I assume it's obvious...

...by the tenor of previous posts that I like my kid and think he's pretty snazzy.

This evening he did something so impressive that even I, who am predisposed to thinking all he does is brilliant just by virtue of the fact that he's the one doing it, was amazed.

He peed on his own head.

A few weeks ago Gabe discovered his feet. So tonight while I was letting him have some naked baby time, I decided to try to get some pictures of him playing with his feet.

Mission accomplished:

And because I was in 'taking pictures mode', there was a brief moment of confusion when I looked back at Gabe's face after checking the camera display to see if any of the closeups had turned out, and saw droplets hitting his hair. I figured out where they were coming from and I'm proud to say that, even though I hated Geometry (My contention is that Geometry is not "real" math. It's not logical like the rest of math...where based on simple counting skills you can figure out answers to problems. No, with Geometry you're supposed to pull rules out of thin air about angles and lines and magically come up with the right answer about why something is the way it is.)

...so, even though I hated Geometry, it only took me about a half second to deduce that the angle of said droplet stream was quickly declining and was only moments away from ending up in Gabe's eyes. So I stuck my hand over his face and waited until he was done christening himself.

While I was cleaning him up I noticed a puddle of pee in his ear.

Seriously - this kid is amazing!

On the road of life, there are passengers and there are drivers...

...and I think I'll take passenger status, thanks.

Early in our dating relationship, Bret said "I do the driving in this relationship". My feminist side immediately rose up in indignation. I'm perfectly capable of driving, I huffed. I don't need to be chauffeured around, I puffed. Did Bret have control issues or did he lack confidence in my driving skills? A little of both, he said. He said in general, he prefers driving...and in specific, he'd noticed somewhat of a "tendency toward easy distractibility" on my part - as in, I'd rather carry on a conversation than drive.

Harrumph. (so what if he's right, harrumph anyway)

Well I quickly learned that I love to passenge. (It's not a word, but it should be. If a driver drives, why doesn't a passenger passenge?) I get to look out the window at the scenery, or read, or play on my DS, or sleep, or - and this is my favorite - give a conversation my full attention.

Two summers ago, Bret taught me how to drive a motorcycle. Not a fancy-schmancy heavy street bike...just my little dual sport (dirt bike licensed for the street since it has mirrors and blinkers).

Oh sure, this hill looks harmless enough now. But when I was just learning, sitting on top of the bike at the top of the hill, I was extremely nervous about it. I had to sit there for a few minutes trying to psyche myself up to go forward.

I enjoyed being on my own bike well enough...but I simply adore passenging on the back of Bret's bike. It's 92% of the fun with only 25% of the stress.

Fun sustains an 8% reduction because Bret's helmet is a significant part of my field of view. And Stress earns a 25% rating because other drivers are unpredictable and don't always see motorcycles, so even though I'm not driving I still worry about our safety.

On Sunday, Bret's parents babysat Gabe and Bret and I went on a motorcycle ride around Seattle. It was a beautiful day and so much fun!

First we went to Alki.

Hmm. Random chunk of my hair stuck on Bret's glasses.


Seattle from Alki. Gorgeous day!

Then I convinced Bret to let me have his camera while we were driving. He recently got a camera for $25 off of Craig's list because I'm just a little territorial about our nice camera and the perils it's allowed to attempt.

And then I spent the next 15 minutes of the ride playing with it and figuring out the settings.

How annoying is it that Bret looks so darn cool in his helmet and sunglasses and I just look ridiculous? Seriously - the Halverson cheeks don't do me any favors in a motorcycle helmet.

I thought I might look better with the glasses off...

But I was wrong. And smiling was a really bad idea. Ah well.


Then I decided to be artsy. This is me in the back of Bret's helmet.

Snazzy. And me in the rearview mirror.

Are you impressed with my wry, insouciant artistic statement?

And then I saw this building with a funky exterior design.

And you know what Bret was doing this whole time? Poor guy was dealing with stop and go traffic along Alki. I love passenging!

From Alki we went across the West Seattle Bridge and then north on the Alaskan Way Viaduct. This is Mount Rainier from the bridge.

And Qwest Field from the Viaduct.

Then we exited on Seneca in downtown Seattle. This is the Chase (formerly WaMu) building. Both Bret and I think this is the prettiest of the skyscrapers in Seattle.

