Joy loves technology—smartphones, iPads, the Kindle Fire, laptops, and TV remotes. She especially likes to tap and swipe the touchscreens of our devices. She can delete apps, open YouTube and Audible, download music and movies, FaceTime and call my friends, and send nonsensical emails (Subject line: “lldkjkkk”) to my clients—all within seconds.
Some of my work is pencil on paper, though. I still edit some projects on printed proofs, so I have several clipboards around the house. In fact, Joy found a chapter on a clipboard last week. She began tapping the paper. Then she swiped. Tap, tap, tap, swipe, scratch, scratch. Nothing. It’s like when she finds my sleeping iPhone and can’t get it to turn on. In frustration, she just tossed the clipboard to the floor.
In Joy’s world, every tablet-shaped object should be smart and have a touchscreen: clipboards, 10-piece frame tray puzzles, picture books, picture frames.
Joy is constantly looking for her favorite music (“Stayin Alive” and “Funkytown”) and TV shows (“Holy Redeemer Sunday Mass” starring Father Kevin).
Joy is 18 months old today. She likes to stand unsupported for 15 seconds or so, maybe make one tentative step, and then she falls back on her diapered bottom. She’s all smiles and chuckles. See what I can do, Daddy? she seems to be saying.
We have a full size mattress on our bedroom floor for co-sleeping. She gets on and off the mattress dozens of times every day. She loves lying on (and jumping on) her soft mattress. If she falls over the edge and misses one of the many pillows on the sides, she still lands on soft carpeting—a fall of just 8 inches. And she does fall. She rolled off the mattress yesterday and tapped her head on the chest of drawers. She wailed. We picked her up and kissed away the hurt.
Joy can reach items on the tops of standard tables. Over the past thirty days she has broken a dozen dishes that she has assumed were Frisbees or toys. Although it’s disappointing to see our Ikea 18-piece dinnerware set become a 9-piece set, it’s impossible to be frustrated with Joy. We pick her up, move her to another room, clean up the broken shards, vacuum-vacuum-vacuum, and mop twice. The kitchen floor has never been cleaner.
And although she can have tantrums and fake crying jags, is an expert at whining for extra ice cream (or Cheerios or apples or crackers), and likes to throw my iPhone down the stairs, I’ve never been angry with Joy for one second. Because for every tantrum she has, she gives a dozen hugs, a hundred kisses, a thousand smiles, and (so far) 548 days of love, joy, and laughter.
Joy is almost 18 months old. She can pull to stand and do some cruising around the coffee table. She likes to stand on the full size mattress and fall forward, landing on her face. She loves the mattress for bouncing. Occasionally, when she is sitting on the hardwood floor, she loses her balance and falls backward, often hitting her head.
Today I noticed Joy holding one of her board books. She was holding it right side up and turning the pages with her pointer finger, using her fingernail to catch each board and pull it over. She looked at the colorful pages and cooed. She set the book down, crawled away, then turned and came back to the book. She picked it up and again held it right side up.
Okay, I thought. She knows that the book has a proper orientation. I had never seen her hold a book like a pro before.
I decided we would “read” (it’s mostly just 26 photos of kids with 26 objects) some of the pages as she turned each one. The book is called Kids Like Me Learn ABCs. It features photos of smiling children, mostly toddlers and grade school kids with Down.
“Okay, Joy,” I say, pointing to the 72-point capital letter. “This is the letter A. And below is the American Sign Language sign for A. A is for apple, as you can see by this baby boy sitting among the apples that, for some reason, are scattered in his bed.”
The facing page is B. “Here, Joy. Look at the little boy with the balloons.” (It’s not a flattering photo. The photographer is trying to show a look amazement on the boy’s face as the balloons float at the top of the colorful strings. But the boy seems to be saying “Huh?”) “So B stands for either balloons or bewildered.”
Joy turns the page. “Good girl, Joy. This is letter C. The sign for C actually looks like a C. The letter C can stand for cookie. That boy is holding an M&M cookie. Yum.”
I point to the facing page. “The next letter is D,” I say. “And once again—four times in a row—the model is a boy. Oh, and D stands for toy dinosaur. I guess it wouldn’t be right to photograph a girl playing with a triceratops.”
