The Acceptance of Rejection

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Fear of rejection is pretty universal. But as bad as having someone spurn your romantic advances or a friend ending the relationship, the most heartbreaking experience I’ve had was when Sprout has rejected me. It wasn’t because of any emotional trauma; he simply didn’t want to nurse. But as a mother, it was very hard to not take it personally, even if I knew intellectually that he didn’t mean to hurt me.

The absolute worst experience occurred the week I returned to work, about three months after Sprout was born. I was working from home, so that Chris had ability to call on me for backup. We had introduced the bottle a few weeks before, but Sprout hadn’t really taken to it. Among my many worries, I was concerned that he would refuse to eat when I returned to the office.

After a week of Chris struggling to feed him, Sprout finally got the hang of the bottle on Friday. I was very reassured – until I went to nurse him. Something about switching back again bothered him at an innate level. He absolutely refused to nurse. He’d look away, squirm, frown and start crying.

After several attempts, he didn’t even want me to hold him. He’d start screaming in my arms. I was at a complete loss; the only thing I could do was cry as well. Seeing my helplessness, Chris took Sprout from me and cuddled him. Once he was calm, Chris took me in his arms, to create a hug sandwich. He then started leading a slow, awkward dance around the living room, holding the three of us together. Oh so slowly, he handed Sprout back over to me, stopping every time he started to cry. Eventually, I was holding Sprout again, with neither of us crying.

Once we recovered from the trauma, Sprout did eventually resume nursing. He started that night when he was half-asleep and then picked up again when he was hungry the next morning. Needless to say, that experience taught me not to take my son’s interest in me for granted.

I recently dealt with this issue again because Sprout decided the position in which I’ve nursed him for the past 9 months was completely unacceptable. Every time I tried to lean him back, he’d twist and try to flip over. We had some limited success with some awkward positions, but he’d only take little sips during the day. (Of course, he was fine in the middle of the night.) Then, after several days of this routine, he decided that the way he used to do it was just fine. I guess he got as frustrated as I was and realized it wasn’t worth the hassle.

But it was another reminder about how this relationship is a give-and-take, requiring both of us to participate. Since then, I’ve been much more engaged with him while he’s nursing, rather than reading blogs on my phone. I even made it one of my resolutions for Lent.

While our most recent experience ended well enough, I’m worried that an upcoming situation will be more problematic. A few weeks ago, I found out that my bosses want me to go to a four-day conference in May. It will be just before Sprout’s 11-month birthday, more than a month before our one-year breastfeeding goal. I can pump enough milk to feed him while I’m gone, but I worry that he’ll no longer want to nurse when I return. It won’t send me into despair like it did the first time, as I’ll expect it and we’ll be close to weaning anyway. But it’ll still break my heart a little.

Of course, nursing my baby has to eventually come to an end. But at this point, I know that at least we’ve had more than nine months of this special form of bonding.

Biking with a Baby for the First Time

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 6 Comments

Biking with a Baby for The First Time - Thinking about bringing your baby on a bike via a trailer? This is what happened on my first ride with my almost one-year-old. (Photo: Baby in a bike helmet)

Biking with a baby for the first time is often a “interesting” experience for both the cyclist and the passenger. No one is quite sure what to expect. I biked with my son – who is just under a year old – for the first time last Saturday.

Of course, he wasn’t riding the bike – he was in a trailer attached to mine. I told him he should say, “Mush, mush, mommy!” I suspect I shouldn’t repeat that joke when he’s old enough to understand it. It went about as well as I could expect for such a new experience. He was mostly neutral with the potential for a more positive reaction in the future.

Getting Ready to Ride with a Trailer

Before I stuck Sprout on the back of my bike, we did some preparatory work. My parents gave me the Burley Honey Bee for Christmas, which is similar to their basic trailer. It has the one major advantage of turning into a stroller when you unhook it from the bike. Burley is known for being one of the best when it comes to trailers, so I was pretty confident in the quality and comfort level.

The trailer itself was easy to put together. At least it was according to Chris, who did all of the work while I played on the lawn with Sprout. Getting it on and off the bike was somewhat challenging. I had trouble lining up the precise spot on the bike with the right spot on the trailer hitch, but I hope it gets easier with practice. My awkward efforts did demonstrate the trailer’s safety. I knocked my bike over and the trailer didn’t budge.

