Two things I hope this post doesn’t come across as: First, that I’m bragging. I am not. I am eternally grateful and fully aware how lucky we are. Second, that I’m jinxing anything.
But, man, we got ourselves a sweet-tempered kid.
See? Happy! So sweet-tempered that it’s a little suspicious.
I’m writing this around midnight. I’m in the middle of the night-shift round of my freelance work–a time when it’s quiet, the kid is asleep, and I can concentrate on getting projects done. Chances are very high that the kid is going to sleep through the night. It wouldn’t be too unusual for me to hear a sudden wail through the baby monitor around 3 in the morning. Sometimes it’s just one plaintive shout, then nothing. Other times it’s a bit more insistent which means I have to go upstairs to his room, straighten him out in the crib, and gently shove a pacifier in his mouth-hole which will instantly send him back to slumber.
Easy.
Oh, sure… maybe once or twice a month there will be a rougher night. If baby Gas-X doesn’t do the trick, then bunking down with daddy on the couch eventually does the trick.
It puts a slight crimp in my work schedule, but I’ve arranged my schedule now as such where it’s not really a problem, and Margaret is great about recognizing that when this sort of thing happens, it means I might have catch up on some sleep or work at other times, and she can cover the kid.
I’ve taken the boy with me on numerous chores in the outside world and he charms everyone with his smile and wide, curious eyes. He might vocalize a little, but rarely fuss for long, and he has yet to wail. Margaret takes him to church every Sunday where he is passed around all morning, even being held by the pastor during the children’s sermon. I’m told this is quite adorable. I’ve yet to be told that the boy has disrupted the service or anything. (I know… nothing’s perfect.)
Jack has come with us for game night and watched mom and dad fight goblins and fire lizards. He has come with us to restaurants. He has come with us to coffee time with friends.
And he’s a good kid. Fairly quiet. Rarely fussy. Everyone loves him.
Jeez.
I know, right?
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the cliched non-stop wailing that haunts so many parents in legend and tale.
I shudder to think about teething days, but I also have a sneaking suspicion that teething time isn’t going to be so bad.
This image may have been slightly, subtlely altered. I couldn’t find a picture of him fussing, so had to improvise.
This is all not to say that Jack never cries or wails. Mondays can be tough as it tends to be his fussiest day. We think because it’s the first day of the week with less of Margaret around following the weekend when she’s very much around. The boy has yelled at me nearly nonstop for a couple of hours on some of those Mondays, but I’ve picked up some of the tricks and this happens less often–or at least for a lesser duration.
And I have yet to hold any fussiness against Jack. It’s not his fault. He’s not doing it on purpose, so I can’t be angry at Jack, or anyone for that matter. We deal with it. It passes. All is good again. He plays. He explores. He tries to talk to me (or the dog or the cat or the rug or the ceiling). He sleeps.
All is good.
So all I’m just saying in today’s post is that we feel extremely fortunate to have a child so sweet-tempered.
He’s a good kid.
Cheers!
–John
Update: Jack’s 3 o’clock bleat actually happened at 4 a.m. instead. Straighten. Crib. Pacifier. Mouth-hole. Sleep.
Easy-peasy
