The hits do keep coming. Last night, I crept into Reid's room before I went to sleep, as K or I have done every night since he started sleeping. It was about one a.m. He had been making a lot of noise, but that isn't uncommon for him. He's a mobile sleeper, constantly shifting around in his bed, banging his head and body into the bars of his crib and making a racket like he's building a boat or something up there. So I wasn't necessarily concerned that he wasn't asleep. That's because what happened next has never happened before.

He woke up.

I froze like the humans in "Jurassic Park," hoping that the rules for Tyrannosaurus Rex apply for my son as well. They do not. He saw me immediately and hopped right up with all the normal eagerness Reid brings to your average 6 a.m. wakeup. This is not a good sign.

Fortunately, I was able to get him back to sleep after a little while. I gave him a hug, I laid him back down and covered him with a blanket. About twenty minutes later, he finally fell asleep. Of course, I had to listen to him shout for that twenty minutes, but such is life.

Life also includes, however, Reid waking up again at 3. Gentle into that good night Reid does not go. In fact, to continue the metaphor, he rages against the dying of the light. This time, he was wailing. A half hour of shouting without pause made me believe that I needed to check on him. Remember, he bangs around in there like a construction worker while he's sleeping so it's just a matter of time before he injures himself or escapes from the crib. So I check on him and he has worked himself into a hysterical lather, over what I have no idea. I'm a hard-edged parent, you know, so I won't pick him up, or I'll be picking him up every night until he's 17. No, I tell him to lay back down and go to sleep, trying to repeat my success of two hours earlier.

No such luck. We repeat this a time or two and then I decide to take a different, slightly more daddy-intensive, but no less hard-edged parenting tactic. I sat in the room while Reid fell asleep after about a half-hour. His nearly sleepless night did have an upside, however. Reid slept until 7:40 this morning, long after his normal 6:15 wakeup and permitting his dad to shave and shower unhurried.

But I began this by mentioning the hits. Reid and I are going to try some snow-antics this weekend. The National Weather Service has forecasted a major snowstorm beginning tomorrow at 7 a.m. and dropping 4-8 inches of snow before it's done at the same time Sunday. I'm hoping that it won't be too cold out for Reid and I to frolic in the snow. An earlier snowstorm that brought about 2 inches wasn't something we could really enjoy because it got so cold right afterwards. I'm thinking of finding a sled or something I can pull Reid along in if it isn't too cold.

This is a standard fantasy that I will try to bear out, and who knows how successful it will be. Just picture me getting the dog on the leash and Reid on a saucer-sled and getting out in front of the house on our street which will not be plowed by the county. Reid will shout and try to take the leash and Dixie will bolt away from us tasting freedom for the first time in weeks. Reid will refuse to sit down on the sled and will instead stand up and take a face plant into the snow. Shouting and barking will ensue. The leash will slip out of my hand and chock through the snow as the dog gulps down the brisk air of liberation. We will finally settle into a somewhat enjoyable moment when a car will come along, idiotically testing the un-maintained street, forcing me to scoop up Reid and the dog, and bringing the boy and the leash into close enough proximity to begin the shouting all over again.

But I'll try it. In many ways, these experiences are what parenting is all about. Anyone who reads this blog, or talks to another parent, or even recalls vaguely what they were like as children knows that starting a family means enduring a huge number of things, from childbirth on down, that aren't very pleasant. There's the sleep deprivation, the vomiting (lots of both of those), and the bittersweet pain as a child learns to love you and push you away at the same time. All of these things will hurt you. They hurt me. But I don't regret a minute of it.

Okay, I might regret a little of the vomit.



As I mentioned, Reid received a shopping cart-styled toy for Christmas. The funniest thing is he doesn't push it like a regular person. He insists on pushing it from the side, which leads to it being tipped over, usually on me. About eight seconds after I snapped this picture, that happened.