This is the Hammering Man art piece in front of the Seattle Art Museum.

After downtown, we went across the Magnolia bridge. This is Seattle from the bridge.

And from a park in Magnolia.

Rainier from the park.

And that's Alki to the right behind us.

Then we drove around Magnolia for a bit and past Discovery Park, and then down into Wallingford. This next picture is for Laura.

It's a hair salon named Tousle. I hate the word tousle. I want it to be pronounced "tussle", but it just won't cooperate. It insists on being pronounced "tou-zuhl" and Laura is the person who told me the correct pronunciation and she had to look it up and prove it to me because I refused to agree. Now whenever she finds an opportunity to use the word, she looks at me with a smirk while she pronounces it correctly. And I proclaim my annoyance every time.

Then we drove through the U-District. This is the old Safeco building...now part of the UW.

Meanwhile, back at Memo and Papa T's, Gabriel was fervently missing us.

Clearly.

Bret used to work at a sandwich shop next to the Avis Car Rental on 5th Avenue. The Avis sign is the itty bitty "IS" behind the Park sign. I was pretty proud of myself for getting any part of the sign...Bret's new-used camera likes to wait about a second and a half after you push the button to take the picture. Makes things interesting.

This is the Chase building from the North. The previous picture was from the West.

And the Smith Tower...amazing that it used to be the tallest building west of the Mississippi. It's so tiny in the picture above compared to the other buildings!

This is a parking garage that they call The Sinking Ship. Or something like that. I should've paid more attention on the Seattle Underground tour. You can't see it as well from this angle, but it looks like the bow of a ship coming out of the road above it (which is to the right of the frame).

Then we drove past Pioneer Square.

And Starbucks' Corporate Headquarters. Oh Starbucks...you sucked me in to a latte habit and I hate you but I like you too. Dagnabbit.

Just as we were getting gas I noticed that the battery light on the camera was flashing at me. So I snapped this one and then put the camera away until...

...Gabriel! I missed you!!

Sorry mom. I'm a little busy chewing on my fingers right now and I don't have time to look at you.

Harrumph.

Then Bret's folks took us out to Salty's on Alki for dinner. Nice!

Such a fun date day and so nice to be out enjoying the beautiful weather!

4 Months

Remember how I was traumatized by seeing Gabe in a collared shirt? Well apparently PTSD has no hold on me because I have embraced the collared shirt and now I just can't seem to get enough.

It started like this: I got Gabe dressed and told Bret he had to come see how funny Gabe looked in his miniature man clothes.

Please note: some of the photos below are a reenactment. Not a reenactment like on those true crime shows; we did not use a stunt baby. Nor were any animals harmed during the taking of these photos. Not that there were any animals involved...but I just wanted you to know none were hurt.


So anyway, I told Bret he had to see Gabe in his little polo shirt.

And then I decided to make his look a bit more casual.


And then Bret decided to give him the preppy look.

And then Gabe and I went to visit Christina at work, and I was showing her the versatility of Gabe's shirt. And she said "go with the two buttons undone look". But we were both laughing so it really sounded more like "hahahahaha go haha with the hahaha two buttons hahahhahah un hahaha done hahahah look hahahaha". It's a wonder I understood her at all but it must be because we're sisters.

I was going to find a chunky gold or silver chain to add to this look when I got home, and I even contemplated fashioning some sort of fake chest hair too, but:

1) Some part of my brain (I think you wacky kids call it the conscience) started telling me that although Gabe is quite amusing, he wasn't actually put on this earth specifically for my amusement, so I should probably just let the idea of bling and fake chest hair rest, and

2) Gabe was tired of playing dancing monkey.

If he hadn't been so tired, I probably would have successfully ignored my conscience.

Oh yeah, and Gabriel is 4 months old!

Family Restroom

Hmm...a framed mirror, a granite (or granite-esque) countertop, a box of tissues on the counter...are we at a fancy spa?

(side note - yes, that is my finger in the picture. and yes, the picture is slightly blurry. my only defense is that the little screen on my cell phone does not reveal the same photo flaws as my computer.)

