Da Da Da

On the road to the magical land of spoken language, the kid seems to have pulled over into a rest stop called "Da."

OK, so it's not actually a word, according to my trusty Canadian Oxford Dictionary. Nevertheless, she uses it for an astounding variety of reasons. And when one time doesn't elicit the desired response, she'll repeat it like that novelty song from the '80s: "Da, Da, Da!" And if that still doesn't pay off, she'll start cranking the volume until every "DA!" sounds like it's coming from a loudspeaker the police have set up outside to drive you mad.

Ever the Jane Goodall to babygirl's chimp in the Gombe Reserve our household has become, I've been taking note of all the meanings I think she ascribes to this all-purpose syllable. Here are a few I'm pretty sure of:

• "Feed me!"
• "Feed me more!"
• "What's that?"
• "Who's that?"
• "Give me that!"
• "No, not that. That!"
• "Take me over there!"
• "No, not there. There!"
• "Where's that thing I was just playing with?"
• "Here, you play with this thing!"

Of course, she also uses it like an Irish lass, as shorthand for "Dad." I like that. But she's usually pointing at me when she says it, so it's possible that she's actually saying "Duh." Probably learned that from her mother.

Tubdumping

Photo credit: mjecker, flickr.com

Not long ago, the kid pooped in the bathtub.

She had done this only once before. And she was younger then, so her output was just a small yellowish cloud that was easy to dispense with.

This time was different.

Had we heeded the signs—namely, a couple of healthy toots that presaged the arrival of the kid she was about to drop off at the pool—we could have avoided the whole incident. But we didn't. Nor did we notice the blank "I'm a-poopin'" cast of her face as she stood grabbing the rim of the tub, until it was too late. "And then," as Eddie Murphy famously joked in Delirious, "a big brown shark came."

It started harmlessly enough, a single turd that slipped quietly into the water before bobbing to the surface amidst the assorted bath toys. But thanks to babygirl's fondness for blueberries, it didn't stay that way for long.

We managed to get her out of the tub before the smell hit, whereupon my wife started coughing and gagging as she fled the scene, bearing the giggling kid in a blue towel. I could still hear the coughs and gags coming from the next room as my wife dealt with what was on the towel. But my immediate concern was what was now rapidly disintegrating in the tub like a long brown comet, trailing half-digested blueberry bits and wispy fragments of itself in its wake.

Thanking my lucky stars once again for my iron stomach, I gingerly lifted out the larger chunks with pieces of toilet paper and dropped them into the toilet. Then I yanked the drain plug and hit the shower head, washing down the remnants. The bath toys went into the sink for the soap, rinse and repeat treatment, then it was time for a bathroom-cleanser scrubdown to disinfect the whole area.

Since then, all has been quiet on the fecal front during bathtime. But we're still a little gun-shy. This evening, she let out a little fart that put an end to the bath-night festivities in four seconds flat.

Birthday blunder

Check out the warning on these party favours for a kid's first birthday.

Thou pox-addled wretch!

The nurse said this could happen.

Two days ago, we took babygirl in for her 12-month vaccinations. Three jabs in the shoulders later, all was well. She's had a mild fever and needed some night-time cuddles she wouldn't usually need, but nothing serious.

This morning, she woke up with a breakout of what looks like chickenpox on her face.

Uh-oh, time to double-check the info sheet. Hmmm, let's see...

"Fever, and/or a rash can occur 4–12 days after getting the vaccine. The rash can be a blotchy red rash(measles-like) and/or spots that look like blisters (chickenpox)."

OK, so it's fairly normal. And it's not the full-blown variety. Nevertheless, even this type can be contagious, so our little inpatient will likely be confined to the house for the weekend.

On the other hand, there is a little part of me that wants to parade her around the grocery store, just to watch the other parents scramble and scurry to keep their kids away.

Baby skill unlocked: First steps!

Babygirl learned to crawl during the Family Day long weekend, so what does she do for an encore? She learns to walk on Canada Day!

I love the look on her face. This must be what it feels like to discover you suddenly have superpowers.

Binkit and you'll miss it

It's official: babygirl has bonded with her binkit.

For awhile, we would have bet cash money that her first comfort object would be the pink knitted blanket we were using to cover her up at bedtime. But that blanket grew a good-sized hole in the middle, so we stopped using it.

The binkit of choice turned out to be a gift from Grandma Deets, a fuzzy, polka-dotted pink blanket with a brown satin fringe. The thing is exquisitely soft, which explains why the kid has been spending so much time with her head buried in it. I would too, if I didn't think people at work would look at me funny.

