Coffee Jones

Though he isn't speaking yet, Noah has managed to communicate an admirably straightforward Christmas list. It does not involve toys. He wants coffee, wine, unfettered access to the stereo, the gigantic mallet I use to bang my cleaver through meat bones, and all our shelves emptied of their books. In the morning, though, it's mostly coffee.


He can be strenuous in his discontent.


I know what you're thinking. Just distract him with something else. He'll forget about your coffee. Duh, it's called "parenting." Okay, genius. Where are his eyes focused now? You know where.


NOAH: (...)

DAD: That? That's nothing.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: No, really. There's not even any coffee inside of there. Daddy's just hanging onto it.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Because I don't want it to leave a ring on the furniture.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Don't get smart with me, little man. I know what coasters are for. Now if you'll just avert your eyes while I have a little sip...

Drum Kit

Imagine the Thrill

Think about being a baby just discovering that you can go places, make choices, instigate actions that bring about a host of fascinating consequences. Like the simple act of tilting a sippy cup up to your lips and letting the water inside cascade down your chin. Or retrieving the cylindrical blue block that has escaped your grasp and rolled away; removing your own shoe and banging it Khrushchev-style on the floor; scrambling madly toward the tangle of wires under the shelves and watching Mama dive to divert your course.

Imagine being such a baby's mother and watching him approach the toy box, peek over its edge, climb onto knees to get a better view and pick out a book (wise boy). Imagine the good fortune to have the camera close at hand, and the wild luck to capture what happened next.

What a lot that mama has to be thankful for.

Loco Motion

We started out this morning with our thinking caps on. Well, Noah did. Headgear does not flatter your correspondent. Which is a shame, for neither does hair loss. No matter. It was the little man who had the pondering to do.

For weeks now, he has been the master of backward motion. Under the couch, beneath the dining table: whatever the destination, he'll be reaching it feet first. With improvements in balance it has become something of an art form. We're on the cusp of baby moonwalking. The kid knows retrogression.



His parents are ready for forward motion. Yesterday Noah wanted like nothing else in the world to insert the entire Flip video camera into his mouth. That led to an idea. And progress: a lunge.



Time to bump up the reward. The toy basket went onto its side. And there was the stiff yellow top of his blocks box, with which to pummel all the toys into submission. Irresistible.

Technology Tastes Good

Quinoa and amaranth cereal for breakfast: 30 cents

Lamb and carrot puree for dinner : $1

Knowing that you don't have to wait until dinner to put something else in your mouth: Priceless

Two for Two

On November 4th, Noah succeeded twice in doing something that his mother had done only once and his father not at all: push the green VOTE button for a winning presidential candidate.

At 10:30am the poll workers at Shiloh Baptist Church cooed, "He wasn't here with you last time!" and signed us in on line 156. "Usually we don't reach this number until three or four o'clock," one of them smiled.

He passed through the blue curtain a second time with Liz in the afternoon, exerting his moderating influence to cancel out dad's YES vote on city ballot initiative number four. Wise correction.

Then, showing the same knack for timing that allowed his parents watch the NCAA championship the night he was born, he didn't stir in his crib until Barack Obama had finished his victory speech. How can you not love this boy?

Trick or Treat

Couch Mechanic

To the untrained eye, this might be one of those photographs that begs the question, What's going on in that little brain? This strange nonverbal imagination, this mysterious impenetrable intelligence: what new bafflement is it going to cook up next? The world is wide open, the toys are spread out on the rug, the autumn light is streaming in the window. The paths are clear in every direction.

But the trained eye knows exactly what those mental cogs are turning toward: the seven-inch clearance between the floor and the bottom of the sofa. The feet-first approach, the gentle head duck, the seemingly impossible flip from tummy to back once he's underneath: it's the parallel parking test of the infant realm, only in three dimensions. Enjoy. We do.

I ♥ New Furniture

The boy who communes with the undersides of our living-room furniture and is just discovering the amusement of peek-a-boo hit the exacta this weekend when his parents brought home a new ottoman with a concealed storage cavity.

Hope he likes metal bars, too; the child gates also went up yesterday. If we really want to tease him, maybe we can plant him across the barrier from the dinner fork he's always trying to knick from the edge of my dinner plate. The tines could perhaps be stuck into an alluring tumbleweed of knotted electrical wires.

Nothing says "come hither" to the six-month-old imagination like 120 volts of alternating current running through a thin sheath of plastic that fits perfectly in the mouth.