So as I was saying...are we at a fancy spa? No! We're in the family restroom at Kohl's in Snohomish! Before we had Gabe, I never knew what mysteries lay behind the restroom doors labelled "Family". Bret and I first ventured into a family restroom at Nordstrom while Christmas shopping a couple of months ago. It was nice and all, but Kohl's has them beat.

Not only was there an adult-size toilet, but there was a kid-size toilet.

And a baby changing station...and a fold out seat for restraining a toddler...and a vending machine that according to the display contained both feminine products and condoms. Apparently whoever planned this bathroom wants folks to stop and think "wait, there's room for a child on the little toilet, in the fold out seat, and on the baby changing station - I better get myself a condom and hold off on family expansion until one of those locations becomes available for another kid!"

Gabe and I enjoyed the Kohl's family restroom so much we spent 15 minutes in there hanging out and doing a photo session. Well - I enjoyed it, Gabe is just wondering when he can try out that snazzy little kid toilet. But really, it was fabulous. And yes, I did just use the word fabulous to describe a restroom. It never occurred to me pre-Gabe how ridiculous the placement of baby changing stations in regular restrooms can be. I was in a Starbucks recently in Lake Forest Park (oh that's right, I'm callin' you out on my blog Starbucks, take that!) where the changing station was in the narrow walkway directly between the door and the sink, smack dab in front of a stall door. Any poor unsuspecting soul who walked into the bathroom would have been immediately presented with a baby butt and they would have been trapped there, waiting for me to finish. Ridiculous.

But not in the family restroom. See how relaxed Gabe is, knowing that no stranger's eyes will happen upon his exposed rear end?

Good times.

please note: I am fully aware that an entire post about a restroom is strange.

I Wish...

...I could say that I love ALL of my son, unconditionally, but that would be a lie.

I don't love his fingernails.

Actually, I have no problem with his cuticles or nail beds. I just don't like the part that grows past his fingertips. Other than that, I think he's fabulous. I don't mind his toenails, just his fingernails. I don't mind when he burps his formula breath in my face...I don't mind that he gets spit-up in the chubby folds of his neck and that it's smelly...I don't mind that he has stinky man farts...I don't mind his poopy diapers...I don't mind that he's managed to spit-up down my shirt...and I don't mind that when he was just a few weeks old he peed on my face. I figure all those things are par for the course since he's a baby. Any other baby and I might be a bit grossed out - but since it's my baby, I see it as all in a day's work.

But his fingernails...ohhh...those I despise.

They scratch me. They scratch him. THEY GROW.

I managed to ignore them for a while...but at his first pediatrician appointment when he was ten days old, the pediatrician said to Gabe "Mommy needs to cut your fingernails". (side note - why did he address this comment to me? why?!? does Bret not look perfectly capable of playing manicurist?) So I responded, rather vaguely, with "Yeah...I know...I need to get to that...they're just so small...it's scary..." And then the pediatrician says, deadpan: "Well you'll be sorry when he scratches his cornea and gets an eye infection."

?!?!?!?!

I'm sorry, WHAT????

Then, because though he had his back to me, he must have known my silence was because I couldn't form coherent words as a response, he said "You can just bite them off if you'd rather."

So two days later, on the same day Gabriel was circumcised (oh, the irony), I cut his fingernails for the first time.

In the car, while he was asleep.

Now, I understand that the car might not seem like the best place to cut tiny baby fingernails for the first time (and in fact Bret questioned my logic emphatically), but I had decided that no smack-talking pediatrician was going to make snide, guilt-trip attempting comments to me. Bite his nails off...HA! That would be the easy way out! I was going to be business-like and confident. And I had safety infant nail clippers. What could possibly go wrong?

Nothing! Nothing went wrong! It was smooth sailing. Textbook. Instructional video worthy.

And so the next time Gabe needed his nails trimmed, and we weren't even in a moving vehicle, I was calm, cool, and collected. I had done this before, with fabulous results. What could possibly go wrong?

