Hey Diddle Diddle

Every night before reading Goodnight Moon, Dorian and I prepare his room for bedtime. Still warm from his bath, sleepy and slow in his pajamas, Dorian watches me draw shut his curtains. The room becomes quiet with a soft blue light; the slightest breeze causes the sequined fireflies on his now taut curtains to ripple silver light across the distant walls.

Drawing the curtains brings even more wonder than just a silent light show, for high in the corner of the room lives a special creature, one visited only during these pre-bed rituals. The Cow Jumping Over the Moon hangs from an old fashioned wooden mobile.

It’s the simplest kind of mobile, no batteries, no plastic- just a string and a rod, a moon and a cow. When you twirl the cow up, gravity twirls it back down. Dorian chortles and I repeatedly cackle the obvious: The Cow’s Jumping Over the Moon!

Even though it’s time for sleep and even though till now we’ve been tiptoeing and whispering and watching the room fill with that special light of dusk, seeing that jumping cow brings out the silliness in both of us. We giggle and exclaim until the inevitable moment when Dorian tries to tackle the cow. Then it goes back to whispering and tiptoeing.

I always thought it was the sight of the cow that brought Dorian such joy, but he recently showed me that he loved the idea of it as well. The other morning as Dorian was waking up from his morning nap, I walked into his room and opened the curtains. Returning to his crib, I announced in a wacky voice: “The cow jumped over the moon!” Was I surprised when he immediately perked up and looked past me at the cow in the corner of the room. Even though I had my back to the cow, if Dorian’s delighted laughter was any indication, it was, indeed, still jumping over the moon.

I got goose bumps as I realized that I didn’t have to stand right next to the object I was speaking about in order for him to understand me. I’m sure the wacky voice helped, but, still, it was the first time that Dorian was able to get something out of context.

And since that first moment of comprehension, Dorian seems to be understanding more and more.

For example, he’ll hand you toys whenever you ask, “Give mommy the cup.” Or, “ Give daddy the book.” He takes these “commands” quite seriously. He’ll not just place the cup near you, or casually pass it your way. He plunks the toy in your hand with enough force that your hand actually bounces a little. But, the transaction isn’t complete until he’s completely withdrawn his own hand. Somehow, the quicker he removes his hand, the better he feels he’s done his job. He gets a satisfied look on his face, like “There! Now that’s done.”


(Now that I’m writing this, I remember what Dorian’s way of handing me things reminds me of. Have you ever been tucked into a car by Mitch? He’s got a very similar style. He guides you into the car, keeping his hands on your shoulders well beyond usefulness, and once you’re seated he’ll continue to gently push and arrange, just to make sure you’re well and truly tucked into the car. Honestly, I didn’t know such things were inheritable…)

Dorian's new skill is not only cute, but also incredibly useful. Now, we don’t need to gently pry the mallets out of his hand when we finally need to move on from banging the marimba. For the first time, he voluntarily gives them up.

What’s impressing me, though, is that Dorian is starting to hand me things that he’s not even holding. The other morning I asked him to “Give mommy the book.” At first he looked confused because he was empty handed. He even double checked his own hands to make sure he wasn’t actually holding the thing I wanted. I kept asking and eventually he looked around, made his way to a book, got it, turned around, and firmly pressed it into my hand.

Though it’s wonderful to be handed books, cups and scraps of toast, I’m working on an even sweeter request: “Give Mommy a kiss.”

For here or to go?

I’ve cut the cord. To the blender, that is. No more purées, no more freezer jammed full with frozen cubes of mashed vegetables, no more grains ground into a fine powder, taking up prime fridge real estate. Since Labor Day, Dorian has been feeding himself fruits and veggies, pastas and beans.

It took a long time for me to trust that Dorian was ready for this next step. After all, he was such a good eater, opening wide for every shovel, er, spoonful. And the few times I had tried to get him to feed himself, it didn’t work at all. I’d hand him a piece of banana, he’d crumple, flick and mash it, then quickly look to me, opening his mouth to be fed.

Also, I was too concerned about choking to allow him unfettered access to his food. But, over the last few weeks, Dorian started showing us signs that he was ready. During breakfast or lunch, he’d watch Mitch and me eat and imitated our chewing, jawing away like a poorly translated Japanese movie. Also, we had to guard our food from his advances. One second you’d be sitting with him on your lap, enjoying a chat and some sliced peaches. Then during a pleasant lull in the conversation, your fruit would go flying. He strikes as quick as a cobra, so you had to deduce it was him, not having actually seen the motion itself.

Anyway, now that he has his own plates stacked high with real food, life has become much more peaceful.

But who knows how long Dorian would have needed to throw hints our way before the penny dropped? Luckily for us all, we were illuminated during a Labor Day barbeque with Nathasha & Kimbo, and their son, Tobias.

While the adults grilled meats, picked apples in their garden and mingled, little Tobi instructed Dorian on the art of eating Cheerios and other household objects.

So when we got home from our feast-filled visit, we had not only a bag full of apples, but also the courage to offer Dorian his first non-pulverised food. I prepared the apples and toasted some whole wheat bread. I’ll never forget how proud I felt watching him move that piece of toast around in his mouth, gumming it like a cheap cigar before finally swallowing it.

The apples were more challenging. Peeled and steamed, the tiny chunks were almost as slippery as his little hands. The first few tries were real cliffhangers. No matter how cleverly he captured the fruit after chasing it around the tray, the apple fell out of his hands inches from his mouth. I was so intent on watching his progress with each morsel that I strained my neck from leaning forward and often forgot to breathe from the sheer suspense of it all. (I know, I know, we need to get out more.)

It’s amazing, though, how quickly he found a successful method. He figured out that if he grabbed it with his right hand and hovered the food just outside his mouth, he could use his left hand to push the food into his mouth. It’s exactly how fiddler crabs eat. Capture & shove. How do babies figure this stuff out? Not counting 5 am parents, he’s never even seen a crab.

(Can you imagine if our synapses continued developing as rapidly as a baby's? We'd be able to learn Sanskrit in a single afternoon.)


It’s been great venturing out into the world at mealtime. Mitch & I recently took Dorian to our favorite sushi bar- a place we hadn’t been to in nearly 8 months- the last time was when Grance and Gammy came to meet Dorian as a newborn.

Every few minutes one of the waitresses came by the table to check in with us. At 5pm the place was deserted, so there weren't too many water glasses to refill, but I think they just wanted to chat with the littlest diner.

It was only his second experience feeding himself a piece of fruit, but by the waitresses’ 20th round, Dorian was able to gnaw on the pear in his right hand while high-fiving the waitress with his left.

I don't think that even a fiddler crab could top that.