The Boy took about five or six steps last night, in the "Mimi Maternity" store at the Bridgewater Commons Mall. He & I were waiting for The Wife to finish buying her temporary-fat clothes, and I was walking with him. I let go, and he kept going. When his butt hit the ground, he clapped along with me; in such a celebratory moment, he gets tossed in the air. He enjoys that very much.
(Again, I'd like to note: never once has he thrown up on me when I've tossed him around a bit. I'm smart enough to be able to read his physical cues. Back to your regularly scheduled blog.)
At home later that night, he took a nasty face plant. (Or maybe that was Monday night. Not sure which.) He wasn't really doing anything. He was just standing there, then BOOM! Face first into the ground. He wasn't thrilled about that at all. I was exercising at the time. So, I guess that was Monday night, because I didn't exercise last night until after 9 o'clock.
Last night wasn't such a great night. I was messing with the new iPod (went with the big iPod Touch, because The Wife wants to play with the old iPod Touch, and I want the toys in the new one - the speaker, the exterior volume switch, that sort of thing) for a while, then I sat with The Boy for an hour while The Wife practiced. Her orchestra practice was cancelled. At 9:10, she took over for me and I exercised. I sat down afterwards to watch Lost, and with about 7 minutes to go, she just lost it.
No pun intended.
He was feeling very sensitive last night. It took an extra long time to get him in bed and to get him asleep, and when one of us left the room, the squeaky floor woke him up again. About the fifth time that happened, she just flipped out, herself. Whatever. I sat with him for about an hour, until he was calmed and asleep, then went outside to finish Lost. Bad part of the story was that I wasn't asleep until almost 1AM. Good part of the story was that The Wife got a bit extra sleep that she obviously really needed.
It's something that we've had to learn the hard way: when one parent is fed up and done and tired, the other must take over. No questions asked, no comments made, no extra bullsh&& given. They can tag back in when they're calm, but the other parent must drop what they're doing and jump in the pool. That's not a cancer-baby thing, but it's become exacerbating and exaggerated since The Boy started his treatments. I think that's one of the reasons why The Boy has such an even temperament: he's never around an angry or upset parent for very long at all. There have been plenty of nights when he's been passed back and forth like a joint; and, certainly, plenty of nights (like last night) when the toddler-bed experiment would only last until 3AM before he's back sleeping with us. But, we're determined that we are going to be even-tempered around him.
It helps that I'm not afraid of rolling up my sleeves and picking up the baby, and I'm not worried about being elbow-deep in poopy. (Is it "poopy" or "poopie"? Weird.) Many fathers are, and many more than that are really, really not in touch with their baby's moods, needs and quirks. I pick up on what The Boy is feeling pretty quickly and can adjust relatively easily.
Going in for counts today, because chemo starts tomorrow. Three days of chemo, so hopefully we're home by halftime on Sunday. Then, the scans before the next round of whatever - radiation? chemo? Both?