Smile

smiley photo

After a month of rejecting low-ball offers from around the country, Wifey and I have decided to take our Little Dude off of the baby black market. A couple of weeks ago he finally smiled at us, and suddenly everything changed.

During the six week roller coaster of sleep deprivation and paranoia, we’d been repeatedly reassured by the more experienced parents in our circle, “you have to be patient – just wait until he starts to smile. I promise you the whole thing gets so much more rewarding.” 

We thought: But first all three of us have to survive that long. Can we make it? We’ve got a pretty shitty track record with plants – and they don’t yell at us all the time or need diaper changes. 

Now I’lI say it – and thank God. They were so right.

Perhaps it’s also the evolution from slug to mammal that we’ve witnessed – the smiles are accompanied by flailing limbs that are pretty damn hilarious but help him appear more, well, human. He’s rapidly becoming a real little person, and it’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.

Whatever it is that makes him smile, we do it over and over and over and over and over again. It never gets old. Most rewarding of all: all of a sudden he seems to get a real kick out of being kissed by his parents.

 

 

Incognito

photo copy 2

Little Dude is almost two months old now, and life is starting to take on some sense of (new) normalcy. Now that he’s developed something along the lines of a routine – as well as the beginnings of an immune system – one of my favorite things to do is to wear my son around the neighborhood. (I can’t wait to take him to his first wine tasting.)

Along with the opportunity for bonding that this provides – and the bonus calories burned – I’ll admit it attracts a fair amount of attention, sometimes positive, sometimes negative. What’s really amazing is how many times I’ve been asked, “is that a baby in there??”

This reached new heights when I went to pick up the little guy’s birth certificate yesterday; I brought him along in the Ergo – with his head covered as in the photo above to protect him from the bright California sunshine I had encountered on the way in.

So there I am, waiting for our number to be called (picture us at your local DMV, for reference), swaying back and forth to keep Micah calm – when a  woman takes a seat a few feet away, staring at us shamelessly. (I’ll call her “trashy” for lack of a better term – she had that look of a failed, aging porno actress that one encounters primarily in Florida and Southern California [and occasionally New Jersey].) After shooting me her dirty look for what felt like hours, she finally spoke:

“Why do you have a dog in there and you’re treating it like a baby?”

“Um, Ma’am, it is a baby. I’m here to pick up his birth certificate.”

“Yeah, right.” She said. “It’s a dog.”

I paused for a moment at this point to determine if I was hearing her correctly. While strangers have repeatedly demonstrated a shocking lack of inhibition when offering opinions about babies and child-rearing, this is a new one. She was actually going to debate this with me? And even if the child in my baby carrier was in fact a small dog, what business was that of hers?

Biting back all of more obvious (and satisfying) things I might have said to her, I instead took a deep breath and did my best to respond calmly.

“Excuse me, but why would I be standing here in the county office waiting for a birth certificate for my dog?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a look of disgust. “People are weird.”

Yup, I thought. That’s for sure.