After the construction phase, I tested out my bike with an empty trailer. It added a lot of weight, making it almost as heavy as the bulky Capital Bikeshare bikes. Otherwise, it wasn’t all that different from my normal ride. My balance wasn’t affected at all, unlike if I had a regular child seat on the back. I was most concerned about the turning radius, which was much better than I anticipated. The only thing I needed to watch out for was the additional length. If I wasn’t careful, it was easy to bump the trailer over the curbs of shared use trails. That isn’t that dangerous, but it would be uncomfortable for my little passenger.

 Heading Out Biking with a Baby

Once Sprout woke up from his afternoon nap, we were ready to make our maiden voyage. We decided to bike to a Ben & Jerry’s about a mile away. I had a hankering for sweet dairy and the start of summer. (Plus, food-based rides are kind of my thing.) It was a good distance, long enough for Sprout to get a feel for the experience but short enough to be tolerable if he didn’t like it. If we really needed to bail, we could always walk home. Plus, Chris isn’t nearly as enthusiastic about biking as I am, so a couple miles was a good warm up for the season.

Before we could leave, Sprout needed his helmet. Not that he understood, but I explained to him that besides the safety reasons, my mommy would be very, very angry at me if he didn’t wear a helmet. (My mom regularly scolds her students at school to wear helmets. There Would Be Words if her own grandson didn’t wear one in the trailer she gave as a gift.)

He wasn’t happy about it at first, but once I adjusted it, he stopped fussing. I also put a rolled up towel behind him for support. Trailer seats recline so much that they push helmets forward over babies’ foreheads. But as I was just finishing my other tasks, I glanced over and saw him chewing on the helmet’s chin strap. Hmm – that clearly wasn’t going to do him much good in an accident. After another round of readjustments with accompanying whining, we were ready to go.

Once we started, Sprout seemed to accept of situation, even if he wasn’t pleased by it. Looking at him with my rear-view mirror, I saw that he didn’t cry at all. But he didn’t smile either. He looked somewhat surprised and confused more than anything else.

I can’t blame him – it’s really different from anything else he’s ever done. The ride is far bumpier and faster than the stroller and completely different from the car’s highly controlled environment. He has a similar reaction to most things that are radically new, including foods that he really enjoys later on. It probably didn’t help that we had to wake him up from his too-long nap, so he was a little cranky.

Riding with him wasn’t that different than riding with the empty trailer. The main difference was that it was 20 pounds heavier, drastically affecting my power and speed. Last year, when I rode the Tour de Cookie seven months pregnant, I was so proud of being able to pass the guy towing a kid in a trailer. As I pulled our trailer, I realized I had less of a reason to be proud than I thought! I’m usually far ahead of Chris unless I make a concerted effort to go slowly. But with the trailer, he was able to keep up without a problem at all. Pulling the trailer will just make me earn my sweets even more.

In general, the ride went just well enough for me to consider it a success. I hope they it will just be the first of many rides we have as a family.

Since I originally wrote this post, we’ve biked together as a family many times. Read about how I reintroduced Sprout the next year to the bike as a toddler and how my identity as a bicyclist has changed since I became a mom. Be sure to follow us on Facebook!

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Risks and Rewards

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

I want Sprout to be a free range kid. I want him to be able to go to the park by himself, explore the neighborhood, and when he’s old enough, take the Metro into the city. I want him to climb trees and rocks. But right now, I kind of want to outfit him with a helmet.

In the last few weeks, Sprout has racked up the milestones: crawling forward, getting two teeth in, and pulling up to his knees (and today to his feet!). While the others pose their own challenges, it’s the last one that makes me gasp. Except for the continuing allure of the sproingy doorstop, pulling up on everything is his new favorite activity. In his opinion, the couch, our wooden and metal coffee table, bookshelves, his crib bars, the mesh sides of the pack-and-play, my pant legs and the wall are all excellent surfaces to conquer. At first, he didn’t know how to get down, so he’d just tumble over.

He’s fortunately gotten better at balancing, but that’s just made him bolder. He regularly pushes against the wall, leaning backwards to bat at the curtain, not understanding that leaning on and holding on are not the same thing. Perhaps some yearning for adventure was embedded in his genes when I rock-climbed early in my pregnancy.

We’ve tried to vigilantly prevent accidents, but have been far from successful. We try to prevent him from hitting his head on our hardwood floor by spotting him, but he always manages to fall in the one direction we don’t predict. He cries, then shakes it off quickly after a good hug from mommy or daddy. Even though he’s recovered after each incident and the pediatrician says not to worry about it unless he passes out, I still feel terrible every time it happens. I’m always convinced that brain damage is imminent.

