He Gets It!

It has been a rare week in that I have been home every night. This has afforded me the opportunity to take Waylon to daycare in the morning and be home at a reasonable hour (today at the unbelievably early time of 5:45). Although I do not enjoy the screaming and clinging that characterizes the daycare drop-off, I have really enjoyed getting to be a part of Waylon’s morning routine the last few mornings. Unfortunately for you, this means I have something to blog about, so my long-windedness will continue to plague TeamStinson.com in lieu of my wife’s pithy posts. Sorry.

Waylon continues to amaze me with how much he comprehends. Yesterday, I had to buy some time to take a shower, so I basically just took him in the bathroom with me and talked incessantly at him about God knows what all. To my amusement, he listened and attempted to repeat many words. As I was about to step out of the shower, I decided to enlist his help.

“Waylon,” I asked, “will you please go into the kitchen and get your medicine?” (He is again on amoxicillin and we have been giving him Tylenol, as he has been running a slight fever).

Now, I must admit that I thought it was a long shot. You never know how much a 15-month old really understands because they are so limited in what they can communicate. But, I figured what the hell. To my utter surprise, Waylon got his now-trademark look of determination on his face and bounded off for the kitchen. I could hear his little footsteps trailing off as he ran into the kitchen.

Seconds after Waylon had disappeared from the bathroom, I heard a tremendous crash in the kitchen. Then silence. Just when I was going to run into the kitchen in my towel, I heard the pitter patter of little feet again. After about three footsteps, I heard something hit the floor and skid across the hardwood. Nearly immediately, the footsteps resumed. But, again, something fell to the floor. This process repeated itself until Waylon rounded the corner and I everything was clear.

He had understood my request for help, alright. He was juggling an armful of crap – both of his medicines, an enormous bottle of ibuprofen, and two medicine droppers. It was all just too much for his little hands and arms to handle, which explained the noises I’d been hearing. The crash, I discovered when I did make my way into the kitchen, was the entire contents of the medicine cabinet. If you are asking (a) why our medicine cabinet is in the kitchen and (b) why it is low enough for our toddler to reach… well… those are good questions… ones I am sure Suni will address in her next post, whenever the hell that may be.

As far as Waylon’s help, I was impressed. Maybe I shouldn’t have been. When it’s your first child, you really have nothing for comparison. I give Suni a lot of credit for teaching him things that are really beyond his age. She has always treated him, especially talked to him, as though he were a little man, and almost always, he lives up to those expectations. (And, no, honey, I am not saying you don’t let him be a kid. He’s 15 months old, for God’s sake :))

Wow, I never thought I would be gleefully writing about the day my son recognized a simple term like “medicine.” The fact is, however, that it was the highlight of my day… and, inexplicably, that fact doesn’t make be feel even the slightest bit lame.

A Word About Horace: In one of my recent posts, I referred to our next child as "Horace," which has drawn some concern from certain quarters. This is just as I planned. Waylon was named months before his mom brought him into this world. Everybody started calling the baby Waylon before Suni was even showing, and it stuck. That is the way I like it. I like to "know" my child before I know my child. (I am weird; I acknowledge that). We can't agree on a name for this one, and Suni does not share my sense of nomenclature urgency. Thus my plan: call the baby Horace until Suni agrees to name the kid. Horace has raised more than a few eyebrows... yet, Suni seems in no more of a hurry than she ever was. Now, it's either give up the ghost or ratchet up the seriousness with which I intend to call our child Horace. I always was a fan of the Odes.