Halloween is upon us. Sadly, the chicken suit sold out. On the plus side, at least this way Noah will get to retain his dignity. A giant rooster's comb made out of floppy red felt may not be the last word in childhood humiliation (the last word in childhood humiliation, of course, is two words: "knee socks"), but it's got to be pretty darn close to the period.

All Boy

Since the moment of his arrival in the world, Noah has been unmistakably boyish. I still remember pushing him around the post-partum floor in his little hospital bassinet and some other newborn's grandfather remarking, "He looks like a boy." True then, and even more true now. And this boy quality is way more than skin deep. Witness his obvious disdain for Mama tying his hood with a bow.
Or his affection for spilling blocks on the floor and banging his toy stacking rings.
And then there's his enjoyment for meal times, especially if meat and potatoes are on the menu.
Of course, there are a few things the pictures cannot capture: the dedication with which he tried day after day, like a tiny couch mechanic, to get himself fully underneath the sofa in the living room. Getting under the dining chairs proved an easier, but clearly very gratifying, feat.
Finally, we have the several-times-daily drama of diaper changing. Last week he was fascinated with the light that stands next to his changing station and nearly toppled the whole thing over onto himself. This week he is just too busy to wait for a new diaper to be fastened to his bottom. Cool air on the bum must feel like freedom because no sooner is his soiled diaper removed but he is flipping over, up on all fours and trying to crawl off the changing pad. That is, unless he reaches down and finds that epicenter of all boyness. Then I've got a shot at him lying relatively still while I change him. Then we all wash our hands.

The Little Emperor in Autumn

The mercury touched the 40s this weekend, and we had to tell Noah that in addition to fleece pants, socks, and a wool cap, we'd be stuffing his arms into puffy jackets as well.


You've got to give it to him: the kid can do melancholy. Then we added the bits about giant piles of leaves to roll around in, snow days, and reminded him that even though we're halfway through October, the Phillies are somehow still playing baseball games.

In Training

Noah hit the six month mark on October 7th, and turned those big indeterminately colored eyes up at us, as if to say "enough fooling around." There is no doubt that Noah is in training. We think he may have adopted his dad's goal of being able to dunk until he is 40, given the serious bouncing he does in his Jumperoo. His shorter term goal, however, is clearly to crawl before he cuts a single tooth. And, like his age and gravity-defying Dada, he is going after this motor milestone with singular focus and a cross-training strategy. See him roll. See him turn. See him scoot backwards on the slippery hardwood floor. Watch him do his baby sun salutations. (Is there a gene for yoga prowess?)

Thankfully, the little man also knows how to unwind. After a long day of practice he likes to kick back in his jammies, grab a stuffed animal pal and make faces at the old folks.

Let the Rudeness Begin

The Beach

Another brokerage failed, the largest insurer in America went into government receivership, and the "fundamentally sound" economy needed $700 billion from taxpayers to stay afloat. Noah ate his first carrots and bananas, and discovered that the whole point of having feet is to get sand between the toes. What a week.

Like a miniature version of his dad, only with windmill arms in place of teeth, the bug always approaches dinner with optimism.



And just like his dad, the little copycat knows how to convey an elegant "ready for dessert" signal to the wait staff.



Then he likes to read.





Only it turns out that Faulkner uses too many pronouns for someone with a 15-second attention span.





What the camera couldn't catch was Noah's first attempts to crawl. It's quite a sight. He must have seen a tricycle somewhere, or a plow. Those back legs get working, all right, but the rest of his weight is borne exclusively by his forehead. Is it efficient? No. But could he trace a primitive furrow in patch of topsoil? Get out your gardening gloves.

And when you're a baby thinking you might just crawl, and your parents have put you to bed at 7 o'clock, when do you like to practice? Noah answered that riddle with a resounding in-the-deadest-hour-of-night. Who knew a Pack 'n' Play could take such a beating. You kind of expected sunrise to reveal a hole in the bottom of the thing and the bars bent backwards into the carpet. As best as we could work out, the poor guy was dreaming Sarah Palin into the White House and plow-crawling like mad to escape the nightmare vision. Which would explain the abject moans.

But you just gotta wash that away with a shot of water, and remember that there are worse fates than the end of summer -- although you're still allowed to put on a long face at the prospect of shorter days and longer sleeves.

