As Christmas approaches, I look back on the changes having a son made to my life. I decided to post a collection of observation from his first few years.Early Promising Signs:
Seth Patrick LeClerc, born 8/27/2007 at 1:11 PM.
7 lbs, 4 oz, 20"
He's doing great! He's like the APGAR poster child. Seth was pink and active and round headed at birth, not purple and squashed, so mom did a good job.
She is doing well. Labor was pretty quick, she was induced at 7:30, all done shortly after 1:00, with about an hour of hard pushing.
He was born a week late, so following in dad's footsteps, he overstayed his welcome, had to be asked to leave, and then forcibly removed.
He's two weeks old today, and has been pretty good so far. He wakes up every few hours, but we knew that going in, and he isn't very fussy, so the sleep deprivation thing could be a lot worse.
Again, following in dad's footsteps, he mostly drinks, vomits and passes out, but at his age, women still find this irresistible. I've told him this won't last, and he should make the most of it.
Unless he grows up to play lead guitar, in which case he can continue to lay around all morning, scream all night, drink and puke and still get women to find him adorable and take their shirts off.
In a brief snapshot of "Seth making Daddy proud," as I was driving him to his first Pediatrician appointment, Dave Matthews came on the radio and Seth began to cry. When I switched the station and found a Patti Smith song, he stopped crying, so the boy is ok. Also, I tend to sing Clash and Social Distortion songs to him while feeding and rocking him, just, ya know, to give him some perspective. Too much "Row Row Row" and "Rockabye Baby" will just encourage bad habits.
The Spawn has had a cold lately, and anytime he lies down, he has a coughing fit, so his naps have been pretty much futile. So it was a very exhausted kiddo I strapped into his carseat while running errands the other day.
On the way home from the store, he realized he was both comfortable and upright, so he zonked out. I decided to drive him around for 45 minutes so he could get some sleep.
This worked out fine, and while he coughed once or twice, he didn't go into the whole endless spasm of hacking that wakes both the dead and toddlers.
At one point, however, he started to make noises like a pool filter trying to suck a bikini top into the skimmer. (it's a distinctive sound.) I checked my mirror in time to see him clear his nostrils like a breaching humpback off Nantucket. An olfactory Old Faithful. I was suddenly a caregiving Peter Venkman.
And Seth smiled, snuggled deeper into the warm, soothing web of mucus and drifted back to sleep.
Seth has a new toy. It looks like a bird bath with some plastic birds on it, some numbers and some colored shapes that you can pull out of the base like picking radishes. When you press the birds or the numbers or pull out the shaped blocks, the toy says things like "Blue bird" "Big Red Bird" "Baby" "Mama" as well as colors, shapes, numbers and phrases like "I Love you" and "you're sweet."
So, good interactive language skills, right?
The thing is, if you push a button halfway through a phrase, it will switch to the new phrase.
And, since Seth likes to bang out drum solos on his toys like a short, bald Keith Moon or Neil Peart, one often hears sentences constructed entirely of fragments of these phrases.
Today, my son learned the phrase "I love your sweet one, Baby."
I'm sure that will come in handy later in life.
Especially if he does become a drummer.
Me: Ok, little buddy. Time for tubby.
Seth: Can I take my clothes off?
Me: That would help, yes.
Seth: Can I take my pants off and dance?
Me (shrugs): Sure. We'll just pretend it's Last Call.
Seth: Daddy, fix my seat. Daddy, can you get my toy? Daddy, buckle my seatbelt...
Me: (muttering) Aye, aye.
Seth: Daddy, you need to say "Aye, aye, Captain."
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