And now a word from . . .

. . . The husband. I've been asked to guest post, as the wife and the child are out of town. And I think it apropos that this just happens to be the 99th post on this blog. 99 being my favorite number (and my favorite grade, as it happens--I like the impact of those two big o' Number Nines, side by side. I like them even more than a 100%, which is primarily zeros with a skinny little number one up front. If I had to go up against either a 99 or a 100 in a fistfight, I'd pick the 100 every time. Because, seriously, if it's a 100, there's probably some padding in there somewhere. No one's really 100. But a 99? That's probably all muscle.)

I digress...but, then, no one's here to stop me.

What I really intended to say in this post (before I got distracted by the beautiful number 99)--what I intended to say is that one thing I love about our little boy is the total absence of indifference in his nine-month-old world. Everything he does is either an occasion for happiness, or an occasion for distress. He doesn't kill time.

Taking a bath? Happiness. Playing with Yellow jiggly-head Ball Man? Happiness. Not being able to reach Yellow jiggly-head Ball Man? Distress. Reaching for him anyway and falling forward onto tummy? Distress. Eating Cheerios? Happiness. Pounding Cheerios into dust? Happiness. Running out of Cheerios? Distress. Drooling on a Ritz cracker? Happiness. Dropping half a soggy Ritz cracker on the floor? Distress. Getting a new Ritz cracker from mommy? Happiness. Eating green beans? Distress. Waking up in the morning? Distress. Waking up in the morning having mysteriously rolled onto tummy in middle of night? Much Distress. Seeing Daddy come home at the end of the day? Much Happiness.

Everything he does is Very Important--he either actively enjoys it or it makes him cry. He doesn't just "put up" with things, including diaper changes. He's either laughing or screaming. (And in either case he's just as likely to kick the poopy diaper with his bare feet if you don't put it out of the way.) The kid has no concept of the mundane.

Of course I'm not extolling this as a global virtue. Those of us who are adults have to deal with the mundane as a matter of course. Sometimes I love my job, sometimes I feel it eating my stomach from the inside, but most of the time I just get it done. Partly that's about delayed gratification, partly it's just me eating my bread in the sweat of my face. Our baby boy has no experience of that because he doesn't have any responsibility yet. And when he does start picking up responsibilities, say chores, he'll find most of them pretty Distressing for a while (if memory serves).

Eventually he'll figure out how to put his head down and work. And hopefully, how to grasp those small joys that come even in the accomplishment of an unpleasant or uninteresting task. But for now, it's, "Hey, Dad, watch me cram this entire Ritz cracker in my mouth longways."

Mmmm. Much Happiness.