Category Archives: Baby Trauma

This tail was made for pulling

face-off with cat

“The thing I love best about you is that you’re so unpredictable.”

Our baby and our cat are best friends. This is an unexpected development. When the big boy was a baby, he and the cat had an awkward relationship. The thing they had most in common was a wariness of the other. They might have been reality TV show contestants.

Since the big boy was the first baby, it is possible that the cat resented the way he stole the limelight. In a childless house, the cat was a pet. After baby-number-one arrived, the cat became more like a mobile piece of décor. The squeaky, helpless, crying wheel got the grease, and the cat got to make adjustments in his expectations. This may have soured the cat on the idea of human babies. The baby’s herky-jerky, heavy-handed flailing may have played a role as well. We’ll never know for sure.

Baby-number-one and the cat had their rare, sweet moments, but these were mostly when the baby was very drowsy or already asleep. The two of them were never best buddies.

Baby-number-two has taught the cat a lesson in demographics. Mr. Cat is outnumbered now, and since he hasn’t had all of his man parts in more than a decade, and there are no eligible bachelorette cats in our house anyway, he’s not likely to roll back the tide. Facts are facts.

To his credit, the cat has adjusted to his changing world. He has reached out to this new baby in an effort to mend fences with baby-kind. He flops down beside the baby and allows himself to be petted, if petted means having little fistfuls of his fur grabbed, his tail tugged, and his ears pulled. All of this is a form of attention, and the cat has come to appreciate that.

The cat also understands that this baby means no harm. He has a lighter touch than his brother did and that probably helps. If his grabby style of petting hurt the cat, the cat likely would not keep eagerly subjecting himself to it. But it doesn’t hurt, or at least it hurts better than nothing.

Their relationship is not all sunshine and lollipops, though. They’ve had their spats. One time the baby must have tugged upon the wrong piece of cat, because the cat had to yell at him. “Stop it! That hurts!” the cat said. That’s what I think he said, anyway. It was in cat language. It sounded mostly like “Rrrairrrlw!” but I think my translation is pretty close.

The baby cried after the cat scolded him. His feelings were hurt. He was only trying to play with his friend.

Another time I warned the baby in a stern voice not to tug the cat’s leg like he was. I was hoping to avoid another cat-yelling incident. I did avoid it, but the baby cried at my warning anyway. He’s very sensitive about his cat.

It’s tough when all you want to do is play with your best buddy and all it does is get you yelled at.

Pride and baby gates goeth before a fall

My wife and I know it’s in everyone’s best interests for the baby to learn to walk. We know this, but we ignore it.

We ignore this tried and true fact of life for a single reason. That reason can be explained in two words: baby gates.

Nobody likes baby gates. They are a pain to put up, a pain to negotiate, and a physical pain when you foolishly try to step over one because your hands are full. You almost make it cleanly, except for that foot that has grown older and fatter than you recall it. You go down hard and take the baby gate with you. Now you get to go through the pain of putting it up all over again.

Baby gates are especially hard to think about once you’ve suffered through them, put them away, and enjoyed living in a free-flowing home for a few years.

baby with walker

Mere days away from turning our home into a compartmentalized federation of rooms.

Our first child became a walker almost exactly on his first birthday. We were foolish, novice parents then. We got caught up in the competition of child development. We fell over ourselves helping that boy learn to walk. We were playing Beat the Clock against a clock that didn’t exist. It turns out that the age at which a child first walks is not recorded on his permanent record.

We beamed with pride when he took those first steps. Then we scowled with annoyance as we put up, and fell over, the baby gates designed to keep our happy little walker from walking anywhere except in circles.

The second baby wants to walk. We also want him to walk. Philosophically, we want him to walk. In practical terms, we’d be fine if he took a few more months to become an Olympic caliber crawler before he took on any new projects.

Every time I forget myself and hold the baby’s hands so he can practice, my wife mouths the words baby gate at me and I sheepishly set the boy down and pretend I have some other pressing business that needs my attention. My wife hates baby gates even more than I do, possibly because she carries more baskets of laundry around the house than I do.

We understand that it could be inconvenient to have a fourth grader who hasn’t yet learned to walk. Maybe we’ll target first or second grade, when the child is skilled enough at reading so that we can post warning signs around the stairs instead of using baby gates.

Yes, I know that’s just a pipe dream. This boy will be strolling around the most dangerous sections of the house before we can wring those last few drops of comfort from duty-free passage between rooms. In spite of our hard-earned wisdom, we’ll help him walk. Then we will attempt foolish hurdles for which we are too old and round. We will tumble down; most likely, a safe, happy, footloose toddler will laugh at our clumsiness.

 

Can a baby get some credit?

