AAAAHHHHH, Breakfast!

Jonah has developed a firm sense of timing.  Although we have not been a family of late sleepers, our son has tolled the death knell on all slumber past 6:30am.  It doesn’t matter if we put him to bed at 7pm or 11pm, my boy is up and at ‘em at 6:30.  It’s like I’m living with a very small drill sergeant who happens to sleep in a crib and poop his pants.  I don’t know who taught him to do this, but when I get up, he is grunting and wiggling around, ready to wake us up.

I usually get up with him to give him his first feeding.  I have become so accustomed to this habit that I would gladly wrestle a ticked-off mountain lion to keep this privilege. 

Our time is the early time

If I delay in picking him up out of the crib, his exhalations become progressively louder.  He doesn’t coo.  It’s more like the sound someone makes on a commercial when they’ve just drunk a cold drink with sweat rolling down the sides of the glass. 

“AAAHHH!” is the only way I can write it in letters. 

He does that over and over.  “AAAAHHHH!!!”  Then he’ll roll over and start gnawing on his fists.  Then again.  “AAAAHHH!!!”  Then he’ll grab his little feet.  Again.  “AAAAHHHH!”   and on and on, louder and louder.

By the time I get in there, our apartment sounds like we have a large group of people sampling ice-cold beverages in the baby’s room.  

When I poke my head over the side of the crib, Jonah raises one eyebrow, and smiles.  If he could talk, I believe he would say, “Hey, it’s that guy again.  I like him.  He feeds me and wipes my bottom.”  Or, he would say, “Hey, welcome to Jonah’s playhouse.  It’s a whale of a good time.  I will be your entertainment for this morning.”  Or, he would say, “I’m cute.  I know it.  Haven’t even combed my hair or brushed my gums, but I know I’m cute.”

 
Then, the best part:  he starts laughing out loud. 

He has progressed in his humor from giggling or just cooing to straight-out laughter.  You know, the nyuk nyuk from the Three Stooges kind of laughter.  It’s awesome. 

In the morning, the coolest part is that it’s just us.  I know that he laughs like that throughout the day, but I like to think that his first laugh is for me.  That’s why I wouldn’t trade it.  There are plenty of people who love Jonah, and we love to show him off and share him with others.  But it’s great to have something special, even when he’s this young.   The morning is ours.

So, when he’s had a good laugh, I’ll pick him up and he grabs my shoulders and we go into the living room.  If he’s still sleepy, he’ll put his head on my shoulder, too.   He’s getting to the point now where he doesn’t like to be held nearly as much, so getting him when he’s still a little sleepy is important for this snuggly time.  If I try to hold him during the day, he flops like a marlin.

Then, in the calm of the morning, I do one of the cruelest things a father can ever do to a baby. I sit him up on the couch, put the bib on him, and hold the bottle in front of his face.  And he knows what it is.  His eyes get really big and his arms and legs pump like pistons.  But I don’t give it to him. 

I’m waiting for the best part:  his tongue moves in and out of his mouth, trying to imagine what that bottle would be like.  

Sometimes, I give him the bottle before he begins to cry too hard.  Man that’s mean!  But it’s fun, too.  Jonah sucks down that first bottle quicker than any other of the day, mostly because I “prime his hunger” with my cruelty.