Fatherhood Adventures

It’s
amazing what you forget as a parent.

My
youngest Carson is now eating all sorts of baby food, and I’m dumbfounded how
much I forgot about this amazing experience from my first go around, though it
was just about 18 months ago.

I chalk
up this short-term memory loss to this parenting thing being a white-knuckle
roller coaster ride, one where you hold on tight and just keep on with the
keeping on. So much happens in a single day that they all blur together and
before you know it your baby is running around haphazardly, flushing toilets
while holding the remote control hostage and saying, “pee pee go bye bye”.

Thus
far, it’s been a breeze getting Carson to take down his baby food. Sure, it’s a
messy situation most of the time, but he’s had no trouble getting accustomed to
taking food by the spoon and swallowing just about all of it.

There’s
no question these early feedings take some patience, but that’s okay. It’s
supposed to be this way. Although he weighs 18 pounds now, he’s still a little
guy and this is all new to him.

Whenever
Carson is being spoon fed, a certain amount of attention is required.
Subsequently, Beckett is usually close by taking it all in and usually giving
some sort of running commentary.

The
other day, Beckett came up and insisted on tasting some of the baby food. He
made this clear by saying, “mine”. He took a spoonful and immediately spit it
back out at me. Clearly, the texture was not what he had in mind. That’s the
last time I suspect he will want to try anything Carson is eating, and that’s
fine by me.

As I
turned to Carson to finish off the little bit of peas left in the jar, he
showed me how 7 month olds say they are full, spitting it back out all over me
as well.

Perhaps
it was just a coincidence (probably not) but both my kids laughed hard at the
same time as I tried to wipe off the nasty green stuff from my shirt. Let the
ganging up begin.

Last
Sunday was Father’s Day, and we had a little family cookout at our house.

During
these days, the kids’ nap schedule usually is just ignored. Pam and I just play
it by ear, depending on the kids’ dispositions at any give time.

Fortunately,
Beckett’s daily routine still includes a nice nap in the afternoon, and we love
that. On most days spent near or around the house, life revolves around that
cherished nap. However, last Sunday was one of those times when we just let him
blow past that and hoped for the best.

Based
on his spotty temperament and declining wit, everyone at the party surely
realized he was running out of gas. Against my better judgment, I decided to
take him in the pool for a change of scenery to see if he would power through
the nap and hang with his cousins.

His
contentment lasted for about 15 minutes before he clearly screamed, “night
night”. He said it in such a tone that he was clearly agitated that he was not
put down by now and the message was heard loud and clear by most. He crashed
for two hours.

Of
course, when he woke up, the first thing he said was, “pool”.

There
are times when life with a toddler can be as remarkable as it is frustrating.

Beckett
can amaze with his vocabulary, his sweetness and his overall attitude toward
everything. Five minutes later, he can appall with his temper, tantrums and
impatience.

Such is
life with a 2-year-old. While I would never trade a single day with my boy,
there are times when he’s a bear to be around. Fortunately, I am told this is
what it’s like with a kid his age.

At one
moment, Beckett can be found sitting in his chair, reading a book and mumbling
words to himself. He will sit there patiently looking at his “I Spy” books,
flipping the pages and pointing out all the objects he knows and sees. A few
minutes later, he will be trying to scale the dining room table or jump on the
fireplace and pitch a huge fit when he is prevented from doing so.

Indeed,
life with a toddler can be fun, hilarious and wonderful at moments, while
disturbing, aggravating and maddening at other times.

It
would not be fair to say we have good and bad days with Beckett. At the risk of
being the doting dad, they are all good days. He’s a blast and a joy to be
around. You never know what he’s going to do or say, and that unpredictability
makes for never a boring moment. It’s just that there are spells of misbehaving
and “terrible 2” moments that leave me desperately hoping the salt-and-pepper
look up top will work for me in my mid-30s.

It’s
amazing to me how mischievous he can be at times. He will look me straight in
the eye and smirk while holding a plate full of food. After being cautioned not
to throw it, as he’s inclined to do every once in a while, he will slyly smile
and drop it off the table. He knows it’s wrong. He realizes that’s the end of
his meal if he does it. He is aware it upsets his parents. Yet, he does it and
quickly follows it with a, “nooo.”

After
all that, though, a half hour later he will sneak up behind me and try to scare
me. When I quickly turn, he will say, “boo.” If I acted like he scared me
enough, he will rush over to me, give my leg a huge bear hug and say, “hi
daddy” in the sweetest tone these ears have ever heard. It’s a simply magical
moment that makes me almost forget all about those head scratching, frustrating
instances.

The
adventures continue.

 

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