07 March 2013

This Is 1

Little Brother is not so little anymore. He is a year old.

Finally, I don’t have to do math when somebody asks me how old he is. I no longer have to give the response in months, I can just say, “One.” This is a great relief to me. Because I am so bad at math that it takes me a few moments to work out my response, during which time the person I am speaking to could very easily come to believe that I am a horrible parent who has no idea how old my child is. Which is not completely the truth. I am literally that bad at math.

(Sidenote: Reading a book about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with the Doozer recently, there was a section where the Turtles thwart some thugs and then some cops arrive to take them away. The thugs, not the Turtles. Anyway, the picture on the page shows a single police car with two cops in it. But the Doozer tells me, proudly, that there are four Turtles, four thugs, and four police. Pointing to the picture, I tell him there’s only two police. He repeated what I’d just read to him: The book says two police cars arrived. He extrapolated that there would then be four police because he could see two in the car that was pictured, so there must be two in the other car. Yes, my 4-year-old is that much smarter than me when it comes to math. Shut it.)

Of course, he was sick for his birthday. Which was a bummer. We kept things low-key as a result and as a special treat, let him try ice cream for the first time. Nothing fancy, just some plain vanilla bean. He took only a couple bites and then made a face and refused to have anymore.

Yes, he thumbed his nose at ice cream. Not sure if I should be proud or horrified. Strangely, the next night at dinner, he thumbed his nose at macaroni-and-cheese, while furiously stuffing his face with as many green peas as he could get his tiny hands on. Parenting success?

So, one is loving peas and not loving ice cream. But it’s also much more.

One is dancing like a maniac to the Black Keys and the Arctic Monkeys. Until the moment the camera comes out to record this awesomeness and you suddenly turn into Michigan J. Frog.

One is having an insatiable desire for all the experiences life has to offer. Like gulping down milk so furiously from a sippy cup that you overfill your tiny mouth and excess milk cascades out like a rushing waterfall the moment you take away the cup.

One is waving to yourself, instead of outwardly, when someone says good-bye to you.

One is waking full of energy at 6 a.m., ready to smile, laugh, and play.

(One is being kind of an insensitive jerk.)

One is pulling every single book and DVD off the shelf and piling them all around the room. (Sure, it’s hilarious to see you so intently examining Waiting For Godot and Eyes Wide Shut, but I’m ready for this phase to be over.)

One is completely refusing to lay still for a diaper change. There’s plenty of time, man. Just relax. You have your whole life in front of you to run away from us. Give me the next 30 seconds.

One is hearing your older brother’s voice, singing through the monitor, and having your face light up like the Fourth of July.

One is attempting, oh so amusingly, to imitate the ZZZs of a snoring owl in your favorite book.

One is impersonating Godzilla as your favorite activity, wreaking havoc and raining down destruction upon pirate ships, block towers, and your brother’s Lego sets.

One is true love.

We had a rough go of things at first. This little guy’s first week in this world was spent in a NICU, hooked up to machines, fighting to breathe. Knocked us for a loop and almost knocked us down. But not him. He hasn’t stopped moving, yelling, crying, laughing—living—since.

And one is only the beginning.

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