It seems like just a couple of weeks since I was born, but I have turned four months old. The aging process is going well. I’m working through a minor cradle cap thing, and I tend to poke myself in the eye when trying to stick my thumb in my mouth, but these are minor glitches.
The main thing is that I’ve discovered that I have a personality. I am a pretty jolly guy, particularly when I have my breast milk silo (otherwise known as my mommy) nearby, and have ready access to my laughter coach (otherwise known as my dad). Can I tell you the punchline to the best joke ever? It’s ‘ma ma ma ma da da da da.’ Well, maybe you had to be there, or if Jon Stewart said it.
Another thing. They’ve pulled the funding on my sleep deprivation experiment. The subjects of the study (my mom and dad) are refusing to cooperate anyway. This is a great blow to science, and a sad day for Big Data. I felt I was getting really close to understanding what happens when you don’t allow people to sleep for four months. Oh well. At least I get my own room.
Yes, that’s right. My brother Dean, who moved to San Francisco, has given me his old room. It also used to be my mom’s office. My mom is staying with me for a while as I learn how to sleep at night. I don’t really need her, but don’t tell her that. I want her to feel wanted. Also, when she leaves I need to paint the walls black and decorate them with skulls and stuff, but I don’t want to shock her. She thinks I like pastel dinosaurs.
Sleeping through the night isn’t easy for the inexperienced. We know that people drift upward from the river of sleep in 45 minute intervals to achieve brief cycles of wakefulness. Those of you who have been sleeping for years do your drifting from that river and then go back to sleep. If you don’t go back right away, you check Twitter, start making to-do lists, or fret about a Romney presidency. I don’t have those problems.
My parents believe I should be doing more sleeping and less yelling, particularly at night. There’s this whole system in place. They take me for a walk in my stroller or the Bjorn, give me a bath and a feed. My father reads a book about saying goodnight to the moon. It has socks and mittens and a bowl full of mush. Not exactly a page turner, but I enjoy listening to my father stumble through the Spanish pronunciation as he struggles to read it to me bilingually. Then I have a burp and they put me in the big boy crib, blathering about ‘see you in the morning’ and other phrases riddled with wishful thinking.
Anyway, for those scoring at home (old Johnny Carson joke) I am in the 55th percentile for height and weight. My head is a little bigger than the average child’s. My hair is growing in. The blue eyes I was born with appear to be staying blue. I can roll myself over on my side and back again, and I can do a 180 in my crib. I can grip things with super strength. Really, try to get a burp cloth out of my hand if I really want it, just you try. All this might not seem like a big deal to you, but let me tell you something that really blew me away, orientationwise. They turned me around in the Bjorn recently, so that I was facing out. Instead of a view of my father’s shirt, I saw cars, clouds, people, trees, sky, bicycles, birds, dogs – there is an incredible amount of STUFF out there, and it really taxes the processing power of my frontal cortex. But more on that later.