She's come up with at least three binkit games that I know of:

• Leave binkit on floor. Crawl away a short distance. Then come charging back for a headlong cuddle! Repeat until distracted.
  
• Pull binkit over head. Wait for parent to ask, "Where's Emilie? Where is that Emilie?" Swiftly pull down binkit for the static-haired reveal! Repeat until distracted.
• Have parent lay out binkit. Crawl on. Bend down and place head on binkit like a Muslim doing the daily prayer ritual! Repeat until distracted.
  

This sort of behaviour has prompted us to consider the repercussions should the binkit get lost or damaged beyond repair. So not long ago, I ran out and bought two more just like it. (Chalk one up for mass production.)

So far, the ruse is working. Binkit 1, the original, is her bedtime and morning companion. Binkit 2 stays at the day home for naps, and Binkit 3 is the versatile relief player that can fill in for either of the other two on short notice.

At this rate, I'm guessing Binkit 7 will go in the heirloom chest.

First birthday, last daddy day

Today was babygirl's first birthday. Tomorrow, I go back to work after five months and 12 days as a stay-at-home dad.

Speaking of ups and downs, it was an interesting day. Here's how it went.

No more monkeys jumping on the bed!

The last day, the last day, and her birthday to boot, and this is when Daddy's 163-day zero-incident streak ended. Mom was in the ensuite bathroom; babygirl was hanging out on our bed, and I was keeping an eye on her while she pulled stuff out of mom's purse. Or so I thought. I was putting back all the stuff, focusing on that task alone for just a moment too long, and she tumbled off the end of the bed. I got to her in time to see her land—on her back, thank the gods of parenthood—and look up at me with an expression that looked more pissed-off than anything else. But then the crying started. For a moment we thought she might have bitten her tongue, but she soon calmed down and it became obvious that she wasn't hurt. My wife, who had had a similar incident some months earlier, went easy on the recrimination, for which I remain grateful. The self-recrimination is plenty enough, thank you.

Birthday bonanza!

(Full disclosure: Some of this is shamelessly cribbed from my wife's entry in Emilie's baby book.)

Where we celebrated it: At home, on a beautiful sunny Sunday. Our friends and family came over for an afternoon barbeque.

Who was there: Mom and Dad, and 16 of the best birthday-party guests a one-year-old could ask for, including special appearances by rarely-seen luminaries Uncle Chad and Uncle Grant!

Special gifts: The gifts were all special (and if I've forgotten any in the following rundown, the fault is all mine). There was generous financial support from the grandparents. There were three pretty dresses. There were lots of books, including the wonderfully titled "Bears on Chairs." There were two baby dolls, and even a mini-stroller to push them around in. There was an inflatable bouncy cow from Mommy and Daddy that was a hit with everyone, especially when we discovered that it can support a full-grown uncle! There was a pink princess chair from Auntie Nancy and Uncle Grant, the ideal throne for our pink princess. There was a mesh ball pit complete with 500 balls from Auntie Cathy and the boys, which will become the centrepiece of Dad's grand vision of a vast basement network of activity spaces connected by tubular tunnels. And maybe a teleporter. But the clear favourite was a push-button pop-up toy that combines Whac-A-Mole with the people-popping-out-of-doors bit from Laugh-In. No batteries, music or flashing lights, just five buttons, five doors and a concept superbly suited to a baby's desire to make something happen by pushing something.

Birthday cake: Auntie Cathy made a special "Number 1" cake with pink icing and white lettering, plus a big batch of confetti cupcakes too!

So, the day got off to a rough start, but it turned out to be a very good day indeed. Now the diaper bag is packed and ready for the day home tomorrow, and my backpack is ready for my return to work.

Our time as constant companions is over so soon, my little girl. It's a time you won't remember as you get older, but it's a time I will never forget. I'm happy I got to spend it with someone like you.

So how was your day?

Every day, when I pick up babygirl from the day home, the lady gives me a slip of paper with a quick summary of how things went.

I'm thinking about photocopying a bunch of these slips, so I can just fill one out each day and hand it to my wife when she asks how my day was.

Name: ______________

Date: _____________

Time Outside:
30 min.

+/- 1 hr.

+ 2 hrs.

Activity Participation:
Good (red light)

Fantastic (yellow light)

Excellent (green light)

Inside Activity: _______________________

Outside Activity: ______________________

Bathroom:
Regular

Irregular

Mood:
Sad (sad face)

Good (neutral face)

Great (happy face)

Appetite:
Little (whole apple)

Much (partly eaten apple)

All (apple core)

Nap Time:
< 30 min. (crescent moon)

30–60 min. (half moon)

> 60 min. (full moon)

Comments:
_________________________________________________
_________________________________________________
_________________________________________________

Come to think of it, this is all the performance assessment any employer really needs.

