Image: Seed of Chucky

This is what happens when you don't know how to blow your nose--snot comes out of your eye and your eyelids stick together. Who knew?

Val said he looks like Chucky.

Image: Enjoying a Swim

59 week update

A summary of Harrison's latest skills and accomplishments:

1. The Conquering of the Great Ring Stacker. Not necessarily in the correct order of rings, so sometimes they don't all fit on, since he might, for example, put the red one on first, which is the smallest one, so only one more can get jammed on after that. And then—oh boy—let's try putting a block on top just for kicks! Gee, is it fun!
2. Shuttling objects: blocks, clumps of cat hair (have the words "clumps of cat hair" ever appeared so much in one blog? Perhaps I should rename it?), bits of newspaper, whole newspapers, laundry, more cat hair. He loves bringing over these random objects and handing them to you, but sometimes he tricks you and almost hands it over, but then runs away smiling and going, "SYKE!" Well, not that last part, but he finds it funny to play tricks.
3. Feeding people. One bite for him, one bite offered to whomever is around. Frankly, it's usually not that tempting of an offering because it's something like banana dipped in red sauce or a partially eaten, soggy graham cracker
4. Playing tunes. He's been waking up quietly from naps and night-sleeping and the first thing we hear is his crib music box being turned on. Then off. Then on. Then off. Then on. Then…you get the picture.
5. Self-flagellation with box tops. This isn't so much a skill or an accomplishment, but Harrison has taken to holding up this big metal cookie tin lid or the shallow wooden block box in front of his face and hitting himself in the forehead. Repeatedly. And giggling. ?????
6. Reaching out for things that he wants. It's not pointing exactly, but he reaches his arm out and grunts in the direction of a desired object. Examples of desired objects include the living room chandelier, the porch wind chime, trees with leaves, dangerous kitchen appliances with pretty, pretty cords and fun electricity
7. Downward-facing dog. The world is more fun when you look at it upside-down between your legs!
8. Dancing a happy dance. Rather indescribable. The phrase, "Jogging in place" does not sufficiently convey the absolute cuteness of this jig.
9. Lap-sitting. By far the most endearing of the set. World's littlest butt tries to insert itself on parent's lap or next to parent's own, much larger (well, in my case) butt. Execution is not always successful and owner of little butt often ends up tipping over. Almost always happens with a book in tow. When the first book is read, little butt retrieves another book and then attempted lap-sitting resumes. Repeat numerous times until all 5,286 books have been read.

Image: Tongue

Kids are disgusting

Yesterday, after I posted about the mulch-eating, hurling-into-the grass incident, Ashley and I were chatting about how desensitized we are to the nastiness of our respective offspring.

I offer as evidence:

Last night, Kama's over for dinner and we're sitting around the kitchen table eating, and Harrison's in his highchair eating some Morningstar "chicken," and carrots, and some wheat bread, only he's got this cold and cough, so everytime he coughs, he makes this hacking sound and spits out whatever half-chewed up food is in his mouth. Several minutes of this pass and Doug and I just keep on chatting and eating, while this big pile of gooey food on Harrison's bib gets bigger and bigger. Kama is looking pretty repulsed, so I say, "Is that bothering you?" And she says, "I'll just try not to look at it!"

And Doug solves the problem by nudging the pile into the bib pocket.

Image: Extreme Sports for 1-year olds

Ode to the Working Parent

Before I had Harrison, I was deluded into thinking (like all childless people) that I could just fit a baby into my old life. The reality is that the dance of juggling work obligations, parenting, the stress of parenting, and the maintenance of a home and household is unbelievably intricate and complicated and sometimes depressing.

