Leo is now nearly fifteen months old and is already well on his way to being a big boy. How big, you might ask? My son could tell you: “Soooooooooooo Big.” That’s pretty damn big for those of you scoring along at home. Other questions we’ve taken to asking Leo include:
“How smart is Leo?”
“How handsome is Leo?”
“How gifted is Leo?”
The answer, which Leo invariably gives with a raise of both hands over his head as though he were in a sports arena doing the wave, is always, “So _______”
Luckily for him, we haven’t started to resort to trick questions yet like, “How smelly is Leo?” (hint: the answer is “So ____!”)
On November 2nd Leo was christened. Good thing for him too, because the devil was probably starting to wonder if the procrastinating parents were prepared to let him play for the wrong team. Leo was decked out like a little John Travolta circa the Saturday Night Fever era, with a stunning three piece dove white suit and tie, made complete by his curly, long locks (which have since been cut). Like most children, he wasn’t too stoked about being dunked in a cauldron of holy water, though after I lifted him out and the deacon said a few words, he then told the gathered audience to give Leo a little cheer. I hoisted the boy up and down over my head a few times and he delighted in the cries of “Yeah Leo!” that came from the pews. He is nothing if not a sucker for adulation-there are few things he enjoys more than hearing his name accompanied by a good round of applause.
Another significant milestone in Leo’s life was his first trip to the barbershop. We had to wait about an hour to have a private audience with Frank, my Sicilian-American barber from my grandma’s hometown of Villarosa, Sicily. Frank let Leo play on one of the vacant barber chairs and look at himself in the mirror. Leo was cool at the beginning of the cut, though his mood deteriorated rapidly as the cut wore on. Perhaps he wanted to wear his hair longer than Frank had in mind, but we’ll never know. Afterwards, we all repaired to a Greek dinner to split a massive chocolate milkshake- one of Leo’s favorites. The interesting thing about Leo and milkshakes though, is that he’s smart enough to not just want any old shake. One afternoon I brought him home one of those cheapie $1.50 shakes that comes out of a machine at a fast food restaurant and probably contains no actual milk or ice cream, thinking I was giving him a treat. He wanted no part of it. But offer the boy a sip of a $5 milkshake from the Oberweis Dairy, and he will howl with disgust if you try to take it away from him- even if its just you trying to get in a quick sip.
Leo started to walk about a month or so ago, and has actually gotten serious about it in the last couple weeks. The interesting thing about Leo’s walk is that its something of a cross between a drunken stagger and a confident swagger. Maybe we could call it a stwagger. He’s bold in the movement of his hips and in his pace- but he is also sometimes uncertain about whether he’ll careen out of control. Begin cliché’d, yet true, observation. Watching my son walk around the apartment is quite a site- somehow I just look at him and have a hard time believing how quickly he’s growing up. End cliché’d, yet true, observation. (I hope)
Leo’s a man of few, or more accurately, no real words at the moment, though he is fond of stringing together unrelated syllables and sounds. I’m fairly certain his first real, complete word is going to be “cookie.” Like his dad, he loves cookies, and is smart enough to know where we keep them. When he wants one, he points up to the cabinet and says loudly, “COOOH!” When I pull out the package he starts to smile and give himself a small round of applause. Yes, he must think, he’s going to get me a cookie, I’m training this sucker pretty good. Other foods that Leo likes include raspberries- he can eat them by the dozen- strawberries, soft pretzels, toast, jam, and teddy grahams. Boy can he take down the teddy grahams.
Of course, cookies and teddy grahams aren't his only guilty pleasures. He still enjoys breast milk as well- not so much for the milk itself mind you (he won't drink regular milk- only chocolate), but more for the sheer joie de vivre of it. When the chips are down- i.e. he's tired, hungry, bored, or has just had one of us take some item away from him when he was determined to have it- a little breast feeding is just the ticket to bring him down out of the doldrums or put him to sleep. Its also his early morning ritual. Typically sometime around 6.30 a.m. we'll hear some light clucking sounds emanating from his crib and echoing through our monitor system. The clucks become more insistent and louder if we try to ignore them and sleep in. Which we often do. Without success, I might add. When I liberate the boy from his crib and bring him into the bedroom, he reaches for Jen in bed instantaneously. I could easily sink into a pile of quicksand and the boy would not notice- which I'm ok with, given the circumstances.
After a brief and vigorous snack, the boy searches around our king size bed for the remote control, which he knows is the key to getting Sesame Street turned on. He'll snack a bit intermittently throughout the show, as red blooded Americans are wont to do, though rarely during the segments of his favorite characters- Elmo, Cookie Monster or Oscar the Grouch. Throughout the program though, he wants to have one hand on a breast- sometimes letting his little fingers just fish around as though he were reaching into a bowl of popcorn. Jen finds this habit to be most annoying and slightly embarrassing- particularly as he often starts putting his hand down her shirt in public when he wants a snack, though I do not fault the boy in the least. A young man needs something to fiddle with when he's watching telly or simply out in public having a good time, and a breast is just as good as a remote control or anything else. Begin cliché'd, yet true observation. Come to think of it, beyond breasts and remote controls, what else is there for the average American male? End, clichéd observation. (I hope) Whatever his motivations, its clear that the boy likes to breast-feed and weaning him is going to be a chore- though we hope to get it done sometime before he heads off to university. Breast feeding is Leo's way of unwinding after or before a long, stressful day of throwing food and toys and making random unintelligible proclamations, so we aren't ready to deny him the pleasure just yet.
Parents often like to speculate on what their children are going to be when they grow up. Typically that speculation involves lofty, high profile callings like law, medicine, garbage collecting or professional wrestling. I actually think Leo's going to be a demolition crew member. Who knows, maybe even a demolition crew leader. We do dare to dream in this household. The kid likes to destroy stuff. I bought him a whole bunch of elaborate Lego Duplo's a couple weeks ago in the hopes it would inspire him to build. I make him all kinds of elaborate stuff with them to get him interested in them, but all he wants to do is essentially wreck them. I build, he demolishes. The grander my structure, the more his glee as he dismantles it. Try to read the boy a book, he tries to rip the pages. Provide him with an in-flight magazine (we do this only if there is a significant delay) and he'll happily shred it. Ok, so perhaps his destructive tendencies aren't always a bad thing. If the demolition stuff doesn't pan out, he could also be a cable guy, as he loves to play with cords and wires.
Leo's a happy kid though, I must say. His default setting is a mischievous smile and a laugh. His laugh is one of the most pleasant sounds I've ever heard. It's impossible for me to be down about anything at all, when my son is happy. On rare occasions when he is angry- usually when something has been unjustifiably (in his mind) taken away from him- his look of disgust is almost comical, and we try hard not to laugh at him. I feel pride in him in even the oddest things- a particularly loud burp, a prominent fart, his propensity for gobbling cookies, when he throws a piece of food clear across the room! Damn, he's good, I think to myself, or sometimes out loud. I guess that, for a father, there is nothing more gratifying than seeing your son demonstrate your own traits, even if they aren't ones you are really proud of.
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