Food Critic

After his mother caught him trying to knick a slice of bread from her lunch plate today, we figured it was time to give Noah a crack at some real food. Well, if you can call rice mush real food. He was skeptical too, at first. But he got into the spirit on his second or third bite. Liz, naturally, thinks he's a genius at eating now. Not to mention handling the spoon.

Judge for yourself.

Baby Whip

To my knowledge Baby Jogger has not tested its products in earth orbit, but I’m pretty sure the harness on Noah’s new stroller is fit for space travel. Check out the padding on those shoulder straps! Just how fast are we meant to be pushing this thing?



Fast. At least compared to his old get-up, which I now realize had all the handling ability of a 14th-century ox plow (did that jalopy even have wheels?). And like the Gemini astronauts, whose bladders were compressed by liftoff, Noah is diapered, so there’s really no limit now.

How must it feel, to be liberated from the unchanging view of his old man and lady he’d been stuck with in that old backward-facing stroller? Four months old and finally he gets to turn his back to his dad and take in the world. How long before he starts ghostriding this whip? (Or this one.)

Oh, the places he'll go.

Negotiation #1

DAD: What's that? You want to try a little coffee in your milk?

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Make it Irish!? Sure, we can make it Irish. It's boys day. We can do anything on boys day.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Absolutely not. Straws are for sissies.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: On the side of the mug? Donkeys and elephants. They stand for political parties.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Yep. That's what they do to each other in real life, too. Politics ain't beanbag.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Good point. They do seem to be having fun.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Well, I guess if you're old enough to drink coffee, you're old enough for this. Let me explain...

A New Trick!

Boys Day

With mom at work, Noah wakes up in the morning with a new and different purpose. His aim is legible in his face as soon as he sees me standing over the crib edge: Today I am going to baffle daddy with my behavior, then flummox him, and just when he thinks he’s got house husbandry figured out, Bewilderment Junction here we come.

Yesterday was Gandhi Appreciation Day. After a 4:45am suckling session, Mr. Feed-Me-Every-Four-Hours rejected his father’s gently proffered bottle at 8:30, 9 o’clock, and again at 9:30. Plenty of grumping, mind you. Just no eating. After a 95-degree walk to the Italian market, milk at the ready, the protest fast was on. Hour five and hour six: advantage Noah. Hour seven: the disappointing discovery that dad is going to win. The opening frame of hour eight: I’ll suck the damn nipple, but only to punctuate the grunts between every sip, you patriarchal oppressor.

Today is Nap Resistance Day. It makes Gandhi Appreciation Day seem like I’m Actually Having Mercy On You Day. It is a cunning stratagem the junior member has put in play: Watch how sweet I’m being, dad! Aren’t I a pure delight? Look at these happy smiles—I’m even submitting to portraiture! Now check this out ... eyelids drooping, peaceful crib entry, a nice little stretch to send you back downstairs ... wait for it, wait for it ... WAAAAHHHHH!

I Love Papa

Especially when he tries to eat my feet.



And so Noah joins the zeitgeist, which outran and in fact lapped his father many years ago. A search for "laughing baby" turns up 13,700 videos on YouTube, nearly ten times as many as "laughing cat." The comments attached to some of these videos are harsher than Sean Hannity tearing into a unionized member of the ACLU clad entirely in pink triangles. Especially the comments attached to videos brought up by a search for "laughing evil baby" (301) and "laughing devil baby" (70). Apparently there are people surfing the internet just waiting for an opportunity to render a verdict of "retarded" on the first three-month-old that doesn't please them.

So a warning. If Noah regards infant cannibalism as pure hilarity, just imagine what he'll do to you if you call him names.

Beach Movies!

Noah, the baby for all seasons (two so far, I guess), braved the wind and waves for the first time at the beach on Fripp Island last week. He had a great time, and especially enjoyed meeting Meredith, Josh, Soren, Blake and Clelia. He flirted with some ladies other than his mama, had long sleepy beach walks with his daddy, and got the seal of approval from Soren, nearly 3, who declared "Baby Noah" a friend "because I love him." Here is some footage of the action and of Noah's spectacular baby Buddha belly!

The Saddest Baby in the World

Can you believe the lower lip? Heaven help us when he learns how to use that thing with intent!

Carbo the Second

Well it took ten weeks, but Noah has now officially got man boobs. Just like his Uncle Awesome, circa 1983. Glad to know that Uncle A is sporting a six-pack these days.

The bug is still pretty cute, though. Here he is in Month 3.

