Halfway down the Danube

First thing in the morning

Here's the first thing that I do in the morning, most mornings: I go and take my son out of his crib, and I give him a bottle.

Okay, actually it goes something more like this.

[Claudia nudges me]

[I grunt] "Nuhngl."

"Alan is awake."

"Gnuh."

"Go and get him before he starts yelling."

"Muh."

So I'll roll out of bed and stagger into Alan's room, where he'll be standing up in his crib.

(A word about this word "crib". "Crib" to me is a container for babys and small children up to age three or so. It has bars on the side, like a jail, and they sleep in it. But apparently this is old-fashioned. These things are now called "baby beds". "Crib" is either used for what I think of as "bassinets", or not used at all. Calling a baby bed a crib is like referring to running shoes as "sneakers", or some such. But to me it's a crib, and a crib it shall remain.)

He cannot, thank goodness, climb out of his crib. Yet. He can climb into and out of all sorts of places, most notably the bathtub. But he can't get in or out of the crib without being lifted.

He stands there with his arms up, and I lift him, and he puts his arms around my neck and gives a little sigh. Then I carry him down the stairs and sit him on the kitchen counter. At this point it's usually sometime between 6 and 6:45 a.m -- his waking schedule has been a little irregular lately, not sure why. We're both pretty sluggish. He sits quietly on the counter, feet dangling, while I pour milk into a bottle and pop it in the microwave. He used to fuss as soon as he saw the bottle, but lately I think he's been catching on -- it's gotta go into the microwave, kid, and then we wait for the beep.

So it beeps, and /now/ he fusses -- I see it, gimme, I want -- and I pick him up and take him into the dining room and he lies on my lap and drinks it down.

Alan seems to have inherited my tendency to wake up slowly, but that bottle gets him going: once it's done, he's off my lap and ready to attack the day. Okay, I'm awake, where's the ball?

But that first ten minutes or so is our quiet time together. Okay, we're both slouched and dopey and inarticulate, but hey -- we're together, and we have a little morning ritual.

Posted by douglas at September 17, 2003 02:55 PM