Gideon's First Birthday
Our baby isn’t a baby anymore.
Gideon Lewis Tyree celebrated his first birthday on March 6.
I’m sure there will be much eager anticipation for his second birthday, but this year the party and gifts came as a complete surprise to the guest of honor. One-year-olds are so easy to bamboozle. They could see an assemblage of relatives, playmates, balloons, clowns, and ponies and think, “Wow! What a coincidence! Someone call Ripley.” They have the wide-eyed innocence of parents who let their kids stay overnight at the Neverland Ranch. (“What? Michael Jackson is a weirdo? Well, who’d have thunk it???”)
Gideon has been recovering from a slight rash, so when he saw the camcorder come out at his party, he was probably thinking, “This must be one of those disease-of-the-week TV movies. I wonder if they’ll get Blythe Danner to play Grandma?”
One of Gideon’s birthday gifts was the Mega Blocks “Three Little Pigs” set. This is the modernized version, because before the Big Bad Wolf huffs and puffs and blows the house down, he checks for radon.
Gideon also received a baseball uniform and tee ball set. Given the activities of Major Leaguers, it’s a wonder they didn’t come with chewable steroids, Gerber broccoli-and-tobacco, and crotch-scratching Pampers.
One of Gideon’s favorite gifts is the big red metal “Engine No. 7 Fire & Rescue Truck” that my mother bought him. He loves to sit in the seat and clang the bell. But he’s a bit disappointed by the fact that it’s pedal-powered. (“Great! If Fred Flintstone’s house catches on fire, I’ve got it covered. Anybody else is up the creek without a paddle.”)
Yes, Gideon received enough toys to keep him busy for a long time; but we could’ve bought even more gifts, if not for the money invested in “baby-proofing” the house. “Baby-proofing”? Can any mere adult manage to stay one step ahead of baby logic? ( “We know that the Marquis de Sade invented toothpaste and washcloths…therefore, broken glass is…yummy!”)
Gideon tasted his first ice cream on his birthday. And on his way to church, he got to ride in a forward-facing car seat for the first time. Now he’s a big boy (2T clothes, size 6 shoes), set for all the life adventures that occur between the time everyone asks “Does he walk yet?” and the time they whisper, “Has he made out his will yet?”
Since I brought up the subject, no, he’s not walking yet. He hasn’t found the right incentive. But, boy, can he climb! His reason for climbing echoes that of George Leigh Mallory about scaling Mt. Everest. (“Why climb? Because the emergency room is there.”)
People often comment on Gideon’s sunny, outgoing disposition. Well, Gideon’s philosophy about misfortune is “When life hands you a lemon – eat dead ladybugs.” Granted, that’s his philosophy about everything.
Perhaps next year Gideon can report to you himself. He already talks up a storm. In addition to the standard infant gibberish, he also utters such clearly intelligible phrases as “Where’s Dada?,” “Night-night,” “I want some of that,” and “Mother dear, I believe it would be advantageous for you to let father continue his slumber and tend to my caterwauling yourself.”
Well, they’re clearly intelligible to me. Can I help it if I’m an overachiever? Like son, like father.
Gideon Lewis Tyree celebrated his first birthday on March 6.
I’m sure there will be much eager anticipation for his second birthday, but this year the party and gifts came as a complete surprise to the guest of honor. One-year-olds are so easy to bamboozle. They could see an assemblage of relatives, playmates, balloons, clowns, and ponies and think, “Wow! What a coincidence! Someone call Ripley.” They have the wide-eyed innocence of parents who let their kids stay overnight at the Neverland Ranch. (“What? Michael Jackson is a weirdo? Well, who’d have thunk it???”)
Gideon has been recovering from a slight rash, so when he saw the camcorder come out at his party, he was probably thinking, “This must be one of those disease-of-the-week TV movies. I wonder if they’ll get Blythe Danner to play Grandma?”
One of Gideon’s birthday gifts was the Mega Blocks “Three Little Pigs” set. This is the modernized version, because before the Big Bad Wolf huffs and puffs and blows the house down, he checks for radon.
Gideon also received a baseball uniform and tee ball set. Given the activities of Major Leaguers, it’s a wonder they didn’t come with chewable steroids, Gerber broccoli-and-tobacco, and crotch-scratching Pampers.
One of Gideon’s favorite gifts is the big red metal “Engine No. 7 Fire & Rescue Truck” that my mother bought him. He loves to sit in the seat and clang the bell. But he’s a bit disappointed by the fact that it’s pedal-powered. (“Great! If Fred Flintstone’s house catches on fire, I’ve got it covered. Anybody else is up the creek without a paddle.”)
Yes, Gideon received enough toys to keep him busy for a long time; but we could’ve bought even more gifts, if not for the money invested in “baby-proofing” the house. “Baby-proofing”? Can any mere adult manage to stay one step ahead of baby logic? ( “We know that the Marquis de Sade invented toothpaste and washcloths…therefore, broken glass is…yummy!”)
Gideon tasted his first ice cream on his birthday. And on his way to church, he got to ride in a forward-facing car seat for the first time. Now he’s a big boy (2T clothes, size 6 shoes), set for all the life adventures that occur between the time everyone asks “Does he walk yet?” and the time they whisper, “Has he made out his will yet?”
Since I brought up the subject, no, he’s not walking yet. He hasn’t found the right incentive. But, boy, can he climb! His reason for climbing echoes that of George Leigh Mallory about scaling Mt. Everest. (“Why climb? Because the emergency room is there.”)
People often comment on Gideon’s sunny, outgoing disposition. Well, Gideon’s philosophy about misfortune is “When life hands you a lemon – eat dead ladybugs.” Granted, that’s his philosophy about everything.
Perhaps next year Gideon can report to you himself. He already talks up a storm. In addition to the standard infant gibberish, he also utters such clearly intelligible phrases as “Where’s Dada?,” “Night-night,” “I want some of that,” and “Mother dear, I believe it would be advantageous for you to let father continue his slumber and tend to my caterwauling yourself.”
Well, they’re clearly intelligible to me. Can I help it if I’m an overachiever? Like son, like father.
posted by Danny Tyree at 7:05 PM
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