One year, people—and a celebration was in order.
Baxter is a May 2-4 baby, which ensures he will party hearty in years to come (hopefully when I’m hard of hearing), but last weekend he was content to walk about pleasantly stunned as people assisted him in opening presents. To me, a twelve-month-old human really can’t comprehend the intentions of a good party. Obviously it’s to celebrate the parent’s (mostly mother’s) survival, hence the punch with punch.
Ironically, Amy chose to prepare an enormous spread. For a solid week she was up late in the kitchen. She’ll even admit it got away from her a bit. She’s not experienced in food service and she really had a mountain of prep work complete but no real plan to present said delectables. When asked for help, she was unable to respond. Is there a culinary equivalent to ‘shell shock?’ Once removed from the war room, she was able to relax and watch everyone snack and enjoy.
As Baxter will have no memory of this occasion, our goal was to catch up with family and friends. Reconnect. It was a lovely sunny day on the deck and everyone had a great time. I am reminded as to how generous our friends are. Especially now, looking at Baxter’s toy pile.
Toys are tools for children—apparently critical for development. In Baxter’s case, he is developing an ear for which toy will smash louder. Meanwhile, his young friends have learned to open, assemble, play with and ‘borrow’ the shiny new toys (some call it parallel play), while BB blissfully crash tests whatever is closest. I suppose there’s education in that.
Baxter may have been a big baby but he seems pretty ‘normal’ sized now. Perhaps it has something to do with his fussier eating habits. Now we second-guess ourselves as to whether or not he’s eaten enough.
A couple of evenings ago, I took him to the grocery store for a quick shop. It was getting close to bedtime and he had dinner. We strolled through the aisle and Baxter wasn’t attempting to ‘re-merchandise’ all the products to his preferred floor level—so I knew he was wiped. Then we got to the bananas.
From the time I grabbed the bananas to the time I got home, Baxter was obsessed. Amy had said that she had BB eating bananas without slicing them neatly and I suppose I never pictured what that meant. That evening I got a demonstration.
From the moment the banana was detached from its bunch it was like watching an episode of Shark Tank. Peeling appeared optional. His gorging reminded me of a frenzied prehistoric beast—mindless, save stuffing every morsel of banana into his wee mouth. By the end (yes, of the entire banana), Amy tried to remove the wee nib left buried in the base, but as she did so, Baxter moved on to the peel with the same fervour.
In the end we were all exhausted. Baxter looked like he just smoked an exploding fruit, and Amy and I were somewhat concerned over that fact that he ate more banana than either of us ever could have after a full dinner.
He frightens us.