Every time the baby goes to the doctor, they ask about milestones. These are things he should be doing at certain ages. It went from making eye contact to sitting up to rolling over to crawling. Recently, we have met and passed the pulling himself up to stand milestone.

Tracking these standard milestones is fine, but it’s disappointing that the doctor doesn’t seem to care about the entertaining stuff our baby is doing. Our baby has passed a lot of other milestones too.

The High five milestone

Our baby is quite advanced in his high five skills. Maybe a lot of 10-month-olds can give a high five when prompted, but our child initiates the high five. He holds up an open hand and gives you that look that says, “Daddy Dog, can a baby get some skin?”

He is satisfied with all the high fives he gets in response. But if you make a “chit” noise with your mouth, to exaggerate the sound of two palms striking each other, he will reward you with a lovely smile and probably make you one of his regular high five buddies.

For a while, he even experimented with the fist bump, to which the proper sound effect was a tongue click. In the end, he found this activity overly pretentious and less sincere than the high five.

The Don’t go to any trouble; I can serve myself milestone

This is a milestone that all breastfed babies probably achieve. It’s odd that the doctor never asks about it because it is a good measure of ingenuity and coordination. Our baby met this milestone some time ago, but it seems like he keeps getting more nimble and insistent.

Babies learn to know where their bread is buttered. Though they may be eating other foods, there is still nothing like a fresh brewed pot of milk. Our baby has perfected the art of grabbing hold of one of nature’s milk jugs with both hands, while turning himself sideways across his mother and diving directly at the spigot. The turning maneuver he can accomplish without using his arms. This lets him keep his eyes, and his hands, on the prize.

The I understand that something nasty just went down inside my diaper milestone

This is another universal milestone that doctors should ask about, but don’t. It shows the development of awareness and an appreciation for social awkwardness. Younger babies can do all sorts of mischief inside their diapers without batting an eye. That bubbling cauldron of goo is no concern of theirs.

You know your baby is developing some self-awareness when a bottom-side blowout makes him freeze in place and stare at you with wide eyes, even before his big brother yells out, “Daddy, the baby just ripped a hole in his diaper!” The baby knows he’s absolutely tearing it up. What he doesn’t yet know is whether he should be proud or ashamed of it. Hence, the wide, questioning eyes.

Don’t worry, baby. In a year or two, your brother will have taught you that the sound your butt just made is the most hilarious noise in the world. There is nothing to do but laugh, and try to blame it on him.

wide eyed baby

“Oh my! Did somebody order a diaper shredder?”

The little kid with the big wig

Our baby was born with lots of hair, and after nine months on the outside, he has even more. His hair is dark and curly. When allowed to do what it pleases, it stands up tall on the top of his head.

For a long time, the hair on the back of his head was very short, highlighting the coiffure plume reaching skyward from the top. Lately, the hair on the back of his head has filled in nicely, but it still is mere undergrowth compared to the jungle of vines on top.

Big Brother refers to this hairstyle as the baby’s Big Wig. Having been a Seinfeld fan in the ‘90s, I sometimes wonder if this child weren’t meant to be named Cosmo or Kramer. Because of his Big Wig, people have often mistaken him for a girl. So far he is not the least bit embarrassed by their misconceptions. He is very comfortable beneath his own skin, and under the impenetrable canopy of his own hair.

boy peering over tabletop

It’s hard to hide when your wig is always giving you away.

We have an unwritten rule that we don’t cut our kids’ hair in the first year. I don’t know where we came up with this, but it is as solid as if it were issued by the Lawgiver himself. Besides, we all really get a kick out of the Big Wig. It’s almost become as much a part of the baby to us as his button nose. When that first birthday rolls around, it’s going to present a difficult decision.

The latest member of the family to begin to enjoy the Big Wig is the baby himself. He sometimes grabs a sample of his own hair and pulls it down in front of his face to get a good look at it. I’m not sure if he likes the way it looks, but if nothing else, it has become a fun and handy toy.

baby's mohawk hair

Big Brother had a unique hairstyle as a baby also. But his was more of a natural mohawk.

The baby plays with his hair more and more. Occasionally, he even gets some fingers caught in it. It’s dangerous hair; I know; I’ve attempted to comb it. My wife is the only one who is qualified to make attempts at taming that hair. A brief comparison of our heads will inform any viewer that she is on much better terms with hair than I am.

We understand that, at some point, we will have to trim back the Big Wig. We wouldn’t want the child to lose his hands in that morass. Still, it will not be an event free of regret. Never has an unmanageable patch of hair endeared us so uniformly to it.

The Big Wig will eventually have to go so that the baby can grow into a respectable toddler. When he’s old enough, he can decide for himself whether he wants to grow it back. That is, unless he has inherited the same gene that caused the diaspora of my hair from its native scalp. Let’s hope Mommy’s DNA is filling in that slot in the gene pool.