Spring Is Here! Spring Is Here! Spring Is Here!

It's about darn time. For the first time since what feels like about 4 years ago, the temperatures reached the high-60s today AND it was sunny AND there were not gale force winds blowing about. All of this added together meant that today was the first test run of our new (used) bike trailer with Bry as the passenger, rather than Steve's bowling ball, as had been the case when we bought it last fall.

Amazingly, Bry did not protest his bike helmet. Perhaps it's because we spent the hour before we went outside telling Bry that he would get to wear a special HAT! with DUCKS! on it and the HAT! is called a HELMET! isn't that cool, Bry? He humored us through the ceremonial family placing of the helmets: Look Bry, daddy's putting on his helmet! And look! Now mama's putting on her helmet! Oh boy, it's Bry's turn to put on his helmet!

Are you really making me wear a helmet with ducks on it?

Yes. Because children's helmets apparently only come with ducks or dinosaurs. And your head was too big for the dinosaur helmet, so there you go.

Sometimes I wonder if Bry finds his parents to be a little on the deranged side, given the enthusiasm we put into what ultimately turn out to be pretty mundane events. I like to think that tasks such as getting Bry to wear a bike helmet are so mundane because of our slightly maniacal approach to informing Bry what to expect. Right.

We had initially planned to tow Bry around Lake Nokomis. But several blocks in, I looked over and Bry was slouched down in his seat in the Burley. His helmet appeared to have nearly slipped over his eyes. Although he wasn't protesting out loud, Bry didn't appear exactly thrilled about this turn of events. So we adjusted his helmet and made a detour for McRae park instead.

We went down the slide:

Are you sure you know what you're doing, daddy?

More!

We also went on the swings:

He really did smile some of the time when he was swinging.

No, really.

Just not when he was being photographed.

And perhaps most exciting of all, we played in the sand. A lot.

Hmm, better investigate the properties of this crunchy, dusty substance.

Mama, it's sticking to my fingers again.

Even though Bry managed to take a 3.5 hour nap before we went out this afternoon (I'd say because he was up from 11 pm to 2 am last night), he was out cold by his regular bedtime this evening. It's about time fresh air started contributing to the entertainment of Bry. Because there's only so much time I can devote to frying up wooden fish in a pan (Bry's favorite activity of oh, the last 6 weeks).

Needs more pepper.

An Old Soul

Last weekend, Steve, Bry, and I wandered out to Half Price Books in search of some sources for my dissertation. Or, at least that was the premise. Instead, we spent most of our time poking through the children's section, finding all kinds of fun things to bring home. Like Whatever and Harold and the Purple Crayon.

Over the past few months, taking Bry to a bookstore has been something of an athletic endeavor for us. He makes a beeline for the nearest shelf and, given the chance, would tear every book off, leaving a trail of Sandra Boynton and Dr. Seuss in his wake. Before we had Bry, Steve and I could spend hours browsing at bookstores. But now, we've become accustomed to a three-minute duck and dash operation, in which we hunt down the desired book, pay, and hightail it out before Bry can do his damage.

This kind of drive-by maneuver is obviously not limited just to bookstores. Parenthood involves a whole lot more vigilance than I ever anticipated. And it's not just of the checking to see if he's still breathing while he's sleeping variety. Whenever we're out with friends, or shopping for milk and toilet paper, our constant watchfulness over Bry seems to interfere with other tasks like carrying on a conversation, or remembering that we need orange juice, too. It's almost comical sometimes, the stark contrast between our attempts to multitask at interacting with others and keeping Bry alive and Bry's total disregard for anything outside of whatever he is doing right at that moment. I never realized how exhausting this could be, constantly keeping track of Bry's whereabouts, and say, preventing him from pulling a bookshelf or canned goods display onto his head, all while chatting about friends' upcoming vacation plans or picking out a box of breakfast cereal. Any outing can turn into an endurance trial.

At the bookstore last weekend, there was a woman sitting in the corner by herself in the children's section. She had a stack of books by her side, and was paging through them in a leisurely manner, while Steve and I tried to convince Bry to replace the stack of books he had just taken off a nearby shelf and neatly stacked on the floor. She smiled at us warmly, and commented, "He's just so mature, isn't he? Those big eyes. He's really an old soul." And because my brain was buzzing with the cognitive energy required to wrangle a one-year-old, I didn't really respond, but just politely smiled back and went about the business of reshelving the books and scooping up Bry.

Later, after we had returned home and I had the chance to recover from a morning of attempting to decrease the entropy that Bry spontaneously generates, I recalled the woman's comment and laughed a little to myself. Mature had not yet entered into my vocabulary to describe Bry. I know that she was referring to his look, the way he sometimes scrunches up his forehead as if in deep thought (usually just before destroying something). But I started thinking about Bry's actual maturity level and how he's got a ways to go before he might be considered a mature individual. Someone who melts into a pool of tears and snot because you finished cooking a meal and now he can no longer help (because the food is cooked - get it Bry?) might not be deemed mature by certain standards. But on a good day we can remind ourselves that Bry's stunning ability to get red-faced and tearfully angry at the drop of a hat is actually a sign of maturity. He's now mature enough to have an opinion and express it (usually loudly). He's becoming his own separate little person who, although he could be seen as the sum of Steve and I, is of course, so much more. I wish I could say that we're active participants in helping Bry to individuate, as the language goes, but it feels much more like we're on the sidelines, waiting with anticipation to see what will happen next. It's sort of a bittersweet process to watch.