I’m torn between wanting to encourage his adventurousness and protecting him, a conflict I know will only grow more challenging as he gets older. If I’m worried about him bumping his head now, how much harder will it be when he’s on the playground equipment or high up in a tree? Some of my most cherished childhood memories were doing things that are banned or at least discouraged during recess today. Even now, my outdoor hobbies involve some level of physical danger, from rock climbing to urban biking. My life is better for having these activities in it and I think his will be as well.

As Sprout gets older, I think the best compromise between these positions is to teach him how to take calculated risks. Rather than doing everything or nothing, it’s best to take a measured approach to risk. Thinking about your own capabilities, evaluating the difficulty of the action you want to take, and working to reduce the risk as much as possible can provide a framework for making good decisions in general. To go back to rock-climbing, I personally do not boulder (climb short routes without ropes) more than a few feet off the ground unless I’m confident in my ability to climb back down. If I’m going to do a route at the edge of my current ability, I use ropes, harnesses and other safety equipment to reduce the risk of falling. While it’s obvious how these principles apply to physical risks (no one wants to be stuck in a tree like a cat), they also apply to big life decisions. From taking a difficult college class to moving to another country, every major decision has risks associated with it. There’s always a possibility of failure, but calculated risks help you figure out how to minimize it and recover if you fail. Some people in my generation are having difficulty dealing with adulthood because their parents never let them make these big decisions at all, much less taught them the critical thinking skills to deal with the risks.

Unfortunately, Sprout doesn’t understand the word “no” yet, much less have the capacity for any critical thought. But now and in the future, we’ll be there to spot him when we can and hug him when he falls.

Past Reflections on Pedaling while Pregnant

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

So in addition to my guest blogging stint, a reporter actually requested an interview a few weeks ago! She had seen my Simple Bike guest post on cycling while pregnant and said she was writing an article on the same subject for the Santa Barbara Independent’s bike column. (If I knew newspapers had bike columns, I might have kept pursuing journalism.) Of course, I said yes. The paper published the article, which has a couple of quotes from me, earlier in the week.

Check it out: Pedaling While Pregnant – Women are Even Biking to the Delivery Room.

If you’re interested in the subject, I wrote a number of posts on my previous blog about my experiences:

Guest Post on Cycling and More Good News

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

I have a contributor post over at the local smart growth blog Greater Greater Washington on the progress my town has made over the past few years on improving our bicycle-friendliness. We still have a lot to improve on, but I’m really proud of what we’ve done as a volunteer for our bicycle committee.

Check out the post: In Rockville, a quiet bicycling transformation takes place.

In totally unrelated good news, Sprout has fallen asleep in his crib (as opposed to in my arms) for three days now! He once fell asleep once in his crib while Chris stepped out of the room to wash his hands post-diapering, but that was a total fluke. In contrast, this shows the slow transition is paying off. In other, other good news, Sprout has learned to clap on his own. As of today, he actually recognizes the word “clap” and will excitedly bang his hands together when you say it. Needless to say, I’m a proud mama.

Book Club: Little Pookie

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

Book Club is a semi-regular feature on the blog where I reflect on a children’s book (or series) and my personal experiences with it. (Just a note on this one – this is based on three of the five Little Pookie books, but they’re simple enough that I’m guessing the three are fairly representative.)

Sandra Boyton is known for her silly, cute children’s books featuring wide-eyed animals. Although most her books lack a plot or consistent characters, her Little Pookie books dig a bit deeper, presenting a rare portrait of a present, competent modern mom, even if she isn’t human.

The Little Pookie books focus on the relationship between Little Pookie, a young pig, and his mom. (Little Pookie’s gender is never specified, but the clothes are stereotypically male.) In most children’s books, the parents are either absent or ignorant of their children’s goings-on. In contrast, Little Pookie’s mom is present and engaged with the story. In fact, she’s the narrator. The books consist of her conversations with Little Pookie, where she invites him to do something – go to bed, dance, think about who he is – and he responds.