Suddenly Joy decides to flip to the last page. “Oh, Joy. You are so ZANY!” I say. “Z is for zany and for zipper.” The left-hand page is, of course Y. Y is for yarn. The photographer has draped different colored yarn over a little boy’s head.
Joy then flips back a page to W and X. “Look, Joy. W is for watermelon. Girls are allowed to pose with watermelon slices.”
The facing page is X. X is for xylophone (of course). “Look, Joy,” I say, “the little boy is going to bang the heck out of the ZYE-low-fone.”
Joy closes the book. She drops it on the mattress and decides to bounce.
Joy watching mass.Asleep in sister’s arms.Fresh out of the bath.
Well, you can tell by the way I cannot walk I’m a baby girl, and I cannot talk My voice is loud and bottle warm I’ve been passed around since I was born But now it’s all right, that’s okay You may play with me all day We can try to understand The Tiger King’s effect on man
Whether you’re my sister or whether you’re my sitter You’re stayin’ inside, stayin’ inside Feel the country breakin’ and Fox News a fakin’ But were stayin inside, stayin’ inside Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ inside, stayin’ inside Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ insi-i-i-ide
Well, we got eggs and we got dye But we have no Angel Soft, we really tried Got some baby wipes for my poo I’m a baby girl, and I just can’t lose You know, it’s all right, it’s okay I’ll live to see another day I can try to suck my thumb I like New York Times’ effect on Trump
Whether you’re a cousin or whether you’re a buzzin’ Happy birthday Eileen, happy birthday Eileen Have a happy birthday and have a happy Earth Day You are stayin’ Eileen, stayin’ Eileen Ah, ah, ah, ah, we love you Eileen, love you Eileen Ah, ah, ah, ah, happy birthday, Eileeeen! Oh
I’m goin’ nowhere, somebody help me Instacart help me, yeah I’m drivin’ nowhere, somebody help me, yeah I’m stayin’ insi-i-i-i-de
Happy World Down Syndrome Day! It’s been a good day in our family, all things considered.
Joy is singing and dancing. She still loves Stayin’ Alive.
Deb and I and the girls sing:
“And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive…”
Then Joy sings her line: “Ah, ah, ah, ah…”
Then we sing: “Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.”
Joy: “Ah, ah, ah, ah…”
Everyone else: “Stayin’ alive!”
And the smile on Joy’s face is priceless. We all clap.
Joy is so loving. She gives kisses to everyone. Over and over.
______________________
I have an Airbnb on Main Street in St. Charles. I went up to my Airbnb apartment this afternoon to clean and drop off new towels. By the way, I don’t have any guests right now. And no guests in April, either. As far as I know, there is no bailout coming for Airbnb hosts. (But I’m offering the place at half price if you know someone who wants to self-isolate away from home for a while.)
Anyway, on the way to my Airbnb I stopped at Dollar General in St. Charles to get milk and Clorox wipes and graham crackers. There was an EMS vehicle in the parking lot, but I didn’t think anything about it. EMS is often called for fender benders, heart attacks, dog bites, falls of older adults, cuts, et cetera.
I walked into the store, picked up a basket, and turned to the left. A DG employee was in my way. She was sitting on a desk chair surrounded by EMS personnel. I heard the woman say, “I’m having trouble breathing.” That’s all I heard. I placed the basket on the floor, turned around, opened the exit door with my elbow, and I ran for my car. I was thinking, I cannot get this virus.I cannot give COVID-19 to Joy or Deb or the girls.
I know it feels like the zombie apocalypse is coming, but in my mind it’s more like War of the Worlds. Tiny viruses, so incredibly tiny that we need powerful microscopes to see them, have spread all over the world. Unlike the movie, these tiny entities are not going to kill invading Martians or evil aliens. In fact, only humans (older adults mostly) are vulnerable to the effects of the virus itself; and, yes, the coronavirus kills good people as well as bad people.
But the virus is testing our character—our character as humans, as leaders, as Americans. During this crisis, if we are smart and vigilant and helpful and compassionate and empathetic and honest, we will stop the spread of this virus and soon we can reopen our schools and restaurants and airports. If we pull together now, we will be stronger as a society when this is all over.
