Letter from Daddy to Harry - 7 months
Dear Harry,
You turned seven months earlier this week, and you might be looking for the letters I wrote when you turned three, four, five, and six months. You can stop looking. Daddy's been kinda busy with the new company, and, of course, helping Mummy take care of you. I haven't done much of anything besides work for clients and change diapers. If I could only bill for the diaper changing, we'd be all set.
Now that my partner and I have things up and running, I'm hoping I might have at least a little more time to dedicate to things like writing. I won't make any promises, though. I did that when you were one month old, and we both saw how that turned out.
The last several months have seen such dramatic change. It's like you went from a goldfish -- wide-eyed, detatched, and basically motionless -- to a puppy, rambunctious, engaged, and getting into everything. We can't put you down down anywhere near anything remotely interesting. Especially, coincidently, remote controls. There could be a dozen toys on the bed, but you want to go after the thing that changes the channel. But, then again, you're a Brown. Obsession with consumer electronics is built into your genetic code. This brings me to today's word: Family.
As we watch you grow into a little boy, we can see your personality solidifying. You can be somewhat demanding, wailing when we remove something from your grasp. But you're easily distracted with something else. (Especially if it's a remote control.) The sounds emerging from your mouth are starting to sound like real words. "Baba" and "dada" are favorites. Each of these clearly mean something like, "Watch how I can get these ridiculous people to copy what I'm saying." You clearly love eating. We started solid foods with you about a month ago. Even though we haven't moved much past cereal at this point, when that bowl comes out you kick your legs and make little urgent sounds. Your mum and I enjoy a good meal, too, and we're glad to see that this has been passed along to you.
You're a tough audience. Getting you to laugh has been a difficult challenge. Things that work one day (biting your foot, for example) are regarded with indifference the next. Here's an inventory of shticks we've employed to encourage you to laugh:
You can see we've run the gamut -- from prop humor to slapstick. Squeezing a few giggles out of you has become a bit of a game for me and your mum. I wouldn't be exaggerating too much if I said we started putting money on it. The other day you mum said to me, "I've got $5 on pretending to eat his tummy and making cookie monster sounds." I'm not proud, but I took that bet.
Next week we're holding a naming ceremony for you, a small gathering to welcome you into our lives. It's fairly typical, and I believe most culture have some kind of rite of passage like this in every baby's first year. As we did with our wedding, your mum and I are combining traditions and throwing a bit of ourselves into the ceremony. We are writing it ourselves and encouraging your grandparents and other family members to say a few words of wishes or welcomes.
Your rapid development and planning the naming ceremony is sort of a perfect storm of self-reflection. Watching you become a person and awaiting the arrival of all our families... Let's just say it gives this new dad an opportunity to think on his life and his role as a father. Parenthood is, without a doubt, one cliche after another. Thoughts of "I won't make the same mistakes my parents did" are quickly replaced by thoughts of "holy smokes, I had no idea this was so hard -- my parents were superheroes" and vice versa.
Parenthood is, in a way, like writing this naming ceremony. You take what you like from your past, discard what you didn't, and at some point come to terms with the fact that your influence on what will happen has less to do with who you were then and everything to do with who you are now. Your influence is, in short, powerful but fleeting.
I have faith in you, son. An exacting sense of humor clearly indicates vast sensitivity and intelligence. Cookie monster sounds, I mean please, who would laugh at that? I have significantly less faith in bringing all the Holdens and all the Browns together for this little naming ceremony. It could be meaningful and moving, or it could be a debacle demanding local news coverage. I'm OK with that.
The purpose of the naming is to mark your entrance into our life. Given the family you were born into, I would be surprised if such an event didn't come with a little drama. Whether these things are predetermined or not, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure there's no other way I'd rather celebrate the arrival of a new member of our family. And that's the word.
Always remember, your daddy loves you.
You turned seven months earlier this week, and you might be looking for the letters I wrote when you turned three, four, five, and six months. You can stop looking. Daddy's been kinda busy with the new company, and, of course, helping Mummy take care of you. I haven't done much of anything besides work for clients and change diapers. If I could only bill for the diaper changing, we'd be all set.