This is why I want her to take piano lessons

In praise of grandmas

What's the only thing better for a babygirl than spending some long-weekend time with grandma? Spending time with three grandmas!

Friday: Aquatic adventures with GG and Grammy

My own grandma, my mom's mom, was born in 1925, the same year Charlie Chaplin was born and The Great Gatsby was published. My wife calls her the quintessential grandma: a tiny 86-year-old lady with curly white hair, a no-nonsense outlook on life and a sharpness of wit that can make a roomful of relatives burst out laughing. Since the baby was born, we've all been calling her GG, short for great-grandma. She's had an interesting life, and she has absolutely earned the travel-rich life she now enjoys.

She lives in a condo complex with a swimming pool, so we decided to meet my parents there to take babygirl for a dip. We visited for a bit with GG, then all four generations of us grabbed our towels and ambled down to the pool.

It's a serious understatement to say that my mom loves her granddaughter. I made her wait a good long while for a grandchild, and now she's relishing the role of the loving, doting and protective Grammy. She and my dad come over to babysit quite often, and I get a kick out of hearing what they did to keep the kid entertained. (Evidently, she likes listening to ZZ Top and Tom Petty.)

I've always felt fortunate to have the parents I did. But as I watched my mom and my little girl laughing and splashing in the water, it was nice to be reminded.

Saturday: Fun time with Grandma Deets

I like to grumble to my wife about how often we see her family, but the truth is that they're all just fun people to be around. They're the kind of family you want a kid to grow up in. And as mothers-in-law go, I hit the jackpot.

Grandma Deets was already a three-time grandmother when Emilie came along, so she's had plenty of experience at the grandma gig—although it's been nine years since her last grandkid was getting most of his meals from a bottle.

On Saturday, she came by to help my wife pick out some May flowers for the backyard, then stuck around awhile for a glass of wine and some playtime with a fresh-from-her-nap baby. Grandma Deets scooped her up for cuddles, then walked her around the room for a few laps with a two-finger assist, then read her a story for as long as her limited attention span would allow (the baby's, that is).

Every kid should be so lucky to have grandmas like babygirl has.

The emergence of Emilie

With just over a month left in my stint as a stay-at-home dad, the good times with babygirl are really starting to roll. I can barely believe she's the same person as the tiny swaddled creature who shared our bedroom last summer, so quiet and motionless in her bassinet that I would often bend low over her, holding my breath until I could finally hear hers, just to make sure.

That tiny creature is now a two-foot-six, 23-pound junior juggernaut on the cusp of toddlerhood, a kid with her own bedroom—and her own personality, which is becoming more and more evident as she comes to her self-aware senses:

A sense of humour

A funny thing has happened to the kid: she's gone from laughing at the usual peek-a-boo and tickling antics to laughing at things that are actually funny. She finds it uproarious to stuff whatever she's been chewing on into Mom's mouth, as if to say, "Here, now you be the baby!" That bit kills me every time. This week she came up with some new material: biting down on her spoon when I'm feeding her. I then have to let go so she can chomp on it like a J. Jonah Jameson cigar, chuckling at me through her four teeth, until she grabs it and hands it back to me for the next mirthful mouthful. I am grateful that she has yet to realize the laff-riot potential of slamming into the back of my heels with her walker.

A sense of adventure

Dora the Explorer has nothing on babygirl! All around the house, she's boldly going where no baby has gone before, opening new doors both figurative and literal. Especially the doors to the liquor cabinet, where she has shown a disappointing tendency to reach for the apple-tini premix instead of the Crown Royal. She loves to crawl at breakneck speed down the upstairs hallway and into various bedrooms. And she's already conquered the closest thing to Everest the house has to offer: the curving carpeted staircase from the main floor to the bedroom level. But, like Indiana Jones confronted with a snake, she's still leery of the sproingy doorstop at the top of those stairs.

A sense of drama

Lately, I've been taking some of her tears as seriously as voters in my province took Michael Ignatieff. We've been watching some playoff hockey in the evenings, and I'm starting to think she's learned a few tricks from those weaselly players who try a little embellishment after falling down. But I'm a bit like a ref who keeps one eye on what's happening behind the play, so I can usually tell what she's up to. The key, I've discovered, is to avoid eye contact in the crucial moment just after she bonks her head or sits down hard, when she looks around to see whether I've noticed. If I am able to feign ignorance of the situation, she simply resumes babbling away and doing whatever she was doing. If I am not, she gives me the expression in the accompanying photo, and the two-minute penalty for being a sucker for a crying girl.

