John Foley

A few days ago my 9-month-old son looked at me and said, “Da-da.” Naturally I was thrilled, humbled and nearly moved to tears.

Then he looked at the cat and said, “Da-da.”

So okay, comprehension is an ongoing process. We’re trying not to get ahead of ourselves. After Sean Michael said, “Oye” repeatedly, Jules got so excited she went out and purchased a Star of David and a yarmulke.

I jest.

A few of Sean’s favorite activities are bouncing in his activity jumper, taking shoulder and backpack rides (my little hitchhiker and I walk a trail on Sunday mornings), watching Baby Einstein videos, strolling around the park in his custom chariot and diving from the couch onto soft pillows. That last one scares Miss Jules, but he always comes up smiling.

My least favorite activity with Sean remains diaper changing. As a classic movie fan, I’ve labeled various aspects accordingly: Rear Window, Midnight Run, The Sweet Smell of Success, Groundhog Day, Duck Soup, Water World, Five Easy Pieces, The Dirty Dozen and, occasionally, Apocalypse Now. Just when I mastered the process, Sean Michael added some challenges. Now he rolls, kicks and arches while I’m working, and it’s like trying to strap a diaper on a bucking bronco.

The diaper change is about the ONLY image his Paparazzi Grandparents haven’t captured digitally – and I’m sure they will eventually. I half-expect them to jump from behind a tree and snap his picture when we’re strolling around the park. Grandma Mary claims she is entering his pictures in some cute baby contest, but I suspect she’s actually selling them to tabloids.

As Sean Michael gets older, his toys are starting to accumulate. The latest was a version of Jack in the Box called Peter the Pirate. Unfortunately, Peter refused to leave his box. Rather than suggest therapy, we exchanged Peter the Pirate for Jester the Clown, who dutifully pops at the appropriate time.
Most of Sean’s toys end up in the play pen. I call it the bullpen, but it actually reminds me more of a little prison – solitary confinement, unless you count a couple of stuffed animals. Every time I put Sean in there, I feel like that mean warden from The Shawshank Redemption, and I can imagine the conversation he might have with another inmate:

“What ya in for, bub?”
“Disturbing the peace.”
“How short are you?”
“About 30 inches.”

“Sheesh, new fish! I meant how long are you in for?”
“Ten to twenty.”
“Years?”
“Minutes. But it could be five to ten with good behavior.”

Well, it’s time to spring the kid for a shoulder ride. I’m guessing his ever-increasing weight and my ever-waning strength give us about a five-year window for this activity. Best Wishes from Baby Land, John & Jules.