change.
We're currently working on the sign for "water". He knows the sign for "milk", and we do it when he's nursing. He is trying to master the sign for "ball", which is a little tough. He loves to do the sign for "shoes", but is still figuring out that the sign for "socks" involves pointing down, rather than up. "Cheese" is an easy one that he does only when he wants it. "Eat" is getting a little confused with his new skill of blowing kisses.
He's just a great little boy. He's so smart and funny and active and clever. We are more tightly wrapped around his finger by the day. I half-joke that I want my next child to be more like Chris, because Paxton is a mirror-image of my headstrong, sometimes bratty personality and I've always said that I would never date someone like me. Too high-strung. But he is teaching me patience--with him and myself. I am learning to read his signs and work within his limits and my own. For a week, everything we fed him, he would spit out of his mouth. I was ready to let him starve, thinking back to moms who put children to bed with no dinner for offenses such as these. But he's 14-months-old, and I don't think he's doing these things to antagonize me. Rather, I wrote it off to him learning a new skill that he wanted to show off, and seeing that it got a reaction from me just reinforced the action. Chris, meanwhile, would bend over backwards, cooking up alternatives to see what pleased his baby pallet. Once I got sick, I realized that all the sinus drainage going into my stomach was leaving me with an appetite for nothing. Since I was a few days behind Paxton in the symptoms, it all made sense. As soon as he was feeling better, he ate like a champ once again. I felt bad for making wrong assumptions, but I'm learning to think outside of my small box. Paxton is teaching me now just the kind of person I want to be, but that I have to actively choose to be that person in every situation. My mood is a choice. My reactions are a choice. Even my perception can be a choice. It's liberating.
He's off to nap and Chris is sleeping-in, so I suppose I'll close and hit some of my morning pet sitting jobs. It's getting busy again, and I'm rediscovering my love of caring for animals. My life is feeling awfully blessed lately. God is beyond good.
Monday, February 9, 2009
UP!
I've neglected this blog for a few weeks. In baby time, a few weeks can seem like years in terms of new talents being developed. Paxton astonishes me daily with his skills. Today, I put him in his highchair and asked him if he wanted some cheese. He promptly did the sign for "cheese" perfectly. We haven't practiced it in at least a week, yet he still remembers with perfect precision. He's now learning the signs for "shoes" and "socks". I need to do a bit of studying on my own so I can continue to challenge him. He learns so quickly that I have trouble keeping up.
Paxton is now walking so well that I am wondering how we ever lived before he could get around on his own. I can load my arms with all of his toys and the diaper bag and he will toddle after me from the playground to the car. At clients' houses, he does laps around their living space, making himself right at home, digging through drawers and hiding remote controls.
I have gotten used to leaving the back door open to the deck and letting him go outside or in. Our deck is one story up, as our house is built on the side of a hill, and there is an upper deck with an outdoor staircase that is, technically, three stories up. We have a gate blocking the stairs that go down to the yard. That's been there for ages to keep the dogs from escaping. For our purposes, it's a pretty safe play area. Until last week. I came into the guest room to check my e-mail and, after a few minutes, wandered out into the living room playfully calling "where's my baby?" I looked in the laundry room, on the back porch, behind the couch, and began to panic as he was nowhere. I ran out back and there, on the landing between the two upper flights of stairs, stood my baby boy. Come to my house and you'll get an idea of just how scary that notion is. It's HIGH. And it jiggles. I tried not to show my fear and told him what a clever and brave little guy he was before I grabbed him and brought him back inside. That's the last time he'll have access to the back porch without my vigilant watch. I was less nervous than Chris, when I told him the story. He promptly bought a gate and installed it before he left this weekend for a business trip in Chicago.
Speaking of that business trip, this is the first time that Paxton and I have been left to our own devices for more than a day or two. We're on our third full day on our own now. While I was a little worried about being the solo parent for an extended period of time, we've been so jam-packed with things to do that we've hardly had time to breathe, let alone fret. Saturday, Paxton, my mom and I did some shopping together, then had a nice dinner. I also squeezed in four pet sitting jobs, with Paxton in-tow. He's been a great sport about that. I always stress about bringing him along, but once we jump in, things usually go pretty smoothly.
