Well, I had some technical difficulties and had to remove some rather large photos of the baby's room I posted pre-birth, but here is the latest collection of Reid pictology. Reid celebrated Easter earlier this month.

As far as server space is concerned, I'm not sure how we're going to work future photo essays. The easiest thing would be to disable the feature wherein inspired loved ones can click on the photos in the single page view and get a fairly high resolution version of the photo, suitable for adding Reid to your desktop, screen saver or what have you. This is a very popular feature, especially with Reid's mom, so I don't know that I can get rid of it. I guess we'll have to work something out.

Tomorrow or so, I should be posting a series of pictures from Easter, which was celebrated this year at Nonni's house. I'm currently in a state of extreme babyblog envy over what will be regarded as the gold standard of babyblogs, TrixieUpdate.com. I know I can never achieve the level of information analysis and graphic presentation this master baby blogger has, but it's sure a lot of fun to browse, isn't it?

This is parenting, in a lot of ways. Sometimes, K and I just look at each other and ask questions, as one of us has somehow divined parenting knowledge while the other was in the shower.

The differences in our parenting styles are interesting, because the entire game is being played by ear. Reid's interest now is in owning things. He will grip an object and treat it like the Holy Grail for an hour, never releasing it. His other primary interest is walking, only he can't do it yet. We're far beyond scooting, or cruising, or whatever it was called for the week he worked his way around by walking along holding onto the couch or whatever other furniture there was. Now he starts there, say holding onto the couch, and turns boldly toward a parent, hopefully, or nothing, and takes a leap of faith, striding out onto the carpet, teetering a moment, and then beginning the crash.

There is no difference in our parenting styles, K and I, at this moment. Neither of us wants him to hit the ground, although it is padded, and such a spill wouldn't hurt him, but might convince him that attempted walking without the raw "walking" skill is an ill-advised course of action. So instead we both (K more than I, because my normally beneficial height advantage prevents me from enjoying this) walk him around the house, him wearing a wide-smile, possibly holding a ball, or a discarded cell phone.

But the boundaries, it appears, do separate us. I rarely allow Reid to entertain himself with just any old thing. I get a toy, designed, in my mind at least, by a team of engineers committed to my son's safety and enjoyment. If such an optimal item isn't available, my plan usually falls apart, and he yells at me.

K, however, will indulge Reid to play with regular household things. He loves her sunglasses. He is eternally entranced with keys. Even our amusing game of spent cell phone talk has led to an unfortunate obsession with the similar wireless phones we use in the house. One of his favorite play surfaces are the weird Indian-imported side tables with pointy edges and certainly toxic hand-distressing. He has made a time-consuming and inscrutable game of chewing and sucking on coasters we received as a gift from a trip our best friend's took to Swaziland. Swaziland grass coasters!

None of these are absolutely determined to be harmful to the child, I know. There isn't anything wrong with keys, fundamentally. Sure, the little keyless entry fobs probably aren't designed to absorb that much drool, and they've certainly seen their share of mechanics, strangers and accidental drops into the gutter/car floor. But they aren't really problematic, right?

Wrong, I argue, though I am overrulled. There is a team of experts, I say, ensuring that this ball is the perfect size to amuse our child but pose no choking hazard. He won't choke on sunglasses, she replies. But now he thinks all glasses are toys, I counter. He was like that before he ever played with my sunglasses, she correctly asserts. And on and on.

Stylistically, then, we are different parents. Of course, I can only assume that for now, Reid doesn't know the difference. I'm the one with the smaller breasts, or possibly who smells like he sweats all the time. K's the one with the higher voice and the sunglasses who smells like home. But eventually, he will chart these differences, plotting his strategies carefully to take advantage of each of our weaknesses and idiosyncrasies. We're practically doomed.

Sheesh, it's been a long time. Reid's little clan has been laid low by illness, spending much of April in a painful cycle of sickness and recovery. Young master Reid dodged the first round, staying surprisingly healthy and spry despite a round of mysterious gastronomic trials that knocked both his parents out of the game for a while. Following that, Reid caught a minor cold which appeared to use him a testing ground before making the leap to both of his parents. Although it left him largely unscathed (he didn't even have a fever), it did disrupt his eggshell-fragile sleep schedule. So now that he was healthy and we were both slogging through the now-much stronger virus, Reid was unwilling to sleep through the night, ensuring that his mom and I were never permitted enough downtime to recover. Finally, air support in the form of antibiotic warfare was called in, Reid's sleep schedule returned to normal, and peace was restored in the Kingdom.

It is ironic, then, that Reid stood strong through all these trials and appeared the picture of health at his nine month checkup, on April 13th. There, he was diagnosed with a previously undetected ear infection as well as a possible case of conjunctivitis (pink eye).

This was our first ear infection, and his mom and I took it hard. Actually, we did okay, and Reid really seemed to enjoy his antibiotics, a delicious pink slurry that has stained onesies and baby sheets for the past ten days.

Less enjoyable was the other medicine Reid was prescribed, for commensurate eye discharges connected to his ear infection. Reid fought valiantly against our efforts to squirt a line of ointment inside the little man's eye. All too frequently, we ensured only that his cheeks were utterly bacteria-free. But the eye-ooze abated, and the odious task of lubing the ocular was done for.

As Reid continued to slurp down his scruptious medicinal smoothie, his dad, yours truly, also began to experience odd ear pains. And although they aren't supposed to be catchy, I, too was diagnosed with severe ear infections in both ears (a diagnosis confirmed by my own repeated cases of conjunctivitis).

Sadly, the cost of obtaining this diagnosis (and more antibiotics, yay) was a little care package from the waiting room for dad, another cold. Within hours of returning from the doctor's office, I again was in the throes of a tremendous chest cold, complete with amusing emphasemic coughing spasms, and high fever!

Reid wasted no time, antibiotics be damned, in contracting this cold, considering all the fun he had missed through our first rounds of Norwalk Virus and family-time cold number one. Soon enough, father and son were trading hacking coughs, comparing high temperatures and burning through Kleenex like they grow on trees. Mom even stayed home and tended to her ailing family, ensuring that next week, she, too will be sick as a dog.

This is all, of course, by means of explanation, then, for today's adventure. While my cold has abated under a steady and unrelenting stream of antibiotics and an ill-advised mixture of over the counter cold remedies, Reid's cold dragged on, since K and I are limited by parental responsibility to administering only fever reducers and his now-tremendously out-manned sweet pink delight designed to attack ear infections. By day five, which happened to be this very day, Reid's ailment had even begun to interfere with his precious sleep, spelling certain family undoing unless quickly addressed.

It seemed then that fortune had smiled on us, as the now-routine rectal thermometer rigmarole revealed that Reid's fever may have broken, after a night in which he was awake, shouting and seemingly inconsolable for about three hours.

Sadly, before noon he was again hot to the touch, shouting without cause and generally causing both of us to wonder what, if anything, we could do to make the child happy. (My wife would insist here that I mention a conversation, which I admit is not my best moment, in which I suggested we assign Reid the nickname Koba, which was a handle used by Josef Stalin before he reinvented himself and became a brutal dictator.)

We called his physician, who helpfully pointed out that, had we called hours earlier, she would have had him brought in for an examination, but who now had no choice but to urge us to take Reid to the emergency room, because it seemed that his ear infection had grown much much worse.

Panicked, we immediately decamped to the ER, assuming we would be there for hours.

Hours later, we emerged. Reid's ears were fine. He has a bad cold, for which no further antibiotic treatment would be necessary. A splendid spring Saturday spent in waiting rooms and triage stations for these tyro parents who probably should have known better.