Through these conversations, we see a mom who is a good role model for parents reading the books to their kids. She talks to Little Pookie at his level, with relatively simple language, without talking down to him. She is playful, pretending she doesn’t recognize him when he’s sporting giant sunglasses or knowing where he is when he’s hiding under the sheets. She trusts him to be independent, offering guidance without nagging: “Now you brush your fine teeth and wash your fine nose.” However, she does set limits, illustrated by her counting to three when she wants him to get ready for bed. She encourages creativity and movement, with an entire book of her inviting him to do a silly dance, including a part in “his very own style.” She offers choices and is flexible when he doesn’t quite pick either one. For example, when given two sets of pajamas to choose from, he mixes the top from one with the bottom from the other. She encourages reading, illustrated on the last page of Little Pookie, which shows them reading the very same book together in a clever bit of recursiveness for a board book.

But most importantly, Little Pookie’s mom tells him how much she loves him, sincerely and often. Because parents are often disconnected from the events in children’s books, this message usually isn’t communicated at all. On the other end of the spectrum, some children’s books focus on that message to the exclusion of everything else. As a result, it comes off as forced and saccharine. But the mom’s expressions of love in Little Pookie flow naturally from the rest of the story and relationship.

While I don’t think most parents would look to a pig as a role model, the Little Pookie books offer a surprising amount of insight into a good parent / child relationship. I know I’d enjoy having Sprout and I hang out with her and her adorable piglet.

Fresh Air and Quality Dirt

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Sprout finally experienced the feeling of the earth beneath him on Tuesday. He’s been outside before – we’ve put miles and miles on our stroller – but it had always been too cold, wet or dark to bring him out since he started crawling in earnest. With the snow gone and the temperature rising, I thought it was time to introduce him to the Great Outdoors. In this case, the Great Outdoors was our weedy front yard. Despite the ordinary nature of it, he still found plenty to fascinate him.

Bringing him outside, I put him on a blanket, so he could make the choice about venturing onto the grass himself. At first, he rushed to the edge of the blanket. As he put his hands out and realized that the grass was separate from the blanket, he distinctly slowed down. He proceeded cautiously, pausing every few seconds. But soon he was on the lawn proper, feeling the crunchy leaves and plants under his hands and knees.

Of course, he explored this new environment the only way he knows how – with his hands and mouth. He grasped and pulled out individual strands and tufts of grass, looking at them carefully. He then promptly attempted to shove them in his mouth. Before he got most of them in, I caught him and gave him a slightly stern, “No, we do not put grass in our mouths” warning before taking away the piece. Not understanding or caring, he would then immediately try to do it again. Once, I did catch him too late and he snuck a lick into his examination of a leaf.

When I wasn’t taking plants out of Sprout’s hands, I was relaxing and pointing out relevant points of interest. Most houses in my neighborhood have large front porches, where you can just watch the world go by. Although our house doesn’t have one, I got a similar feeling from hanging out on the lawn with Sprout. I said hello to my neighbors that I hardly ever see as they went in their front door. I crumpled up leaves in front of Sprout to show him the noise they make and how they change. I pointed out the rising moon, which he completely ignored. Although I thought he wasn’t interested in the birds either, a flock of honking geese caught his attention and he followed them as they flew over his head.

I’ve always hoped that my kid would be interested in nature, as both a lover of the outdoors and an environmental advocate. In fact, the first “toy” he objected to being taken away was a prickly seed pod I gave him while we were out on a walk. Hopefully, this is just the first of many hours exploring the natural world with him.

Parenting: The Ultimate Role Playing Game (RPG)

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 10 Comments
Text: "Parenting: The Ultimate RPG / We'll Eat You Up, We Love You So" Photo: Purple role-playing dice spilling out of a purple bag with white dice next to it

Yes, you’re a nerd if you know what these are for.

Two years ago, I managed the difficult task of becoming an even bigger a nerd then I already was: I started tabletop role-playing. But my group’s campaigns aren’t focused on the battles and die rolling. Instead, they’re improvisational storytelling sessions. You create and dwell in a character, just as you would if you were writing a fictional story. Unlike writing, role playing requires you to be clever on your feet (even if your character isn’t!). So far, I’ve played a young innocent woman running away from court for a life of adventure (Pathfinder) and a socially blunt Nordic blacksmith who has been appointed as a trade guild representative (7th Sea). Because neither of these reflect a lick of my real-life experience it’s forced me to inhabit perspectives very different from my own. Developing this keen empathy for my fictional characters has sharpened my skills for relating to real people, including my son. In fact, creating a character has been good preparation for adopting to my new role as a parent.