And then I cut the tip of Gabe's thumb off.
It was horrible. H-O-R-R-I-B-L-E. He started crying, I started crying, his thumb bled profusely, then his finger started bleeding because apparently I'd cut him there too, before the thumb, just not as much so it hadn't instigated the crying fit like the thumb did.
Did I mention it was H-O-R-R-I-B-L-E?
So I threw the safety nail clippers across the room and told Bret I would no longer be cutting Gabe's fingernails and instead I would just bite them off. Darn pediatrician. (side note - in my rational mind, I understand that the pediatrician had nothing to do with what happened. but still. darn pediatrician.)
The thing is, biting them off is not an exact science. It can take a few bites on a nail to get all of it, and it leaves scraggly and uneven edges. So lately I have discovered that regular fingernail clippers, without the plastic guide on them, work wonderfully.



I can actually see where the bottom of the clippers are under Gabe's nail because they're dark silver, and so I am again clipping with cool-headed confidence.
Except that I tend to hold Gabe's little fingers in a death grip so that he won't move them while I'm clipping his nails.
And except that I hold my breath before I can actually squeeze the clippers to make a cut.
Oh, and except the fact that it takes me 10 minutes to clips his nails because I am so paranoid about not cutting his fingertips again.
But other than that...total confidence.

?

What exactly is the appropriate title for a post showing my son's rear end in his first pair of jeans?

Dear Gabriel

Dear Gabriel:

I need your advice! Have you heard of this thing called "tummy time"? It's driving me crazy! My parents insist on putting me on my stomach for play time and all I have to show for it is a sore back, a crick in my neck, and tired elbows! I try to fuss and let them know that I'm not enjoying their "tummy time", but they just don't seem to get the point. How can I get them to understand?

Thanks,

Tummy Time Sucks in Hoboken, NJ



Hey Tummy Time!

Oh yeah, I've heard of tummy time and I agree, it sucks! Unfortunately, tummy time is an important activity and necessary so that we can learn advanced skills such as rolling over, crawling, sitting up, and someday even walking and running! Trust me, I am NOT a fan of tummy time, but I heard my Aunt Laura say that the most important thing she remembered from her Psychology classes was that people who don't crawl as babies can end up becoming psychopaths. Or something like that. Anyway, I looked up the word psychopath and it sounded bad so I'm keeping crawling on my list of things to do before I turn One, and tummy time is going to help me get there.

The real issue here is how to glean the benefits of tummy time while still letting your parents know that you call the shots. My approach is to spend the first few minutes of tummy time working my muscles (remember, lots of reps with lower weights will keep your muscles long and lean rather than bulking you up) and then after a few minutes I start whimpering. If my parents don't respond, I work up to a full cry until they pick me up or roll me over onto my back. And sometimes I like to continue whimpering for a while after they've picked me up or rolled me over, just to make sure my point is being made. Every few days (or so), I give them a little excitement by rolling from my tummy to my back once or twice - just so they can feel good about my progress. I have found that the above approach results in multiple, short tummy time sessions throughout the day rather than one or two longer marathon sessions. This seems to be providing the maximum benefit for building my muscles.

Now, you could certainly try an approach where you put up with the marathon workout and keep your discomfort to yourself, but keep in mind that you run the risk of your parents thinking you like the longer tummy time sessions, and not understanding that what you're really trying to achieve is a one-day-on, one-day-off workout schedule. You'll likely have to pitch a lot of loud crying fits on your desired off-days while your parents try to figure out what's wrong, and you'll have to endure them trouble-shooting a myriad of other solutions to stop your crying (i.e. pointless diaper changes, clothing changes, feeding you when you're not hungry, trying to make you sleep when you're not tired, etc etc).

The best advice I can give you during this time is to try not to get too frustrated, and to get support from friends that are sharing similar experiences trying to train their parents. If you know other babies around your same age - or even better, older babies that can encourage you that you WILL get through it - talk to them about their tummy time experiences. I have found that my stuffed animals are great listeners, and though they do not share my exact frustrations about tummy time, they understand what it's like to be unable to move of their own volition.

Below is a picture of me with Oly Font (the elephant on my left) and Rupert (the bear on my right). I apologize for the informality of my introduction of Rupert - he's never told me his last name.

Oly Font and Rupert are always supportive and there for me when the rigors of tummy time take their toll.


Hang in there - before you know it you'll be rolling over, sitting up and crawling on your own! Keep an eye on my column, because I'll be writing tips for crawlers in a few months, including strategies for making effective messes!

Until then, happy (as happy as it can be) tummy time!

- Gabriel