Caedmon’s Dinner Redux

Caedmon – our personal hobbit – was having an odd day today. He ate hardly any "second breakfast", and refused to eat any lunch. He ate a normal amount for "second lunch", but when dinner came around he was famished. He ate two slices of cheese, half a hot-dog, and then three bowls of blueberries.

After dinner he took a bath, and then had his standard bedtime bottle, which he drank completely.

I was cuddling with him for a few minutes before putting him down when I noticed he was, well, hiccuping, or something like that. That went on for 15-20 seconds.

Then it all came back, like a bad debt.

The first wave of formula, blueberries and hotdog washed all over my shirt, shorts and the chair.

Caedmon turned to look at me, astonished.

The second wave exploded directly onto my face.

I hurriedly moved him out to arms length.

The third wave drenched my arms, his sleep sack and the carpet.

Poor Caedmon dangled for a few seconds, as stunned as I was, then started to cry.

Sigh.

I comforted the poor guy, then dropped him off in the bathroom, stripped down to my shorts, and proceeded to clean up. A new onesie for the over-eager hobbit, some quick cleanup of the larger pieces, and Caedmon back in bed, I was finally able to take a shower. But I'm not sure the smell or Daddy's trauma will be leaving anytime soon.

Mother’s Day

I wrote this for Galena, for Mother's Day.

You were born to be a mother. You wear
Your care and kindness the way our son
Can wear a smile, with subtle flare
And silent grace. It was when Caedmon

Nestled first into your arms we knew
Who you at last have always been.
The silly and the careful, the blue
And sudden laughter of your moods

Were there for reasons neither you
Nor I could rightly guess. But when
You spend your days with one whose
Griefs with sudden joys must blend,

The mystery you always are to me
Is light to him, who only Mother sees.

Wallace Falls

Galena and I took Caedmon his first real hike yesterday, up to Wallace Falls. (OK, it's a state park, so it wasn't a real hike, but it was outdoors, several miles, over dirt, next to a stream, and ending at a waterfall. He certainly thought it was real.) The weather was beautiful: more like two weeks ago (in the upper 70's) than last week (snowing). We'd planned more for cold than for sunshine, so I'm afraid that Caedmon was both overdressed and under-protected from the sun. He didn't get burned, though, which we'd been worried about. It was good just to get out, even if we turned around at the first set of falls, as Caedmon was getting tired of the backpack by that point. One interesting note is that as we were on our way down, but still more than two miles from the trailhead, we passed a group of older ladies who were hiking together. We'd seen them earlier, on our way up, and I was impressed that they had gotten so far up, since one of them was walking very slowly. When we passed them this time, she was sitting on a stump, and suddenly slumped over just as we passed. Her friends caught her, but she was clearly having difficulties. It turns out that (a) she was a borderline diabetic, probably with low blood sugar; (b) she'd probably overheated as well; and (c) she'd fallen earlier on the hike, and had badly pulled a muscle in her thigh. After eating a sandwich, she was feeling better, and was able to make a little progress, but she was still going very slowly. It didn't quite feel right to leave them alone, so Galena took Caedmon back to the car, while I stayed with them. I ended up carrying her on my back through some of the rougher parts of the trail, but she managed to walk by herself most of the way. Caedmon and Galena were waiting for us, of course.

Actively Parenting

I got in trouble the other day for telling a friend that I would be "babystting" our son Caedmon. (Not only Galena, but the friend, another friend, and my own brother turned on me on this one.) "You babysit someone else's kids, not your own," was their unanimous opinion. My (perhaps lame) defense was that there wasn't any other easily accessible phrase to describe what I was doing. "What am I supposed to tell someone -- that I'm at home actively parenting my son?" "Sounds good," they replied. So I actively parented Caedmon today. My wife went to hang out with a friend after church, and I took Caedmon home. One of the many benefits of an afternoon together is that it gave me a chance to take some more pictures. More.

Finalizing Caedmon's Adoption

Yesterday, we took the final step of bringing Caedmon into our family, when we showed up at the King County Courthouse to finalize his adoption -- in the same room where my niece's adoption was finalized eight years ago. I've posted some pictures here, but a selection follow: Some twenty people ended up joining us at the courthouse for the finalization, ranging from our pastor and his wife (with their adopted son), my adopted sister and her husband, and their adopted daughter.

Inexcusably cute pictures of Caedmon

Sorry, no excuse. These are entirely unjustified and gratuitous.

Community

I don't have any particularly profound thoughts tonight (it's coming onto midnight, and Caedmon is promising to outlast me) – but I wanted to share my gratitude to all the friends and family and church members who have helped to welcome Caedmon into the world. No man is an island, Donne said, and Caedmon is less so than most. Since he was born some 22 days ago, not a day has gone by without a present – arriving in the mail, sitting at our doorstep, or delivered by hand. He is far more popular than I had ever dreamed of being. Lots of people love this little guy, and that bodes extremely well for his parents' sanity and his own well being.

So: to everyone out there who's had a chance to meet him and show your support, this is my huge thanks. Thank you.

Bad Habits

I'm worried about Caedmon. Oh, I mean, he's growing, he's eating, he's sleeping. But alongside that, he's also learning all sorts of things that won't play well out in the real world.

He clearly believes that he's the center of the world. And my wife and I – and the dozens of visitors who show up every day to ooh and ahh over him – are doing precious little to disabuse him of that notion.

He thinks that he's badly malnourished. About eight times a day he thinks this, and lets us know quite loudly what he thinks of our obvious lack of concern for his nutritional state.

He thinks that everyone in the house needs to hear just how hard he's working at his latest bowel movement.

His idea of a schedule is to sleep all day and party all night.

He thinks it's perfectly appropriate to vomit the contents of his stomach onto whoever is holding him.

He believes that rubbing his butt around in a diaper full of yellow-mustard crap is the zenith of bliss, and that any attempt to remedy this situation is a fundamental threat to his life, liberty and happiness.

He believes that personal hygiene is an affair beneath his notice.

I get the impression we're going to be working on these bad habits of his for some time.