To develop a character, you construct a whole person, with their own background and voice. You need consider what she would want in any given situation and respond accordingly. It can be seriously challenging.

But that process was easy compared to my mental and emotional transition to the role of “mommy.” Instead of coming up with a fictional identity, I faced a whole new facet of my own.  Rather than abilities like climbing I could write on a sheet, I suddenly had to learn a list of real skills, from diapering to breastfeeding. My own needs and wants hit me in a barrage of emotion, causing reactions that my old self would have never predicted. I cry at beer commercials! Sometimes I felt like a character in someone else’s life, playing an unfamiliar role.

I ended up handling both challenges with largely the same approach – fake it ’till you make it. I used to hate this idea, feeling that if you can’t do something well that “pretending” was fraudulent. But, I realized there’s simply no other choice. You can’t become familiar with a character until you play them for a while. No one knows what it’s like to be a parent until it happens. At first, it’s totally foreign. But by acting like a “good parent” even when you don’t feel like one, you eventually become one. C.S. Lewis has a good analogy in Mere Christianity, talking the process of becoming a “good Christian.” He explains that we will never reach Jesus’s level of love, but we can “put on his clothes” and practice. Just like little children walking around in their parents’ shoes, we too will grow into the people we need to be.

Courtesy of Cafepress

Courtesy of Catherine Bowers and Cafepress

In addition to helping me take on my new role, gaming has helped me see the world a little more through the eyes of my infant. If he had a character sheet, it would read strength 2, dexterity 1, intelligence 5 (current level of knowledge, not IQ), and charisma 18. While he’s since leveled up in forward locomotion and object manipulation, crying was his sole skill when he was born. Contemplating how much he had to learn – even eating and pooping! – helped me comprehend how overwhelming the world must be. Seeing the world from his perspective has reinforced my patience, even at 2 AM in the morning.

While many people make fun of role players for living in a fantasy world, it’s actually helped me be a better parent in the real one.

 

Wonderful, Awesome, Amazing – But Not Perfect

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 11 Comments

“He’s perfect” has been my mom’s refrain about my son since the day he was born. While I adore my child, I wince every time she says it. It makes me want to yell out, “He isn’t!” Because to me, perfect is confining and static, the opposite of my vibrant, growing baby.

Imperfect isn’t bad, just flawed. It’s challenging, offering us space to evolve. Imperfections connect us so that we can fill in the gaps of each other’s weaknesses.

I haven’t always held this attitude; it took decades for me to adopt. I’m a recovering perfectionist. My mom tells a story about me as a baby playing with a shape-sorter. After several minutes of fitfully cramming a shape in the wrong hole, I violently threw down the toy. While I became less physical about it, I maintained a philosophy that said, “If you’re going to do something, you should Do It Right.” Unfortunately, my version of “Doing It Right” meant I held impossibly high standards that even I couldn’t meet. A fear of not living up to my potential lurked in the background, a monster that could erase my hard work and expose me as a fraud.

Entering parenthood, I realized that this mindset just wasn’t going to work. Contrary to the parenting guides, there is no One Right Way. There’s Right for Now or Not Too Bad or The Best that I Can Do. Parenting is a slick, ever-changing thing, like one of those water worms that slips out of your hands. Every time you think you finally have a grasp, something changes, whether it’s your child, the situation, or the expectations.

Pursuing perfection locks you in, denies you the fluidity you need. One of my favorite parenting books, Babies in the Rain, compares raising children to a dance. In this duet, the child leads and you follow, always working together. But if you focus exclusively on following the rhythm, you turn it into a series of stilted steps. I know how unhelpful this perspective is in music; my jazz teacher was always telling me to experience the emotion rather than only paying attention to the beats. His response frustrated me at the time – how can I “let go” if I can’t even get the fundamentals right? But now, I can only think of how paralyzing this attitude would be in parenting.

Personally, the biggest challenge to my perfectionism has been sleep, that intimidating foe. At first, I approached the “sleep through the night” goal the same way I approach every major goal – by creating a individualized, step-by-step plan. I formulated a approach that started with not nursing my baby to sleep and over time, shortening the period of time I would rock him. Then I would move to holding him in my lap and eventually not needing to pick him up at all as he fell asleep peacefully in his crib. Hilarious.

