Pricks

Went to the doctor yesterday.  Happy to report I'm coming in at 10lbs, 13oz and 21.5 inches in length.  

Congrats to everyone who had that in their office pool.

But what I need to get off my chest is the unspeakable horror unleashed upon me during this visit.  Sheer agony that, I might add, my parents seemed 100% complicit in and which was administered by a masochist disguised as a kindly nurse.

Imagine for a moment you're fast asleep in your mother's arms.  

Go ahead...I can wait... 

It's nap time.... 

...you're dreaming about all the best things in life (ceiling fans, your Aunt Joy, etc.).....

SOMEONE JABS A SHARP PIECE OF METAL INTO YOUR LEG!!!!

What the--!

Now you're freaking out....your mom's starting to cry a little bit too...you want to get the heck out of there ASAP but instead both parents are comforting you, saying through clenched teeth that it's going to be OK. 

So you believe them. 

Whatever that was may have hurt worse than when dad sometimes forgets to unsnap the neck of certain onesies before yanking them over your head -- practically peeling your scalp off in the process -- but it's over now.  Your mom and dad are on the case.  You've got all the protection you need-

METAL IN THE LEG!!!  METAL IN LEG AGAIN!!!!  YEEEOOOOOWWWW!!!!

Yo....parents!  Clearly I'm not enjoying this!  How many more decibels do you need?  I don't know what this nurse's deal is but clearly she needs a bath or a bottle or something before somebody gets hurt.  I'll even lend my binky if you think that'll help-

HOLY---!!!  THE OTHER LEG TOO???!!!! WHYYYY MEEEE??!!!!

What is happening?  Is this because I've put on a little weight?  The doctor said I was in the right percentile.  Isn't that a good thing?

And just like that....it was over. 

Somehow I made it.  I persevered.   

As soon as all foreign objects were removed from my body and stayed away, I was done crying.  I wasn't going to let that nurse think she'd broken me.  You'll get no such satisfaction from this 1/6th year-old!  Go find some other shrieker to scare every kid in that waiting room. 

I kept a brave face.  Punsters like my grampa might say I willed my way through the pain.  But between us...inside I was like this:

A betrayal of this magnitude has a tendency to change you, to make you harder.  

Maybe that's a good thing. The world beyond my bouncy seat can be a tough place.

But how am I supposed to know who to trust?   

What's more important?  Protection against the whooping cough or faith in my fellow man?

Non Miracle on the Non Hudson

Do you know who likes American heroes and aviation legends?  

This guy.

Do you know who likes getting their picture taken with little babies?  

Pretty much everybody!

Now take a wild guess who totally dropped the ball when we walked right past Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger on the street yesterday in Santa Monica.  

Yep, this guy.

Otherwise you'd be seeing a picture like this.

And let's be honest, you just know Capt. Sullenberger would have taken me on a tour of a nearby cockpit.  (That's what pilots do, after all!)  So then there would have been something like this.

(You'll have to excuse my rudimentary Photoshop skills.  My doctor says those don't typically even develop until 6 months.)

After teaching me the finer points of landing a crippled jetliner into frigid waters, the Captain and I would have gone out for sullen burgers and shot the breeze.  Don't worry, even though I'm months and months away from eating solid food I would've found some way to keep it from being awkward.

Instead Dad just turns to Mom: "Hey, that was Sully Sullenberger."  Honestly, what kind of fool just leaves a celebrity alone in public?

If you said this guy, you are correct.

Use me, Dad.  I realize from time to time I can seem like a 24/7 obligation...a lifelong responsibility that, as an added bonus, also pees on you...but don't forget in certain situations I can also come in handy!

Perchance To Dream

I don't get what the big deal is.

 

I was tired. 

Didn't even notice I slept from 10pm to 6am.

But now my parents are so excited.  Dancing around and high-fiving all day long.  Phrases like 'Game-changer' and 'A whole new ballgame' have been bandied about.  

You'd think the president of the world had just outlawed socks or something.

Not that I'm opposed to their happiness, of course.  

My only hope is that their smiles stay this wide when I return to my regularly-scheduled night of sporadic, interrupted sleep and/or crying later this evening.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

An Irish poem for everyone on this, the greenest of days.  (Check me out....I learned a color.)

"May you have the hindsight to know where you've been.... 

 ...the foresight to know where you're going...

 

 ...and the insight to know when you've gone too far."

Still working on those.

AND FANCY FREE

Let's get serious for a second....is there any greater joy in life than kicking your socks off?

That's actually a trick question.  There is, in fact, one greater joy: My Aunt Joy.  She swept through here a couple weeks ago like a fairy godmother, granting the gift of sleep to an exhausted household.

I love you, AJ.  Come back soon.  Bring my cousins!

Back to my point, how dumb are socks?  

Little ovens for your feet.  Ovens that only serve one dish, hot & stinky casserole.  No thanks!  I have a tenuous truce with footie pajamas but the rest of the time I demand fresh air between my toes.

Mama & Dad can't figure out how I manage to peel them off.  They try to trick me with the whole socks over the pants thing -- yeah, I'm a real style icon those days -- or rolling the socks all the way up my shin in order to maximize the surface area. 

Only one thing I gotta say about that:  Nice try.

Me and socks just don't mix.  Like "Aunt Joy" and "bad times".  Or "parenting" and "exercise".  Never the twain shall meet.

Last week we were all walking through the neighborhood.  (Well I was dangling from my bjorn, "The Silent J".)  It took the grownups almost two blocks to realize I kicked one of my socks off.  Mom had to run out into the street to get it.  The thing got run over and everything.  It was so great.  Take that, sock!

In summation...give it up, socks.  You'll never win. 

Look Out Below!

My cousin Porter is so cool!

He better teach me his moves someday.

The Stowaway

My Dad plays hockey.

I bet someday that'll be me out there.

I tried to tag along to his game the other day.

Didn't take.

Lil Kim

My mama was brushing my hair recently when she realized who it reminds her of:  Kim Jong Il

He's been the leader of some country for a really long time so he must be an amazing man.  Sometimes in the middle of the night when I'm screaming full throttle both parents call me Kim Jong Will.

Perhaps I'm destined for similar greatness.

GRAMPA BILL'S BDAY

Happy Birthday to my Grampa Bill, who turns 3,068 weeks-old today! 

Grampa Bill is the best.  Bounceable lap, flawless burping technique...but my favorite part is that he drops by almost every weekend to take me on adventures.  Museums, tar pits, brunch, church...all my favoritest things to sleep through!


He's such an outstanding human being I'm even named after him.  Which makes me really glad his parents didn't name him something weird.  Like Kyle.

Here's when we met for the first time:

Man, I was so tired.

Grampa Bill is also the very first person to coax a smile out of me.  It will probably go down in the record books as a half-smile but that's only because I haven't quite mastered the complicated tango that is facial expression.  Trust me, when he busts out all those silly noises you can bet I'm grinning from ear to ear on the inside.  I pee myself every time.

So Happy Birthday, Grampa Bill!  Here's hoping your big day is full of the best things life has to offer: deep knee bends, minimal tummy bubbles, and comically-substantial poops that at once disgust and amaze your Mommy & Daddy.

Love,
Will

P.S.  Can't wait to find out where we're off to this weekend!