Yesterday, my mom and I had tickets to see the Broadway Across America performance of Legally Blonde: the Musical. Since Chris' trip was unexpected, I had to find someone to keep Paxton while we were at the show. I've been meaning to ask my friend Sarah's mom, Michelle, if she would watch him sometime, just because he's almost never away from me or Chris, and if I trust anyone to keep Paxton safe and happy, it's Michelle. Sarah has two children of her own, and Michelle is a doting grandma. When I was pregnant, Michelle talked to Paxton in my belly every time I saw her, wanting him to get used to her voice. She's adorable and I knew nothing Paxton could do would phase her. I was so right. When I left, he barely looked up from the toys she had offered him. When I called during intermission, he was happily napping after eating every bite of the food I'd left him. When I picked him up, he glanced up momentarily, said "truck" in explanation of his distraction, and went on rolling the truck around the living room. He was happy as a clam. I loved hearing Michelle's stories about what they did together. And I felt like I'd crossed a necessary bridge toward raising a child. One tiny little thread of that apron string was snipped.
Paxton is obsessed with trucks. We can't drive a mile without him pointing out dozens of them. I'm trying to get him to learn that there are also "cars", "vans", "SUVs", and "buses" (to name a few), just so I can hear a word other than "truck". Of course, it still sounds like he's saying "cuck", which is a step cleaner than what he used to call them. Ahem. The only thing that rivals his love of trucks is his adoration of music. If he doesn't, in some way, incorporate music into his adult life, I'll be shocked. He and Chris will sit in Chris' office for long periods of time, playing the drums. The first toys to come off the shelf every day are Paxton's instruments. He'll wander around with a drumstick and a tamborine, like he's leading an invisible, makeshift marching band. In the car, he tries to sing along with the radio. Since the only melodic sound he knows so far is the noise he makes when he says "UP, dooooooooooown, UP, dooooooooooown", he says that over and over like he's singing. When a hip-hop song comes on the radio, he clicks his tongue like he's beat boxing. I decide which station to stop on based on which song gets him dancing in his carseat. The kid is in full control.
Thank God he's a benevolent dictator, because in music class this morning, he was given power he's never known before. We do different things in music class each week. This week, we had wooden sticks that we use to drum on the floor or to tap together into a rhythm. Paxton LOVES them. Drumming is his everything. He plopped himself down in the middle of the circle of kids and parents and went into his little drumming zone. Our teacher, Petra, is really good at letting the kids be involved in making up fun new lyrics to song or deciding what movement we'll do. Paxton is one of the younger kids in class, so he isn't quick to make suggestions, as you may imagine. But while we were drumming, he kept throwing his hands over his head and saying "UP!". Petra told us all to follow Paxton's lead. With a 13-month-old instructing us, we all drummed on the floor and then threw our hands "UP!". Then we would all hit our sticks together and throw our hands "UP!". It took Paxton a minute or two to realize that we were all doing what he told us to. Once he realized his power, he LOVED it. It was the cutest thing ever. Later, when we did a class jam session, he kept looking at everyone and commanding "UP", but no one could hear him. He seemed confused at how quickly his power had slipped away.
He is supposed to be napping right now, but I hear him cooing in his crib, over the monitor. I suppose I should use this time to shower, since it's been a few days and it's starting to show. He's likely to demand I come "UP" and get him soon, so I'll close. Until next time...
Paxton is now walking so well that I am wondering how we ever lived before he could get around on his own. I can load my arms with all of his toys and the diaper bag and he will toddle after me from the playground to the car. At clients' houses, he does laps around their living space, making himself right at home, digging through drawers and hiding remote controls.
I have gotten used to leaving the back door open to the deck and letting him go outside or in. Our deck is one story up, as our house is built on the side of a hill, and there is an upper deck with an outdoor staircase that is, technically, three stories up. We have a gate blocking the stairs that go down to the yard. That's been there for ages to keep the dogs from escaping. For our purposes, it's a pretty safe play area. Until last week. I came into the guest room to check my e-mail and, after a few minutes, wandered out into the living room playfully calling "where's my baby?" I looked in the laundry room, on the back porch, behind the couch, and began to panic as he was nowhere. I ran out back and there, on the landing between the two upper flights of stairs, stood my baby boy. Come to my house and you'll get an idea of just how scary that notion is. It's HIGH. And it jiggles. I tried not to show my fear and told him what a clever and brave little guy he was before I grabbed him and brought him back inside. That's the last time he'll have access to the back porch without my vigilant watch. I was less nervous than Chris, when I told him the story. He promptly bought a gate and installed it before he left this weekend for a business trip in Chicago.