His first cold presented the initial obstacle, and then the second and third ones came along. As I would do anything to help him (and me) get some rest, not nursing to sleep went out the window. Some nights he mistakenly falls asleep nursing and I don’t have it in me to wake him up. We’ve finally gotten to the point where he can fall asleep in my lap, but not until after several minutes of violently fighting it. Tactics that work one week stop working the next. And teething keeps finding a way to interrupt our progress.

In response, I’ve started shrugging my shoulders and carrying on. What else can I do? He doesn’t know or care that I have a plan. I want to follow the lead of my partner instead of dragging him around the dance floor.

Besides restricting your flexibility, pursuing perfect also blinds you to beauty. It catches you up in a whirlwind, never allowing you to see how much good you already have in your life. A recent article talks brilliantly about how “leaning in” ala Sheryl Sandberg, otherwise known as believing you can do everything if only you try hard enough, has made the author miserable. In the past, when I’ve tried to be perfect, I’ve just stressed myself out.

Fortunately, I’ve been more content post-baby than I’ve ever been. I love spending time with him, watching him just being himself. If I was preoccupied with being perfect, I’d be vacuuming the carpet instead of watching him peer under it with glee. (What can possibly be so interesting under there?) I’d be horrified with him biting the restaurant’s granite tabletop rather then giggling at his questionable taste. I would have been worried about his lack of progress when he was only crawling backwards instead of taking photos of him happily stuck under his crib. I wouldn’t let him grab or gnaw on his books’ pages and so not experience the joy of him learning to turn the pages on his own.

These days, besides the doctor’s appointments and other logistical requirements, I have just a single parenting goal. My husband, paragon of laid-back approaches, permanently added to our weekly To-Do list “Raise [Sprout] to be a good person.” Not perfect, just good.

I love my son too much to see him as perfect. And I love him too much to try to be perfect myself.

Babbling Like a Brook

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

Sprout has been “talking” a ridiculous amount and I (mostly) love listening to him. Generally, he gets stuck on a noise for a week and then moves on to another one the next week. While he doesn’t yet have words – even as the proudest parent, I’d be fooling myself if I thought so – he definitely communicates. Sometimes he’s communicating through his words and sometimes through his expressions. And sometimes he’s just making noises for fun.

“Creative” babbling runs in my family. When I was a baby, I sounded so confident that some people thought I was actually talking in another language. When one person asked, “Is she speaking another language?” my mom dead-panned, “Yes, Japanese.” Then that person asked, “Really?” resulting in a good chuckle from my mom. It’s worth noting that I’m so white that we joked Sprout would be translucent.

Now, I wish I maintained my knowledge of the secret baby language. Although I can figure out what Sprout wants most of the time, sometimes I’m just baffled. At those times, I turn to him and say, “Little dude, I wish I knew what you were saying, but I don’t speak Baby.” This skill would be particularly useful when he wakes up and whines in the middle of the night. It would be great to know if he’s hungry or his teeth hurt or he just wants to be cuddled.

We’re trying to teach him baby sign language, but he won’t start using it for several more months. Plus, “teaching” him would probably stick a lot better if we did it consistently. The only one I regularly remember is “milk” and he probably won’t be signing until after he stops nursing anyway. At least Chris and I are learning some American Sign Language.

While Sprout has a number of different “expressions,” my favorite is his tendency to say, “blah blah blah.” It’s like he’s making fun of us self-important adults, talking about silly things that aren’t important to babies. It’s very reminiscent of the teacher in Peanuts – wah wah wah. I smile and repeat, “blah blah blah” back to him, knowing that his commentary is probably right.

Although that’s my favorite noise, the funniest is his tendency to make shockingly realistic farting noises. A couple of months ago, he became an expert at blowing raspberries, far better than I’m able to. But in the last few weeks, he’s taken that skill up a notch. Because his uncanny ability to sound like a whoopee cushion is hilarious, our laughter encourages him. Unfortunately, this is coming back to bite us, as he decided to make these rather graphic noises in the middle of church this week. Thankfully, our church is very kid-friendly and no one minded.

Unfortunately, Sprout’s latest noise appears to be shrieking. He isn’t in pain or anything – he’ll shriek and then have a huge grin the next second. Yesterday, he was testing his ability to make noises as loudly and at as high of a pitch as possible. I know he’s trying out his limits, but it’s hideously annoying. I do hope he’ll move on to something else soon.

As generally charming as his noises are now, I can’t wait until he starts talking. If he’s funny now, I’m sure he’ll be hilarious once I can actually understand him.