Wiggle room

Babygirl got her first-ever Easter basket last weekend. That was pretty cool.

Even cooler was the "Best of the Wiggles" DVD nestled in the fake plastic grass along with some baby treats, pull-apart eggs filled with toonies, and a selection of tasty chocolates that Daddy is munching on even as he writes this.

Yep, I'm a Wiggles fan. Have been for years, ever since my nine-year-old nephew Tyler was a toddler. (The Australian quartet has been together for an astonishing 20 years, longer than the Beatles and the Monkees combined.) I like their funny-looking Aussie faces. I like their Star Trek-ish shirts. I like it that one of them, red-shirted Murray, plays a guitar in most of their videos. But most of all, I like their little tunes, as fiendishly catchy as they are kid-friendly. And I hope little Emilie will too. A kid could do a lot worse. (I'm thinking of a certain bottom-heavy purple dinosaur whose name will go unmentioned.)

So far, it's looking like she's shaping up to be a Wiggles groupie. We played her three of the quartet's greatest hits yesterday, and she favoured us with happy squeals and knee-bendy dance moves from her standing position on the ottoman near the TV.

We haven't checked out the whole disc yet, but I fervently hope one clip is on it: an amped-up techno remix featuring marionette Wiggles grinning insanely and flailing around against a swirling psychedelic background. Babygirl will either love this, or she'll need years of psychotherapy to recover from it.

Sitting up and taking notice

Lately, when she wakes up, babygirl has taken to sitting up in her crib. This has prompted her proud but prudent parents to crank up the "omigod the baby" alert level another notch by lowering the crib mattress another notch.

The new depth is good for baby, not so good for daddy. Now I have to reach way down to pick up my no-longer-so-little bundle of joy, whose weight seems to be increasing at a rate inversely proportional to the atrophy rate of my neglected core muscles. I'm glad it's as low as it can go. Any lower and I'd have to invent a complex system of pulleys and counterweights to get the kid out.

But aside from the minors aches and pains of an out-of-shape dad, all seemed to be well. A few days ago, however, our pint-sized inmate staged a protest to let her jailers know she was dissatisfied with the new dimensions of her cell. When she awoke from her afternoon nap, I came in to find her sitting up with no pants on!

I have no idea how she got her pants off, or what she thinks taking off her pants will do to influence us to raise her mattress. But as warden of the day shift, I do know this: it won't work. Neither will setting her blankie on fire or dragging a plastic baby spoon across the bars and yelling "Attica! Attica!" This is maximum security, baby.

Clickety-click... baby trick!

Having conquered crawling, babygirl is rapidly expanding her motor-control repertoire. Here are three recent feats—not quite enough to merit full-fledged baby skill status, but worth noting for their exceptional cuteness.

1. You say goodbye, I say hello: She may not be marrying Prince William, but she has the royal wave down pat. (The hand is in handshake position rather than "put your hand up" position.) She did it for the first time last weekend; now she pretty much does it on command, not to mention almost every time I say hello to her. Everyone's been trying to get her to blow kisses, so that's probably next.
   
2. Clap on, clap off: She's been able to pat her hands together for weeks, but now that the applause is audible, it's official. Lately, she looks as though she's trying to snap her fingers. If she pulls that off, I'm going to teach her to juggle.
   
3. Peek-a-boo! This one blows me away every time. When I put her down for nap time during the day, she'll often pull her blanket up over her face with both hands, wait three or four seconds, then yank it down quickly in the classic peek-a-boo motion, revealing a big two-toothed grin! She's usually good for five or six repetitions before she gets sleepy and Daddy tucks her in.
   

Does she know no?

She started doing this just over a week ago, and she's been doing it more and more often lately. In her high chair, in her crib, sitting on her play mat.

I'm pretty sure it's just that she's discovered how funny it feels to rub the back of her head on stuff. That would make this the next step in her "learning the dimensions of my head" phase (which started with her touching things to her forehead while playing with them, something she still does all the time). But my wife thinks babygirl has figured out the correct connotation of the vigorous head-shake. You be the judge.

Baby skill unlocked: Crawling!

My wife really wanted it to happen during the long weekend so she'd be there to see it. She got her wish, and I got lucky: I had my phone with me yesterday when it happened.

It took babygirl a few weeks to figure out the process—a recent visit to Canmore for some lessons from her year-old mentor, James, likely spurred her along—but now that she's got it, she's already getting faster and more confident. Time to get some baby gates.

