Dad, is Mom writing about me? Again?

It goes something like this: a plate of steaming food is placed on the table. Eagerly scooting my chair closer to the table, I lean forward, spoon and fork in hand. As the spoon nears its destination, waaaah! Twenty minutes later, I come back down to the plate of steaming food. During our first month together, I practically forgot how hot food tasted. Cold food became room temperature (or melted), crispy food soggy — you get the idea. Since your second month, you have become more predictable, and the woebegone tale of neglected food less common.

So yesterday, I was jolted back to this memory. November 27th, 2014 begins with great excitement; we are predicted to get snow today (up to five inches! a HUGE deal for Virginia), so I am excited for you to see it falling from the sky. (Technically, you had already seen snow/ice on the ground at Shenandoah National Park on November 1st.) After we get you out of your jammies, I bring you downstairs and buckle you in your rocking chair while I go up to fetch some things for your daily bath. (Your grandma is watching you. Yes, through Skype. Yes, I realize there’s really nothing she can do, should something happen, except shout for me. Which is why you are buckled in.)

Anyway. I come back downstairs, roll out your yoga mat to give you room to roll over and play. Then I pour myself a bowl of cereal, chia seeds, and almond milk. (Eli, if you’re reading this when you’re all grown up, please realize that the chia seeds and almond milk are evidently the hip thing to eat right now. Only time will tell if I’ll still be enjoying these as much as I do right now…) Not just any cereal either, but this little beauty right here. Mr. Quaker himself, with his cute little squares of honey nut goodness. (I like the other flavors, too.) But back to that later.

My bowl of cereal is ready on the floor, so I can sit next to you being all cute and semi-mobile on the yoga mat. I unbuckle you and decide to take a detour on the way to the mat. I briskly walk over to the back door, so you can see the now-large flakes softly landing on the deck. You reach out to touch the cold glass, mesmerized. I bounce you up and down, my hair dancing lightly in the breeze generated from the motion when  *sniff, sniff *. Is that … buttermilk I smell? I quickly lay you down on the mat and sniff again in a more particular area. (One that requires me to hold your two feet up in the air.) Yes, definitely buttermilk.

“Oh yes!” Mom helpfully recalls through the iPad, “He was straining while you were upstairs.” Exactly one week from your last poop, which your grandmother and I affectionately call your “pumpkin purée” because … well … you know. 😉 I step over the bowl of cereal on our way upstairs to clean you up and change your diaper. After washing you up in the bathroom sink, I place you on the changing table, excitedly thinking about that bowl of cereal waiting downstairs for me. So now picture this, I’m talking to your grandma, wiping you down, lotioning you up (for your eczema), I finally take out a diaper when … pssssst … a stream of liquid sprays onto your face. (I confess, I don’t know if any got in your mouth.) Your face registers confusion, indignance, and just a little amusement perhaps. Horrified, I throw the new diaper down whence the stream originated. I clean your face, your body, and decide I best give you a bath now.

So, I bring you downstairs, park you back on your chair, and draw your bath, the bowl of cereal watching me pace back and forth across the kitchen floor as I collect all your bath items. Flash forward, bath done, you are now on the kitchen table, lying on the towel. Cool beans, after your bath, I’ll put you down for your nap and finally eat that cereal. Now picture this. I’ve wiped you down, hydrocortisoned and lotioned you up, I finally take out a diaper when … pssssst … a stream of liquid sprays onto your face. Okay, now hang on. I need to give you some background info for you to REALLY appreciate the significance of this encore performance.

When you first got your tub bath as a newborn, you would often pee in the tub. Totally understandable, given the temperature difference when you are first immersed into the warm water. But the idea of your body being rinsed off in pee water (no matter how diluted) bothered me. So, you now have two tubs of water. One for your actual bath where the water gets all soapy and perhaps pee-ey, and another one with clean water, so I can actually wash off the soap. And pee. Just in case. Of course there have been some instances of your peeing in the second tub. But an occasional swim in saltwater is okay, I guess.

So, you see, Eli, you had two tubs — TWO chances — in which to pee. And since your dad had already emptied the tubs in the sink, he now finds himself refilling a tub, so I can dip you back into clean water. I swear, at this point, Mr. Quaker’s honey-nutty goodnesses are positively quivering from uncontrollable laughter. Finally, I re-wipe you down, re-hydrocortisone and re-lotion you up.

At least an hour has passed since I poured the bowl of cereal by the time I finally sit down. Imagine my surprise when I find what has entered my mouth is not a complete soggy, indeterminate mush. In fact, the squares are still rather toothsome, pleasantly (slightly) chewy. If a new mom should ever ask me for a recommendation of cereals that withstand the test of (infant-suspended) time, this would be it. (And as a side note, if there were one cereal I would avoid at all costs, it would be Kellogg’s All-Bran. Seriously, even before I’ve finished the bowl, it’s already mush. I now eat it dry with a mug of milk on the side.)

Celebrating another first – your first Thanksgiving!

And that possible five inches of snow? Pffft … practically all of it had melted by the time your grandma and I got off of Skype. We should probably give the meteorologist a ruler! 😀

So on this Thanksgiving day, I reaffirm my thanks for a supportive and loving family, including an amazing son who brings unimaginable joy to me every day and occasionally takes naps lengthy enough to allow me to type about unsoggy cereal.