New way of thinking

Before I had Jack, I insisted my child would be neat. His toys and baby stuff would coordinate with our decor. There would be wooden toys and none of that plastic crap. He would take one toy out and play with it and then put it away before selecting another toy.

I was smug in my knowledge that my baby would play quietly and laugh and babble at appropriate sound levels.

He would stroke the cats nicely and curl up next to them to cuddle.

You parents see where I am going with this one. You non-parents are thinking that's about how you picture life with your children-to-be.

Ahhh, the naivety of it all.

Every night when I walk around the living room picking up a day's worth of toys, I think about my "one toy in, one toy out" rule and stifle the urge to laugh hysterically.

Jack starts the morning in the toy area near the TV. It used to be a toy basket, but the wood started breaking off the basket and because I think he has enough roughage in his diet, I don't let him eat the shards. This pisses him off. But oh well, I am the mother, and I say so.

Anyway, he starts pulling the toys out of the pile. Slowly, but surely, by the time his first nap of the day rolls around two hours later, there are several circles of toys radiating outward from the pile.

His routine is pretty similar each day. First, he spills the blocks out of their container. Then he grabs his star ring stacker and unstacks the stars. Next he finds Nemo, and chews his little fin. Then he usually plays with a truck or two and then moves on to his musical table.

We also have a little book corner filled with his favorite books, some of them get more love than others. But he likes to scatter them around where he is sitting and turn a few pages of each one.



The toy obstacle course usually keeps the cats at bay. But when they come out for the morning, Jack now screeches at them in delight. He gets himself worked up when he sees them, bouncing and laughing, and then waits until they are about two feet away before he screams. Then he feels the need to "pet" them. Which really means he grabs a hunk of cat and comes away with a fistful of hair.

And as for my visions of polite use of his inside-voice, those are also funny to look back on now. No matter what Jack is doing, it's accompanied by a running dialogue. He gurgles. He babbles. He whines. He yells. He points at me and yells "AHHHHHHHH." He says "Ne, ne, ne" when he doesn't like what we're doing.

Usually at about the decibel level of a jet engine.

But I don't even notice the mess of toys anymore -- he's just exploring his world. I don't see it as torturing the cats -- he's trying to show how excited he is to see them. I don't hear his yelling -- he's just providing a soundtrack to my day.

Having a baby was better than I ever imagined, but having a little boy is beyond my wildest dreams. And when he crawls out of the bathroom, screeching with delight, pulling the toilet paper off the roll and down the hall with him, I can only laugh.