Like War of the Worlds, though, the virus will bring down those who underestimate the power of tiny things. It will bring low those who don’t understand exponential growth. It will destroy those who believe we can ignore it and it will go away in the spring. It will wreak havoc if one person has 70,000 containers of hand sanitizer while my neighbor Melvin has none. It will kill health care workers who can’t get new masks and other PPE. It will absolutely not go away by giving the airlines $60 billion while laid-off waitresses get zero. (By the way, if all the airlines go bankrupt, new ones will emerge when the customers come back. It’s supply and demand.)
And speaking of the power of tiny things: When tiny Joy says (in her own way), “Daddy, pick me up!” Daddy says, “How high?” And her smile gets wider the higher she goes.
A few weeks ago, Mary opened a box that contained a brand new pull-up bar. Apparently Mary wants to get in shape or stay in shape in the upper body.
She dumped out the contents: straight bars, curved bars, handles, long bolts, short bolts, lock washers, and acorn nuts, along with a small crescent wrench and an Allen wrench.
“Oh, crap,” she said.
“What’s up?” said Mom.
“I didn’t know this had to be put together.”
Mary opened the folded sheet of instructions, which were printed in seven languages, including Tagalog and Chinese.
Mary tried using the French instructions and then moved on to English.
Mom and Amanda gathered around her, offering suggestions. This went on for three or four minutes.
I just stood there. Then I said, “Hello. Why are y’all trying to put that together when there is a dad over here who has been to Ikea, like, eight times?”
“Are you saying I can’t put this together?” said Mary.
“Well, if you put that together within the next ten minutes, I will blog about it.”
So, I’m now blogging about it. It’s a great pull-up bar. Mary can do more pull ups than me.
Sorry about the delay, Mary. It has been a busy month.
Joy likes to bang stuff. For some reason, she has plastic, Disney-themed plates and saucers in her toy box. She likes to throw the plates into the bathroom because they make a loud noise when they crash into the tile floor.
“Hey, Joy, you think that’s a Frisbee? Because it’s not,” I say.
My baby turned one yesterday. It was a mostly normal day. At dawn I picked up Joy from her crib. I said, “Good morning, Joy. Happy birthday.”
She cuddled me for a moment, and then pushed away and looked up at me. She gave me a smile. It’s the same smile I see every day. Her smile says: “Hey, Dad. Morning. I love you. And you love me.”
Yes, Joy. Mom and Dad love you. Everyone loves you.
It was a bittersweet day, to be honest. We are so grateful for her. So thankful she is healthy and happy. But I—and Deb—want her to stay a baby. For a long time. My favorite thing in this entire world is watching Joy fall asleep in my arms. And then holding her for another thirty minutes, just looking at her face.
We have loved telling people: “She’s seven weeks old.” “She’s two months old.” “She’s eleven and a half months old.” However, it will be difficult to say, “She’s one.” Instead, I think I will say, “Joy is twelve months old.” Later: “Joy is almost 38 months old.”
Twenty-seven years ago (and twenty-four years ago) a beautiful baby girl fell asleep in my arms from time to time. And I remember those times. I remember a few of those times. But it wasn’t enough. It will never be enough. Daughter Kat’s first year seemed longer somehow, even though she was at daycare eight hours a day. Maybe it’s because Kat’s first year was 1/30th of my life. Joy’s first year has been 1/58th of my life.
Joy is pulling up on the rails of her crib now. This started a week ago. So I need to get out the Allen wrench and move the mattress down six inches. Because she will be standing very soon. Soon she will be thirteen months. Fourteen months. By twenty-four months she might not want to be rocked to sleep anymore. Maybe that’s why parents say that two years old is so terrible.
No, I’m not deliberately composing a list of compound words
that start with “well.” I’m compiling a word style for my latest project. A
book about America’s wars in the Pacific.
But it’s a good place to stop and take a break. I’m almost
done.
It’s 9 pm. Joy was in her crib a few minutes ago, a little
fussy, getting ready to cry….oops, she’s crying.
I picked her up and put my hand on her bare back. I held her close and slowly rocked from side to side. Her head fell on my chest. I held her like I was never ever going to put her down. She fell asleep in 30 seconds. But I still held her, still rocked her. Because she loves to be held for a long time, and she knows that Dad won’t put her down for a long time. And I promised to never let her go. And I never want to let her go.