Little Man

Sixty-three nights have passed since Noah was born, and for the last 62 he has refused to let his arms be pinned against his body by a swaddling blanket or any other contrivance. He sprawls them out like someone miming crucifixion, only without the melodrama, which after all would be hard to pull off for the owner of a boob monopoly.

In the morning, sated, he falls into his mother’s lap, back curved like an archer’s bow, hands over head, bottom lip somehow a semaphore for bliss.

He’s apt to gab after breakfast, but when he’s said his piece he might not say another for half the day.

The only thing he likes more than a diaper change is a bath in the kitchen sink. Just try coaxing an arched back from him now. He slumps down lower and lower in his little bathing chair, wet hair flat on his scalp, looking like Marlon Brando. Young Brando in the face, old Brando around the middle. Judging from the fat he’s packed onto his thighs and midsection, Noah is shooting for the junior sumo circuit. (If he keeps growing at the current rate, he will soon need his skinny dad for physical as well as emotional support.)

Arms raised at bedtime, arched back at dawn, the posture of unalloyed decadence under running water. Two months old, first word nowhere close to his little tongue, and yet here he is broadcasting a personality. What comes next that can possibly be better than this?

Almost 8 Weeks!

As Noah closes in on the 8 week mark, I realize how negligent I have been about this blog. So much has happened in the past two and a half weeks!

Noah turned six weeks old on the day of my Penn graduation ceremony. He attended the event with his dad and his aunt Katie, and tolerated all but the last 10 minutes of what was a very long event. (He did better than his mom. I was fussy and restless by the third "greeting" speech.) By the time we all arrived home, it had been nearly 4 hours since he had seen me, and the first thing he did was to give me a huge grin--his first ever truly social smile, and the best graduation gift anyone could ask for.

Over the past couple of weeks, he has radically expanded his range of communication. No longer does he just fuss or cry to indicate that he needs something. Now he has a whole conversational register of vowel sounds--"ahhs" especially. When he really gets going, he can approximate the pattern of conversation too, filling in "answers" to questions and taking turns vocalizing when he is spoken to.

His motor skills are growing daily as well. He can push himself up on his forearms now and bat at things with relative accuracy. He's a master at pulling my hair. Sometimes when he is especially hungry, I will pick him up to put him to my breast and he will grab a hank of my hair and yank me towards him, as if to say "don't even think about doing anything other than feeding me Mama!"

We have had some wonderful family adventures these past couple of weeks also. Most notably, we traveled to Kansas City for Tom and Kelly Boling's wedding and Noah got to meet many family members, including his uncles Michael and Ryan, great aunts, cousin Maddie, and great grandfathers on Trey's side--his great-Grandad and his Opa. This past week we also drove down to Delaware to visit his great-Grammy and great-Grandpa Bowman. Noah delighted in meeting so many new people, and proved himself adept at both plane and car travel from the start.

Five Weeks

How have two weeks elapsed since the last post? Noah is five weeks old today. He astonished us last week at his 1 month pediatric visit by being 11 lbs and 22 inches long. I'm pretty sure he's hovering near the 12 lb mark this week. I call him My Little Brick. I also call him a bunch of other things, including: Monkey, Bug, Buggie, Bug-Monkey, Munch, McMunch, Munch-ka-pie, Tiny, Little Man, Muffin and assorted other variations. Our dear friend Rosan commented that our little boy is apt to wonder why, on occasion, people refer to him as Noah.

We took our first road trip this past weekend to visit my mom in Baltimore. Noah spent 210 of the approximately 220 minutes of the trip down and back asleep. Not much phases him, but an empty tummy can take him from sleeping to red-faced and wailing in one second flat. Luckily, we had a bottle of breast milk to get us through his 10 waking, hungry minutes.


With the exception of hunger (see image on left), Noah is both a patient little person and a very sociable one. He got to meet lots of new friends in Baltimore and really seemed to enjoy looking at everyone and being held by new people. He even injected a few conversational "ahs" into the talk around the hors d'oeuvres. His mom and dad were very proud of his social precocity.

And we had another first last night--Noah moved from the Pack n Play bassinet at our bedside into his own crib in his own room. Noah weathered the transition with his characteristic grace and good temper. I, on the other hand, got teary eyed. I must admit, though, the decision to move him seems a good one by this morning's light--Trey finally got a peaceful night's rest, and Noah also seemed to sleep better, leading me to wonder whether we've been rousing him with our cover-rustling as much as he has roused us with his sleepy baby grunts, groans and squeals.

Bug Muffin is growing up.

(sniffle)