Now that my partner and I have things up and running, I'm hoping I might have at least a little more time to dedicate to things like writing. I won't make any promises, though. I did that when you were one month old, and we both saw how that turned out.
The last several months have seen such dramatic change. It's like you went from a goldfish -- wide-eyed, detatched, and basically motionless -- to a puppy, rambunctious, engaged, and getting into everything. We can't put you down down anywhere near anything remotely interesting. Especially, coincidently, remote controls. There could be a dozen toys on the bed, but you want to go after the thing that changes the channel. But, then again, you're a Brown. Obsession with consumer electronics is built into your genetic code. This brings me to today's word: Family.
As we watch you grow into a little boy, we can see your personality solidifying. You can be somewhat demanding, wailing when we remove something from your grasp. But you're easily distracted with something else. (Especially if it's a remote control.) The sounds emerging from your mouth are starting to sound like real words. "Baba" and "dada" are favorites. Each of these clearly mean something like, "Watch how I can get these ridiculous people to copy what I'm saying." You clearly love eating. We started solid foods with you about a month ago. Even though we haven't moved much past cereal at this point, when that bowl comes out you kick your legs and make little urgent sounds. Your mum and I enjoy a good meal, too, and we're glad to see that this has been passed along to you.
You're a tough audience. Getting you to laugh has been a difficult challenge. Things that work one day (biting your foot, for example) are regarded with indifference the next. Here's an inventory of shticks we've employed to encourage you to laugh:
- Raspberries on the tummy (that's so five months)
- Tickling your feet with my beard (pretty reliable)
- Singing "round and round the garden" and tickling under your arms (some days are better than others)
- Biting your feet (aforementioned, pretty blase at this point)
- Throwing you up in the air and catching you (mostly reliable, but I do get a small heart attack every time I do it)
- "Snap, crackle, pop" -- for some reason, I was saying this to you one day and you found it very funny. Not so much any more -- perhaps my timing's off.
- Pretending to bump into a piece of furniture and hopping around in mock pain (this yields a few chuckles only when I don't pretend)
- Shaking my head so my hair flops around and making a boogity-boogity-boogity sound (this works, but I don't feel good about myself when I do it)
- Squeezing a bath toy so it blows in your face (most intense peals of laughter from you so far, but it's only worked once)
You can see we've run the gamut -- from prop humor to slapstick. Squeezing a few giggles out of you has become a bit of a game for me and your mum. I wouldn't be exaggerating too much if I said we started putting money on it. The other day you mum said to me, "I've got $5 on pretending to eat his tummy and making cookie monster sounds." I'm not proud, but I took that bet.
Next week we're holding a naming ceremony for you, a small gathering to welcome you into our lives. It's fairly typical, and I believe most culture have some kind of rite of passage like this in every baby's first year. As we did with our wedding, your mum and I are combining traditions and throwing a bit of ourselves into the ceremony. We are writing it ourselves and encouraging your grandparents and other family members to say a few words of wishes or welcomes.
Your rapid development and planning the naming ceremony is sort of a perfect storm of self-reflection. Watching you become a person and awaiting the arrival of all our families... Let's just say it gives this new dad an opportunity to think on his life and his role as a father. Parenthood is, without a doubt, one cliche after another. Thoughts of "I won't make the same mistakes my parents did" are quickly replaced by thoughts of "holy smokes, I had no idea this was so hard -- my parents were superheroes" and vice versa.
Parenthood is, in a way, like writing this naming ceremony. You take what you like from your past, discard what you didn't, and at some point come to terms with the fact that your influence on what will happen has less to do with who you were then and everything to do with who you are now. Your influence is, in short, powerful but fleeting.
I have faith in you, son. An exacting sense of humor clearly indicates vast sensitivity and intelligence. Cookie monster sounds, I mean please, who would laugh at that? I have significantly less faith in bringing all the Holdens and all the Browns together for this little naming ceremony. It could be meaningful and moving, or it could be a debacle demanding local news coverage. I'm OK with that.
The purpose of the naming is to mark your entrance into our life. Given the family you were born into, I would be surprised if such an event didn't come with a little drama. Whether these things are predetermined or not, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure there's no other way I'd rather celebrate the arrival of a new member of our family. And that's the word.
Always remember, your daddy loves you.
posted by dan at 9:16 AM
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