Speaking of that business trip, this is the first time that Paxton and I have been left to our own devices for more than a day or two. We're on our third full day on our own now. While I was a little worried about being the solo parent for an extended period of time, we've been so jam-packed with things to do that we've hardly had time to breathe, let alone fret. Saturday, Paxton, my mom and I did some shopping together, then had a nice dinner. I also squeezed in four pet sitting jobs, with Paxton in-tow. He's been a great sport about that. I always stress about bringing him along, but once we jump in, things usually go pretty smoothly.
Yesterday, my mom and I had tickets to see the Broadway Across America performance of Legally Blonde: the Musical. Since Chris' trip was unexpected, I had to find someone to keep Paxton while we were at the show. I've been meaning to ask my friend Sarah's mom, Michelle, if she would watch him sometime, just because he's almost never away from me or Chris, and if I trust anyone to keep Paxton safe and happy, it's Michelle. Sarah has two children of her own, and Michelle is a doting grandma. When I was pregnant, Michelle talked to Paxton in my belly every time I saw her, wanting him to get used to her voice. She's adorable and I knew nothing Paxton could do would phase her. I was so right. When I left, he barely looked up from the toys she had offered him. When I called during intermission, he was happily napping after eating every bite of the food I'd left him. When I picked him up, he glanced up momentarily, said "truck" in explanation of his distraction, and went on rolling the truck around the living room. He was happy as a clam. I loved hearing Michelle's stories about what they did together. And I felt like I'd crossed a necessary bridge toward raising a child. One tiny little thread of that apron string was snipped.
Paxton is obsessed with trucks. We can't drive a mile without him pointing out dozens of them. I'm trying to get him to learn that there are also "cars", "vans", "SUVs", and "buses" (to name a few), just so I can hear a word other than "truck". Of course, it still sounds like he's saying "cuck", which is a step cleaner than what he used to call them. Ahem. The only thing that rivals his love of trucks is his adoration of music. If he doesn't, in some way, incorporate music into his adult life, I'll be shocked. He and Chris will sit in Chris' office for long periods of time, playing the drums. The first toys to come off the shelf every day are Paxton's instruments. He'll wander around with a drumstick and a tamborine, like he's leading an invisible, makeshift marching band. In the car, he tries to sing along with the radio. Since the only melodic sound he knows so far is the noise he makes when he says "UP, dooooooooooown, UP, dooooooooooown", he says that over and over like he's singing. When a hip-hop song comes on the radio, he clicks his tongue like he's beat boxing. I decide which station to stop on based on which song gets him dancing in his carseat. The kid is in full control.
Thank God he's a benevolent dictator, because in music class this morning, he was given power he's never known before. We do different things in music class each week. This week, we had wooden sticks that we use to drum on the floor or to tap together into a rhythm. Paxton LOVES them. Drumming is his everything. He plopped himself down in the middle of the circle of kids and parents and went into his little drumming zone. Our teacher, Petra, is really good at letting the kids be involved in making up fun new lyrics to song or deciding what movement we'll do. Paxton is one of the younger kids in class, so he isn't quick to make suggestions, as you may imagine. But while we were drumming, he kept throwing his hands over his head and saying "UP!". Petra told us all to follow Paxton's lead. With a 13-month-old instructing us, we all drummed on the floor and then threw our hands "UP!". Then we would all hit our sticks together and throw our hands "UP!". It took Paxton a minute or two to realize that we were all doing what he told us to. Once he realized his power, he LOVED it. It was the cutest thing ever. Later, when we did a class jam session, he kept looking at everyone and commanding "UP", but no one could hear him. He seemed confused at how quickly his power had slipped away.
He is supposed to be napping right now, but I hear him cooing in his crib, over the monitor. I suppose I should use this time to shower, since it's been a few days and it's starting to show. He's likely to demand I come "UP" and get him soon, so I'll close. Until next time...
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