Thursday, March 29, 2012

9 weeks, and a story in pictures.

Our boy smiles on the changing table. He has learned that it's a place on which he will be taken care of. Wetness, discomfort, and stink all go away at the hands of his gentle parents.



And the smiles...oh man, the smiles. They're like a gift after weeks of finding reward often in his simple functionality.





You know all that stuff people do all day? Rubin has to learn how to do all of it.

All of it. The volume of impending information staggers me. Walking. Talking. Doing his taxes. How to pay for the bus. How to set the DVR. Poaching an egg. You name it, Rubin has to learn how to do it. And we're the ones, well, the first ones, to teach him anything.

He's learning to eat without throwing up. A major step. And, he's got pooping down. Not controlling the when and the where so much, but the pooping itself he has mastered. Take this photo essay as proof.

Sleeping. All is well.


There is a troubling disturbance in the force.




I DO NOT FEEL AS I SHOULD.








I WILL EXCISE THIS DEMON.



Once again all is fine.



There's nothing to see here; please disperse.






The other day, while trying to exit the kitchen with Rubin in left arm, stroller (mobile crib) remote control, phone, bottle and glass of water somehow in other arms, I hurt him. I banged his head against the door of the refrigerator. Terrifying, and a guilt I'd never felt. Mommy came running at the sound of his obvious anguish. He had an immediate lump on his head, and there was redness. Abject terror.

As she nursed him back to health and calm with a warm washcloth, I called the pediatrician. With no excessive vomiting, fussiness, irritability, or crying, we soon realized he was fine. The doctor calmed us, and Rubin recovered nicely, quickly. We joked to ease the tension: Well, that rules out the Ivy League. Some day he'll be in a job interview and the person will say "Rubin, I want to make you our executive, but that dent in your head just won't let me."

But good ole "Denty" is ok. Daddy is the one who can't shake the feeling of putting him in harm's way. Lessons learned: 1) Move him lower into the elbow and out of the free space. 2) Watch the multitasking while on duty. 3) Mistakes are gonna happen, just be ready to recover and deal with them.



He loves his mommy, and she loves him.














I really like the cartoon motion blurriness around him as he is thrust upward.

And the fear in mommy's face as she wonders whether this was a good idea.





He's a good baby. He accepts his innumerable kisses like a champ.



He looks fabulous in overalls.

Daddy said humbly.








See, you can still go out to dinner! With only 4-5 hours of planning and maintenance.

We're lucky, happy, tired, sometimes frustrated, parents.

Onward.