If you don’t have kids your are probably sitting there in front of your computer safe in the knowledge that human gestation, just like cattle, is a 9 month cycle. If you are pregnant, or have been recently, you will likely be more precise and refer to it as 40 weeks. As a father, I can tell you that both of these are completely inaccurate. No I am not talking about all those babies born within the first standard deviation or even those babies that are statistical outliers. I am informing you that we have been miseducated:
Human gestation is a 12 month cycle.
I am so doomed. When Katie is a teenager I am going to be a wreck. The boys on our block outnumber the girls and most of them are slightly older than Katie. I have often joked with their fathers that I am going to make them wear tracking collars when they get older so I know when one of them comes near Katie. After our trip yesterday to the aquarium I am beginning to wonder if it’s the boys I have to worry about.
Today Katie hugged me and said I love you, Boots. My name is not Boots and I was wearing no footwear at the time. She’s been calling Stefan Troll all day because he puts his feet on the coffee table, making a bridge for her to get by. Three times today I’ve found myself singing Dora, Dora, Dora, the explorer… Katie couldn’t reach something in her playroom and shouts ¡Ayudame! I want to scream How did this happen to me! or maybe the more appropriate thing to say would be ¡Cómo hizo esto sucede a mí!
Yes, my life has been reduced to a Dora episode.
Nature has done a lot for mommy evolution — I myself have great mastery of the eyes-in-the-back-of-the-head that only mothers seem to possess. Unfortunately, I have yet to master x-ray vision and Katie knows it. She devises a plan in her head …as soon as Mommy is out of the room I will [insert something she isn't supposed to do]. Yesterday as I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door I failed to notice the sound of her wheels turning…
How many times do you wash your hands each day? 5, maybe 10? Let’s figure you use the bathroom five times each day and eat three meals, plus two snacks. If you wash your hands for each of these events that’s 10 times. I wash my hands 32 times a day.
That’s right, I counted. In fact I counted on a light hand-washing day so the true number may be even greater. Plus this does not include any bathing or dish-washing events which should probably count too. So you may be asking, why do I care? That I can’t answer, but the reason I care is that my hands look like they belong to a lumberjack — albeit a petite lumberjack. They are so far gone that no number of manicures will be able to repair them. I’m thinking about this because today is the first day of Spring and while that will not eliminate the hand-washing it should bring some humidity. Of course, come June I’ll be cursing that humidity for awful hair and sweatiness, but my hands will be soft and supple as the hand-washing continues…
Our dogs, when desiring freedom from their crates, can make noises so eerily creepy that even Hollywood horror movie directors would be loathe to cast them. These noises, so strange and un-bark like, are next to impossible to describe. I can attempt by likening them to the sound of 100 weasels being systematically tortured by cackling howler monkeys, screaming ravens and crying chinchillas — and that is just Sergeant. Jen and I have grown accustomed to the sound and it doesn’t even bother us anymore, but Katie still does not like it. They were in full effect today while I was changing my clothes and Katie came in to see what was wrong. I told her not to let them out, that I would get them when I was done. To my amusement this is what I hear next:
ahh it’s ok puggies, don’t cry, shhh, shh
Twinkle, Twinkle little star how I wonder what you are
Up above the sky so bright…
… and the dogs are quiet.
Our friend Chris has said that when he dies he wants to come back as one of our dogs, and it is no wonder why. They live the cushy life, like most suburban dogs, lying around all day as we fan them and feed them hand made organic dog treats. When it comes to medical care there is no exception. Did you know there are veterinary specialist? Over the years we have seen an oncologist, an orthopedic surgeon, a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, a chiropractor and a physical therapist. Yes, one of our dogs actually goes to physical therapy. It’s not as if we really have a choice either, we live in one of those high median income metro areas where it is just expected that you would want to take your dog to a specialist. They even make you feel bad, Oh you don’t want to do back surgery on your roughly 13 year old rescue? Well, I guess you could try chiropractic and physical therapy.
You really have to watch what you say around an almost-three year old. And it seems that our almost-three year old has exceptional super-human hearing so really you have to watch what you say within a two mile radius. Unless we move to Waco and set up a commune we’re unlikely to control all the conversations within earshot so sometimes we just have to deal with explaining to Katie that not all words and phrases are appropriate for an almost-three year old.