I think the biggest deficit in my fantasies was not being able to account for how I would feel as a parent. I'm not just speaking to the infinite love that I feel for Harrison, but also the accompanying self-doubt, guilt, stress, and fear that is constantly nagging at my consciousness. I didn't really realize how mentally and physically tired I would be all of the time (and this with a child that has slept at least 6 straight nighttime hours since he was 6 weeks old). I didn't realize that simple things like taking a shower would require planning. I didn't think about how Doug and I would orchestrate shoveling snow, vacuuming, grocery shopping, doing maintenance on our house, taking care of our kitties, preparing dinner, doing laundry, gardening, or washing the dishes—all of these tasks we used to share that can now only be easily done either by one of us at a time, because Harrison needs constant attention, or after Harrison goes to sleep. I didn't realize how full the weekday hours between 2:30 (when I pick Harrison up from daycare) and 7:30 (when he goes to bed) would be and how once he does go to bed, I wouldn't always (okay, usually) have the energy to finish up the daily chores, or go to the gym or the movies with my girlfriends, or read a book without falling asleep after 10 minutes.

The longer I co-parent with Doug, the more I am in awe of single parents who manage to raise successful, well-adjusted, and intelligent children while maintaining their own sanity. Honestly, I don't think I could do it. The obvious reason for this is the sheer amount of time, effort, and attention that parenting requires. It's certainly not a thankless job, but it's an exhausting one. Add to that the necessity of working outside of the home 40 or so hours a week and I don't know how singles do it—financially, physically, or mentally.

Harrison has been fighting an apparently antibiotic resistant infection for the last month, and I've been so torn between the need for him to stay home and get well and a feeling of guilt and fear about taking more time off, given that I was out of the office with him three weeks ago, sick myself two weeks ago, and was in OR for two days this past week.

It's a dilemma that I'm sure many working parents are familiar with, and it's ridiculous, especially since I work for a very understanding company and am entitled to take as much sick time as I or my child needs. But despite the official policies, I hear people making comments and snide observations about others who've taken a lot of time to tend to their sick kids—people with children of their own who should certainly know better than to add to the immense pile of guilt that parents, especially working parents, already have. How is it possible that I can feel both guilt about going to work and sending Harrison to day care and guilt that I'm shirking work responsibilities by staying home with a sick child? As I said, it's ridiculous and it's maddening.

And, yes, it's trite and clichéd, but despite the stress and fact that there just aren't enough minutes in the day to do everything that needs to be done (to say nothing of the things that I'd actually like to do!), it is also really the truth that it is worth every minute. Well, most of the minutes. Not the ones where Harrison's screaming because I took away the clump of cat hair that he was planning to eat. Or the ones where I have to clean up the carrots that he hurled onto the kitchen floor because he just doesn't like carrots this week. Or the ones where I have to hold him over the grass in the front yard because he's throwing up after gagging on that piece of mulch that he just tried to swallow. Or the ones…Nevermind. I'll just stop there.

It's all good.

Happy Father's Day!

I will be leaving today for a Nguyen family wedding in Portland OR, so Doug will be a single parent from 7 tonight until Sunday afternoon. This means that for 60+ hours, he's going to be mostly alone with, and the lone caretaker for, a child who is on the move every single second of his waking hours—a child whose alias is now Hurricane Harrison because he leaves a path of devastation in his wake—a child whose secret superhero identity, I will finally reveal to you all, is Destructo.

Doug tells me that they're going to have a wild boys' weekend and invite some girls over, but my prediction is that the weekend will mostly involve Doug chasing Harrison around and urgently muttering sentences that begin with the words, "No..." "What..." "Put down..." "Get away…" and "Stop…"

I don't know what I'm going to come home to on Sunday, but it might not be pretty.

Before the torture begins and you resent me forever for leaving, Doug, let me butter you up by offering you some heartfelt Father's Day thanks:

Thank you, Doug, for being such a thoughtful husband and father. On Mother's Day you got up with Harrison and let me sleep as late as I wanted (just like you always do on Sundays). You bought me flowers and made me fresh sausage and french toast stuffed with blueberries. Thank you for making me feel appreciated and loved on my first Mother's Day. I'll be in the air Sunday morning, so thank you for waking up early with Harrison on Father's Day too.

Thank you for being so unbelievably strong and keeping me together during Harrison's diagnosis, testing, and surgery.

Thank you for being so comforting and understanding after I had to go back to work, when I cried every morning in the car after I said goodbye to our little baby.

