separation anxiety

Big D,

I'll sure be glad when Miss Shirley, your primary caregiver at school, comes back next week from her carpal tunnel surgery. The place is much more chaotic (especially in the morning) without her.

We arrived at school today to find half the kids in tears. You were okay when I set you down, but the room was too electrified and in just seconds you were melting down with the others.

After I finished labeling and putting away your food I sat down on the floor with you and let you sit in my lap for a while, where you were content to quietly watch the goings on. It's our typical book-reading position; Me sitting cross-legged and you plopped down in the well, feet dangling, facing the same direction.

Eventually you crawled off my lap and started playing. You didn't go far. And I stayed where I was, for a while envying the other adults who got to spend the day here. I tried to sneak out of the room when you weren't looking, but you heard my voice when I answered someone's question about which clipboard your daily status sheet should be attached to.

You scrambled over and grabbed the bars of the gate I had passed through, crying loudly and then reaching, reaching, reaching. I touched your hair, waved good-bye, and left you crying as someone picked you up to get you started on your day.

Dad

blinko

Dylan,

Grampa Joe taught you to communicate using a slow, two-eyed blink. It's terribly cute and you love to use it when you're strapped into the highchair and looking for interaction.

Unfortunately, it almost instantly came to remind him of a neighborhood kid he grew up with who got a lot of teasing for an unfortunate facial tic.

Dad

Cocaine

Dylan,

A few months ago we noticed that your pupils are not always the same size in both eyes. We talked to your doctor, who referred us to another doctor, and we scheduled an appointment with a pediatric opthalmologist.

And we waited.

"Anisocoria" he said. A condition that exists in 20% of the population and just meaning your pupils aren't the same size, "Probably no big deal." But just in case, he referred us to another doctor, a neurological opthalmologist. This guy is so specialized that he's only in the office once a month. Fortunately, we got on the schedule for his very next visit, Dec 13. I say "fortunately", because the thing we needed to check for was a possible tumor on your optical nerve or somewhere nearby that may prevent one eye from functioning correctly and we weren't ready to wait another six months.

Becoming a Dad means having a lot more things to worry about. A little boy like you needs so much in order to grow up healthy, happy, and strong. Many of these things are easy, or at least simple. A few are hard. Some I can only guess at and hope I get right. There are other things too. Things already determined, beyond a father's hope to longer affect. You simply are who you are, D.

So, we got a call back from the original specialist -- the pediatric opthalmologist -- he's done some research and wants to bring you back for a test. It's a test both Mom and I had read about while looking into Aniscoria ourselves. It involves having a cocaine solution dropped into both eyes and observing the pupillary reactions. Well, you just had that test yesterday and the results were excellent. Your anisocoria is of the idiopathic variety and harmless. Whew.

Dad

step one

Dylan,

you took a step last night. Maybe THE step. I guess we'll never really know. You were standing against the couch playing with a three-dimensional star-shaped block that fits through a special star-shaped hole in one of your many many battery-operated noise-making toys. I was crouched down near the floor just a couple feet away, if that, talking to Mom when you turned from the couch, walked over and grabbed my knee. "He just took a step" said Mom, or something a lot like that. It was true, you had not just shuffled your feet and then switched your hands to a new support structure, but had actually turned and taken a step, unsupported but by the floor, over to be closer to Dad. I put your toy back on the couch. You took a look, turned, and stepped back to the couch to pick it up.

Dad

Update: The next day you took two steps over to Grandma!

rollicking

big eater

Dylan,

When I picked you up from school today they told me that you had eaten all the food we sent for the day, plus a whole extra jar of food. I wondered how a big lunch would affect your dinner.

Not how I expected.

You started off your evening meal by finishing up a big jar you'd gotten over half-way through yesterday, then you started on another big jar of veggies and lentils that Mom made. This was the extent of what we had planned for you to eat.

You were also drinking a ton of water.

You eventually finished the veggies and lentils, in the meantime eating a tortilla*, a stick of cheddar cheese* (in-duh-vidually wrapped!), a handful of Oh!s, a half-circle of colby/jack, and a heaping helping of tofu.

You were like a machine.

Here's a clip of you workin' on one of those tortillas you love so much (crank the volume for full effect):



Dad


*~10% dad-tax was exacted

one

Happy first birthday, Son.

Dad

too spicy

d,

I think at dinner tonight you finally caught too large a tidbit of habanero pepper in one of your tortillas. You suddenly started crying and your face turned red as you spat out your food and made it clear there was something in your mouth that you were not happy about. You wouldn't take the sippy cup. After 10 or 20 seconds you were finally inspired by a proffered cheerio to divert your attention and resume eating.

I knew this would happen sooner or later. Those are some serious tortillas.

dad

tag

Dylan,

You've become friends with one of your classmates at school and the two of you entertain the staff with your antics. His name is also Dylan and you guys will spend hours chasing after one another or taking turns stealing a coveted toy.

When I dropped you off the other day you wasted no time at all. You and Dylan J said your hellos and then you scampered away with a toothy smile, pausing after a bit to look back over your shoulder. You still had his attention so you turned and sat, facing him, grabbed a nearby toy and started playing, which was somehow the cue for him to fire up his engines. He zoomed across the floor and made a play for your toy. A caregiver laughed, "they're back at it again -- yesterday they played tag all afternoon."

You have a lot of little "friends" who are really just acquaintances around the same age. This is the first bond that you seem to have selected and cultivated of your own volition.

You are socialized.

Dad

beefeater

Dylan,

You ate pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions for dinner the last two nights, and no small amounts.

Uncle Chris and Uncle Todd are big pot roast fans too.

Dad

punkins

Youtube doesn't do these pics justice, but you might still enjoy 'em:



dad