Ah, I remember the summer of 2004. Our dear friend Beth had fallen in love with a great guy. And not just any great guy, but a great guy whose family has a lake house. Score for all of us. That first trip to the lake house in scenic Cherokee Village, Arkansas, was great -- sleeping in, reading magazines, floating around the lake without a care in the world, and then enjoying a leisurely dinner from Landon's grill at the end of the day. Ah, those were the days.
But these are the days too. The lake house (two bedrooms and a sun porch for sleeping, and ONE bathroom) now somehow manages to contain six adults and six children, ranging in age from 10 months to 5 1/2 years (yes, we have both the oldest and the youngest kids of the group). Lake trips are different now. I'd be lying if I said they were just as relaxing because they most definitely are not. Things are a lot louder, earlier, and stickier than they were in 2004. But every year, when we watch them line up at the front of the boat to see which swimming spot Landon (aka, Captain Windshadow) is going to choose today, we're astounded to see how they've grown since the previous year, and just grateful to be along for the ride.
The scene: Walt is in the bath playing with his motley assortment of bath toys.
W: Daddy, come look.
Daddy: Yeah. That's pretty fancy. What are you going to do with it?
W: Well, it's Mommy's birthday; maybe we should give it to her.
Daddy: What is she going to do with that?
W: She can put it on the table in the hallway. As a decoration.
Daddy: Yeah, Buddy. I don't think she's going to put a plastic beaker filled with water and a tiny rubber shark topped with a chili pepper bottle stopper on the table for decoration.
W: Why not?
Daddy: Well, because girls like to put nice things out for decoration. That's something that only a boy would use to decorate.
W: Well. We could put some stickers on it?
It's sitting on the table. Happy birthday, Ginger. Your boys love you.
I guess I'll take a stab at this monthly update thing. This is just one more area where Patrick will one day realize he got the short end of the stick (if this is a stick that even matters): monthly update posts by Daddy. Walt most certainly got more than one before he turned ten months old. Someone can verify that for me if they want, but the point is made. Here goes . . .
The big news is obviously the crawling. Or the Stanky Legg, as I like to call it. Ginger has successfully shielded you all from my description, but . . . well . . . she's not paying attention right now, is she? [EDITOR'S NOTE: Yes, I am, but carry on.] As we've noted, Patrick has a distinctive, stiff-legged crawl. Well, somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, I recall a dance move coined by some rap group that Patrick must have copied when he decided to crawl for the first time. If you get curious, you can certainly check it out for yourself, but we are not in the business of linking to music videos of Dallas-area, one-hit-wonder rap groups, now, are we? Instead, here's Patrick's version:
The mobility has, of course, changed everything. There was a flurry of P-proofing. Outlet inserts, a baby gate, closed doors, etc. But he decided to go ahead and start pulling up at the same time, too, so the "No, Patrick's" have also started in earnest. Television: "No, Patrick." Bathtub: "No, Patrick." DVD player: "No, Patrick." Evie's food and water: "No, Patrick." And on and on. Sometimes he stops. Sometimes he doesn't. But he definitely knows. Sometimes he even bee lines it straight to the forbidden object, stops, pivots on his rump like babies do and looks back at you to wait for the "No." Then, he usually does it anyway. Amazing how fast they pick up the defiance, isn't it? I remember being amazed with Walt, and I'm amazed with Patrick.
His hit ratio for picking up and eating Cheerios is getting marginally better, but a feeding session still results in a large nest of cereal in the high chair and a smorgasbord for Evie. He's also thrilled at the sight of Cheerios that bounce and take flight when he pounds on the trays on his Bumbo and high chair. He's extended that blast radius to about four feet, which can be cause for an oat surprise in your spaghetti if you're not watching.
As Ginger mentioned in an earlier post, he loves to poke and grab faces, hair, puppies, pretty much anything fleshy and living. But my personal favorite move is when he sticks his fat, little index finger straight up in the air like its a switchblade and rotates it around while inspecting it slowly. Then he slowly changes his gaze from his finger to your face, gets an evil little grin on his face and pokes right at your eyeball. It sounds like comedy that he is way too young to execute (and I'm sure I'm giving it a little fatherly license), but that's exactly how I see it. Until I have a little finger in my eye that is. It's classic Patrick.
In the brother worship department, it's going to be bad, I'm afraid. Thanks to Walt's constant adoration, Patrick is, in turn, constantly watching Walt. And he giggles at him and follows him around all the time. Trouble is brewing.
[EDITOR'S NOTE: There used to be a short section here on Patrick's sleep habits. But what is the first rule of babies and sleeping? Everybody say it with me . . . we don't blog about babies and sleeping! Sorry, Daddy.]
His temperament is almost always pleasant. If he's irritable, it's usually one of three things: hunger, exhaustion or Walt (see "constant adoration" above).
He smiles, laughs and bounces like a baby should. But the thing is, the second time around, I know he won't be a baby for much longer at all. As I reviewed Walt's ten month post in preparation for writing this one, I was painfully reminded of how quickly that crawl changes to a toddle to a walk to a run to a climb to a floaty-less dive into the deep end. Oh dear.
But we're enjoying it while we can. There will never be anything like that shrill little cackle he lets out when I grab his pacifier and hold it in my teeth. And the way he tries to head butt me when I make him laugh while holding him. He's a very sweet little baby.
Someone please remind me of this when he graduates high school next week. Ugh.
Does Patrick like Jerry's Sno Cones? Oh, yes he does.
And, no, I would never have DREAMED of giving a not-quite-ten-month-old Walt bites of my sno cone. I guess being the second child does come with some perks.