Bryson at Work

Steve here. After the last Bryson video montage, I thought such projects would be kind of an annual thing for me. But there's been so much great footage that I just couldn't wait. This one's dedicated to the Grandparents- three of whom are traveling, far away from Bry, the fourth of whom is here, but made me a pie.

Ouch!

Up to now, Bry's been a little behind in the growing teeth department. At 15 months he's got exactly 4 1/2 teeth, which seems to be about 74 fewer teeth than most kids his age. Don't get me wrong - the fact that he's got so few teeth hasn't necessarily stopped us from using teething as an excuse for all kinds of, let us say, undesirable behaviors, such as waking at all hours of the night, fussing and whining, and general grousing. But now we seem to actually be in the thick of teething, and I've got to say, it's kind of a sad sight to see. Bry's demeanor and sleep have pretty much stayed the same (charming on the former and dismal on the latter). But it's clear that he's experiencing a lot of discomfort. Over the past few days he's been wanting more hugs and snuggle time, and has been walking around like this a lot:

Owww...Poor guy.

Our recent trip to the pediatrician confirmed that Bry's one-year molars are working their way out. Hopefully the journey through the gums is quick; he could really use some extra teeth for activities like, say, chewing, which has been pretty nonexistent thus far.

15 Months and Counting

Yesterday was Bry's 15-month well-baby checkup. He is, indeed, well. I'm gonna go ahead and post his stats, though I'm taking the numbers more as estimates, rather than true indicators of Bry's size. Let's just say that Bry was very upset about the idea of lying down on the exam table and being submitted to measurement, much like one would measure an end table at Ikea to make sure it will fit the empty space between the couch and the wall. He cried and writhed around in general misery, so that by the time the nurse called out a number, I'm pretty sure the tape measure had slipped, giving Bry an extra inch or so that he hasn't actually yet grown. Placing him on the scale didn't go much better. The kid in front of him cried while being weighed, and Bry followed suit, screwing up his face into his heartbreaking "How could you do this to me?" face.

Disclaimer aside, here are the numbers:

Height: 31.5" plus or minus about 6" given the aforementioned tape slipping scandal

Weight: 24.25 pounds

Head: 18.75" (or so)

Basically, we confirmed that Bry is bigger than his last exam three months ago. His pediatrician didn't indicate any concerns about his growth or weight gain, so we're going to go ahead with the assumption that he's just fine.

Bry cheered up almost immediately after the mean, mean, tape measure wielding nurse left the room. While we waited for the ped to show up, Bry amused himself by stacking a bunch of plastic rings on my finger, taking them off, transferring them to the floor, bringing them to Steve, lining them back up on the floor, and so on. When the doc arrived, Bry was still hard at work on his task; he continued with his singular stacking, transferring, and lining up through the litany of our questions for the doc, and would clap for himself after finishing a particular portion of the sequence. The ped smiled, fussed over Bry's skills, and clapped back, causing Bry to puff out his little tummy with pride. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, "Watch! I can put them over here now. And also over here." Clap, clap, clap. He had turned the charm up to potentially toxic levels, probably to demonstrate to the doc that, even though his parents were saying he seems to lack the gene for knowing how to sleep like a normal person, he's a good guy. See?

Ten minutes into his routine, the doc commented, "Boy, he sure is persistent, isn't he? We'll write that down as a positive!" And then she actually stopped to write it down. "PERSISTENT!" Or maybe she was just writing down "CRAZY!" in the margins of the chart - who's to say? Steve and I looked at each other tentatively before Steve cautioned, "That's normal, right? Because he could keep doing this for the rest of the afternoon." She laughed (but totally with us, not at us) and reassured us that his toddler form of OCD is perfectly normal. She went on to inform us that his perseveration is a sign of a healthy attention span and that performing the same task repeatedly helps him to feel good about himself. That's the sign of a good pediatrician right there: turning parents' neuroses into an unequivocal sign that their child is a genius. That's totally what she was saying, right?

Bry sat on my lap for the actual exam, and was pronounced fit and adorable. When the ped was examining his belly he giggled and giggled - and as if I don't already have enough of a crush on her - she laughed and said, "His giggle should be recorded for one of those laughing babies commercials! It's perfect!"

After she left the room to fetch the lab for Bry's immunizations and blood test, I started to feel that feeling of dread I get each time Bry gets poked with the jabby, jabby needles. Even though I'm not the one getting the shots, it's been excruciating in the past to watch Bry howl in surprise and pain as the nurse stealthily jabs him. But this time, Bry faced down the nurse with only mild confusion. She poked his finger for the blood test and squeezed out 15 or 20 drops of blood as he watched on with what appeared to be boredom. No crying, no need for me to pin him down like I've had to in the past. She taped up his finger and he waved it around, considering his bandaged appendage with great interest. Ditto with the immunization. In, out, and over, baby. Whew. Compared with last time, I'd say we made off easy.

Are you still wearing pants?

Because Bry may have charmed them right off of you.*

*How have I not noticed until just now how dirty this phrase is? Must be because I'm a mother now, huh?