Joy is ten months old. And for something like the third time
ever, we are getting a babysitter tonight (the wonderful Mimi). I wrote up some notes about Joy’s schedule.
Enjoy.
Joy’s schedule
7 am (sometimes 6 am or even 5 am): Diaper change and first feeding. Six ounces
of Similac Advance (3 scoops). Dr. Brown bottle, #2 nipple. Water: slightly
warmer than room temperature. This
bottle often puts her back to sleep for an hour (or longer).
8 am: Joy will want another four ounces of Similac (and
probably a new diaper). She’s up now. We change her outfit. She likes to cuddle
between Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad will try to resume sleep. But Joy is very
vocal and likes to kick Dad and be a wiggle worm.
8:15 am: Time to rub Joy’s tummy. Munch on her toes. Kiss
her hands and cheeks. Kissing her neck will make her giggle.
8:30 am: Dad puts Joy on floor with blocks and her favorite
moose (toy). Dad closes the baby gate and slips downstairs for coffee and
yogurt.
8:40 am: Joy is sitting up and clapping her hands. All
smiles. Dad picks her up and takes her to the rocker. Kisses. “One. Two.
Threeeeee!” “Who’s the biggest baby in
da world?!”
9:00 am: Dad reads email at his computer with Joy on lap.
Dad reads the news with Joy. “Kurds Shamelessly Abandoned.” Dad hugs Joy and
feels better.
10 am: Mom plays with Joy, then takes her downstairs for
some Gerber baby food while buckled in the FP SpaceSaver high chair. Joy
listens to music while eating sweet potatoes or peas or carrots (about 30
spoonfuls). (Make sure tray clicks/snaps
into place.)
11 am: Four ounces of Similac and a nap (we hope).
12 noon: Floor play. Get out mats and try to get Joy to crawl. I play the “Stayin Alive” YouTube video on my phone, place it on the floor six feet from Joy, and she will crawl toward it. She will also crawl toward video of “Take On Me,” the 1985 version with the comic book style animation (not the 1984 version).
If Joy is hungry, she will whine and/or suck on her hand.
Joy is sitting up now, and she is so proud of this
achievement. But she often falls over. We try to keep her on her mats or on a blanket
over padded carpeting.
If Joy is bored (or tired), she will whine or cry.
Having a hard time getting her to sleep? Joy will
automatically fall asleep in a moving car. Sometimes in a moving stroller. And
very often in Mom or Dad’s lap in the rocker (in the dark).
1 pm to 8 pm: Lots of the above: diaper changes, rocking
chair, swing, cuddling, kissing, playing with blocks and phone, Similac
Advance, maybe a short nap, maybe a bath, Gerber baby food, baby talk (“Who’s
the sirriest gore in the da world?”).
9 pm to 10:30 pm: Joy will eventually go to sleep. A bottle
of warm Similac, cuddling in the rocker, and/or a stroller ride around the room
will help facilitate sleep. Low or no lights is also helpful.
Joy is sitting up
watching the music video “Take On Me” by A-ha on my iPhone. She started sitting
up yesterday morning as I was driving to the library. Deb called me two minutes
after I had left the house.
“Joy was lying on her
tummy and pushed herself up. She is sitting on the floor on her bottom, playing
and clapping!”
“No effing way,” I
said. “How? She can only sit for about thirty seconds before she falls over.”
“I don’t know. She
kinda does the splits and then pushes up. She is all smiles. She is so proud of
herself.”
Joy still falls over
eventually. But this morning she sat up by herself, playing contentedly with
her toys for almost twenty minutes. We have put down some gymnastic mats so
that she can sit up, then fall over without getting hurt.
So, apparently she is
getting the hang of sitting. Joy is another baby step closer to no longer being
a baby. Joy will be ten months old this week. Wasn’t it yesterday when I held
her for the first time?
So needless to say I’m odds and ends But I’ll be stumbling away Slowly learning that life is ok
Say after me: It’s no better to be safe than sorry Take on me (Take on me) Take me on (Take on me) I’ll be gone In a day or two
Joy Elizabeth 