Sure, a baby learning to crawl is a commonplace occurrence in this world. But the feeling you get when you watch this little person you've created beginning to understand, to learn, is a swell of pride so overwhelming you have to be careful you don't squeeze her too hard when you hug her.

Baby skill unlocked: Self-feeding!

Meal time has taken on a new dimension now that babygirl can grab things and shove them in her mouth. She's been able to do it for awhile, but her hit-to-miss ratio has improved a lot over the last week or so.

She's partial to bits of banana, puffed wheat and the ever-popular Honey Nut Cheerios. But evidently, what she really craves is pizza. When we tried giving her a bit the other day, she ended up devouring an entire piece—crust, cheese, pepperoni and all—one bite-sized morsel at a time.

I'm pretty sure I know which parent she gets the appetite from.

Freewheel Baby

Baby got a brand-new toy this week. These things aren't sold in Canada anymore, no doubt thanks to the same sort of people who got lawn darts banned. But my wife was not to be deterred, and it arrived on the doorstep earlier this week from the land of the free and—at least when it comes to baby walkers—the home of the slightly more brave.

In just a few days, she's gone from being able to move only in lurching backward steps to blazing around at surprising speed. The other day, I hopped in the office chair and did three laps around the kitchen island, with babygirl in hot pursuit.

Cute baby, acute hearing

I've discovered an exhilarating new game the whole family can play: I like to call it "Don't Wake Up Babygirl on the Way to Bed."

I'm almost always the last one in bed. The baby is usually out by 8 p.m., and my wife rarely stays up past 9:00 on weeknights. On the other hand, I seldom turn in before midnight, and I've been known to slink into the sack as late as two in the morning.

The morning-after consequences of these occasional lapses in judgment aren't anything three or four cups of coffee won't fix. But it's the more immediate consequences that I've learned to dread.

We have one of those sound machines in the baby's room. We have it set to emit a whale-music sound. The baby's room is right next to ours, so the whale music is as familiar to me now as the sound of my own heartbeat. There's a timer button that will cut out the sound after an hour or so. Most nights, I hit this button after I've tucked her in. I also leave her door ajar a bit.

Both of these precautions always seem like good ideas at 8 p.m.

But five hours later, as I'm tippy-toeing down the hallway, feeling my way along in the dark, holding my breath and trying to avoid the creaky spots in the floor, cutting my cover noise and leaving her door open seems about as smart as planting landmines under the carpet.

I don't know if the kid's hearing is that good or if my spy routine is that bad, but I know she's heard me a few times. I can tell because she wakes up, squawks and babbles a bit, then drifts off again. But once, a few weeks ago, she stayed up. I ended up having to pluck her out of the crib and take her downstairs for a playtime session that finally ended at 2:40 in the morning.

You'd think I would have learned my lesson from that one. But the time is now ten to midnight, and I'm not feeling at all sleepy yet. Wish me luck.

Three baby toys every office needs

The more I watch babygirl shrieking for joy in one of the many contraptions we've bought for her entertainment and edification, the more I think our society has gone wrong somewhere. With all the blather we hear about "work-life balance," when did we decide that toys this fun should be only for babies? Imagine if you worked in a place where they had these three things...

The Executive ExerSaucer

Why suffer the ergonomic purgatory of sitting in a crappy office chair when you could be suspended on your tiptoes at the centre of 360 degrees of multi-tasking awesomeness? With room for a phone, a laptop and plenty of developmental activity stations, the ExerSaucer offers the perfect combination of fun and functionality. Having trouble getting that presentation together? Try twirling the little cylinder and listen to it rattle until inspiration strikes! Need to look busy? With so many levers to pull and colourful buttons to punch, you'll fool the boss every time!

The Jolly Job Jumper

You've probably heard of the "walking meeting," but what about a bouncing meeting? Bolt a few of these units to the roof of the boardroom, and prepare for high-octane productivity with no dozing off or doodling! And with the Jolly Job Jumper's unique design, both hands stay free for taking notes, emphasizing points of order or fending off co-workers who didn't see the part in the instructions about it not being a swing.

The Employee Einstein Play Mat

Make lying down on the job an essential part of every day! At lunch, on a coffee break or anytime you want to work on your cognitive development, just ease back on the padded mat and let the flashing lights and digital snippets of familiar classical music stimulate your brain to unlock the genius within. Knock around the baubles hanging overhead, or kick the foamy pillars to fast-forward to the next music snippet. It's like a whole universe of your own in here!

I don't know about you, but I'd take a pay cut to be somewhere that had these things.

Oh, wait... I did!