So over the long holiday weekend, Cooper started figuring some things out. He’s not yet spontaneously walking, but with a little encouragement…
So, the day after turning eight (months), young Cooper decided that crawling was too boring, and since he can’t quite walk yet, he opted to take the stairs.
We’re doomed. 🙂
Since I’ve been SO good at keeping up with this blog, I think for a little while I’m just going to try to make quick posts whenever we get a particularly good photo.
This won’t be a photo-a-day or anything like that, but there’s a backlog of stuff I should get up and if I keep waiting until I have time to write a full-length post, it’ll be forever.
Had a new experience today; taking Cooper to another place and leaving him there with strangers.
Not really something you can mentally prepare for.All in all, the first day of daycare came and went with very little to report. Chris and I both went to see him off, and apart from labeling his bottles and stocking his cubby with diapers, there wasn’t a whole lot to do apart from handing him over and leaving. He was so interested in the new environment I don’t even know that he could tell we’d left.
Still, it felt odd. I didn’t really know what to expect, so it’s hard to gauge it against anything. Weird pretty much sums it up. ‘Here’s our baby,’ went the exchange in my head. ‘He is very helpless and occasionally stupid. Sometimes his butt explodes. Please feed him and clean him and keep him alive.’
Mind you, this has nothing to do with the daycare itself. We like the facility, the women in the infant room seem very caring and capable, and there’s plenty for the little ones to keep busy with. And Cooper gets quality time with his peers, which I expect he loves. Us old fogeys are probably way too boring for him.
No, it’s mostly just the idea of the thing.
I know it’s what everyone does. I know it’s what people have done for more than a century. It still just feels unusual.
It will grow on us, I have no doubt. We’ll get used to it and in a couple of months we’ll wonder how we managed to do without it (technically, we managed to do without it because we had serious grandparent help over the last several weeks. Thank you to all the grands, once again and always). But still.
I realize it’s a convenience and a huge first-world-problem to be angst-y about being able to have someone else provide professional care for your child, but there you have it.
At some point this afternoon I thought it was the longest I’d been away from the kid since he was born, but then I remembered the day I was out of town from about 7am til 9pm, which beat today by several hours. But even that wasn’t the same, because it was me leaving, him staying home. This was him leaving, me staying at home. Very much not the same.
The silly thing is, I fully realize that this is total small potatoes in terms of separation events. It’s the first tiny let-go moment in a long procession of letting-go moments, up until he’s fully independent and he’s going to go whether we like it or not. As emotions go, it’s pretty miniscule in the grand scheme of things.
But today? Today it felt big.
- Weight: 16lb 6.5oz (66%)
- Head Circ: 16.73″ (72%)
- Height: 26.75″ (97%)
Basically his weight and head size are normalizing, but he’s still very tall. I still envision a 6’9″ 15-year-old…
Everything else went well until the shots came–three needles and a vial of goo to drink–and although he didn’t enjoy them, I think they were a bit less traumatic than the two-month volley. He certainly seemed less irritated by the injection sites that evening and the next day.
In any case, we’re moving closer and closer to the really big milestone of daycare. Not exactly sure how I feel about that.
First of all, I’d like to mention that I’m not a particularly emotional moviegoer.
Sure, I get a little (inexplicably) misty at the end of underdog sports movies, when the rag-tag bunch of losers from the wrong side of the tracks beat those uptown snobs in (melo)dramatic fashion.
I’ll also freely admit to having a soft spot for Pixar films, getting a bit choked up at the end of Toy Story 3 when the kid gives away his toys, and of course the first 10 minutes or so of Up, because, well, I’m human. The rest of their oeuvre, however, while great entertainment, never struck me in a particularly meaningful way.
…and now I’m a dad. Things have changed.
Forever, I expect.
Came across Finding Nemo on cable the other day, and with nothing better to do, and Cooper snoozing away, started watching. I couldn’t even say which scene it was, but Marlin says something to the effect of “I have to find my son,” and I got a little lump in my throat.
Huh. That’s weird.
Five minutes later, another reference to rescuing and/or protecting his son, another lump and realize I feel profoundly sad.
What the heck? I’ve seen this movie before, it’s never made me want to cry. Suddenly it’s like I really want him to find Nemo, really want everything to turn out okay, even though I already know the story. I’m infinitely more emotionally invested.
Then Cooper shifts or sighs or does some other little baby thing and I look at him.
Oh, right. I get it now.
Don’t swim out past the reef, Coop.