Thank you for agreeing to be the one to drop Harrison off at daycare everyday, just because it's hard for me to say goodbye.

Thank you for reassuring me (over and over) that it was okay for me to stop breastfeeding Harrison at 6 months. You were right—he didn't die.

Thank you for being so supportive of my decision to cut back my work hours to 35 per week so that I can get more time with Harrison every afternoon. Thank you for working a full 40 hours so that we can afford to do that.

Thank you for laughing with me at people who suggest that you're really going beyond the call of duty by "babysitting" when I need a night out with the girls, by buying Harrison books, or by changing his diapers.

And finally, thank you for being my full partner in raising our amazing son. There is nothing in this world that has ever made me happier than seeing the two of you together.

Image: Hot Naked Guys

Image: Look at the camera!

Aquaphobe

Doug bought Harrison a little purple wading pool on Saturday.

HE HATES IT.

He hates it so much that he screamed and flailed and bucked at bath time the past two nights, as soon as he realized I was lowering him into the tub.

Aiyah!

Secret Angel Man

At this point, Harrison has been in daycare longer (7 months) than he stayed at home with us (6 months). Still, it's weird to me that he has these 35 of 168 hours a week that I don't really know about. He has a little life of his own, with a routine and social network and friends. And since he can't talk and tell me about his day, the only record I have of his 7 daily hours at daycare is his Poop Report, which also has information about his nap time, what he ate, and what his other activities were: e.g., "Went Outside," "Sang Songs," "Read Books," "Visited the Grammas and Grandpas," "Played in Gym" etc.

As Harrison has gotten older, my love-hate relationship with daycare has been trending toward the love end of the scale. At the beginning, I felt 100% hate/guilt. Now that he's mobile and communicative and devouring experience, day care is a good place for him. Even better, now that he's older, he can really participate in our center's intergenerational programming.

Yesterday, Miss Sandy told me that last week when they went to visit the Grammas and Grandpas in the nursing home, Harrison had made a special friend in one of the Grammas. The other kids in the class didn't want to sit with her, but Harrison sat on her lap and visited with her for the whole time. She was delighted. The woman's son and daughter-in-law happened to be visiting and they took pictures of Harrison and their mother.

Earlier this week, the woman passed away in her sleep

I don't even know her name, but I am so proud that Harrison was able to meet her and make her happy for that brief visit.

I miss him every single day, but sending him to daycare is getting easier.

And I hope I get copies of those pictures.

The best virus name EVER!

I am SO GLAD that Harrison's hot pediatrician diagnosed him with an ear infection last week because Doug just saw her on the news this morning and she mentioned that the Coxsackie Virus is going around.

Oh man, if that had been the diagnosis I would not have been able to contain myself.

I am not kidding. The Coxsackie Virus!

It's the little things...

...that melt my heart. Like watching your father cut up some bite-sized papaya, put it on your tray, and then work quickly to squeeze a drop of lime juice on each tiny piece.

: )

Life is good.

The Third Word

Harrison has added a new word to his vocabulary. The word is "Muh!" and it's the only thing other than "mama" and "dada" that he says with any consistency and reliability. It has something to do with food or eating. He says it while eating and also when he wants more of something. (That something is always fruit.) We'd like to think that he's actually trying to say "More!" but really that's a bit of wishful optimism.

MUH!

My apologies

Harrison, I'm sorry that you've been so sick for the last 5 days that yesterday when you woke up you couldn't open your eyes because they were glued shut with goop. I'm sorry that you had to endure 10 minutes of your father scrubbing at your face with a warm wash cloth before you were able to see anything.

I'm sorry that yesterday afternoon, when you were feeling so much better and we were playing in the yard, I wouldn't let you eat any grass, mulch, or maple-seed helicopters, even though you really wanted to and tried to repeatedly.

I'm sorry that when we were playing on the porch, I let our 7 year-old neighbor Alexandra put your bangs in a little unicorn pigtail on the top of your head.

I'm sorry that the other neighborhood kids then laughed at you because you looked like a big dork.

It's just not your week.

Image: Peace