the pieces of my life

When he was just a wee one, we started calling him Doodlebug. He was such a tiny cute thing and, simply, he was a Doodlebug. But then he grew and he started gaining more boy qualities, and Doodlebug didn’t really seem to fit anymore. He was more of a Doodles, as he began to grab and smile and laugh and develop a personality. And now as he enters late babyhood, Doodles doesn’t fit so much either. He’s bigger, more verbal, and just not as passive as he once was. So he needs a new nickname. And the only one that comes to mind is the Holy Terror .

And, oh, what a Holy Terror he is. Mobility is not a pretty thing. That little monkey is not only crawling everywhere (still commando style), he’s suddenly developed a knack for pulling himself up. On everything that I don’t want him to pull himself up on. We have toys just the right size for him to grab onto. The couch is his. The sides of his crib are readily available. The carpeted stairs are nice and padded. So what does he want? Oh, the stereo looks nice. The sides of the bathtub beckon. The new toy rack that hasn’t yet been anchored to the wall. The Jumperoo but only when another child is actually jumping in it. When I offer him lots of opportunities to stand upstairs where the floors are carpeted, he refuses. But on the hardwood floors downstairs, he can’t get enough. Do you know how loud the smack of a baby’s head hitting the floor is? It’s not a pretty sound.

Of course, if it were just an issue of pulling up, that wouldn’t be a problem. But it’s also, well, everything else. There are the temper tantrums my formerly angelic child now throws when he’s dropped his toy/spoon/my keys/teething biscuit for the fifteenth time and I refuse to pick it up again. The separation anxiety that hits in the middle of the night. The solid food strike he’s been on for the past week and a half (he has this adorable way of clamping his mouth closed, shaking his head, moaning angrily “nnnnn,” and waving his hand in front of his face to block the incoming spoon). The “I want to do it myself” for holding his spoon and picking up his bowl of cereal (he won’t eat it, but he’s perfectly happy to grab it and fling it onto the floor). The beginnings of him weaning himself (a plastic bottle is better than me? I’m insulted). The melodic way he opens the kitchen cabinet doors and then slams them close (and then gets surprised that when he shuts the door on his fingers that it actually hurts).

Okay, so it isn’t all bad. He laughs and giggles more. His curiosity is incredible. The look of wonder on his face when he accomplishes something new is amazing. And he’s so interactive now. It’s simply fun. Or at least it will be once I invest in a baby helmet for the HT and a pair of ear plugs for myself.

You’d think that on the days that Doodles is in day care, my clothing would be able to remain stain-free. Well, you’d think wrong.

I promised a round-up for graduation, but really, I’m not feeling terribly moved to write about it. It was last Thursday, which already feels like a lifetime ago.

I was amazed at how many people came out to see the ceremony–family flew in from as far away as Australia. I never thought graduating from grad school was such a big deal; the reward was the work done, not the piece of paper. I didn’t bother walking in my grad-school ceremony nor has anyone in my family. But then, this isn’t any old school graduation. This is Hah-vahd B-school.

We skipped the big event in Hah-vahd Yahd because it was huge and there was nothing we’d be able to see. I didn’t think Doodles would have the patience for it. But we met up with Adam and his family in time for the luncheon. What was HBS thinking? 894 students. And their families. And the luncheon is in a huge tent in which they’ve set up tables and put out covered plates of food at each place. We’re walking on wet grass with the stroller searching for five empty places at a table. Hell, we would have taken just five meals that we could have snagged to take outside to sustain ourselves for the tedium–um, I mean thrill–of the graduation ceremony. It was a moronic set-up, only to be compounded by the fact that when we did find five seats, the meals were highly mediocre.

Then there was graduation itself. What a chaotic event. When you have 894 graduates, the procession tends to take a while. The audience was enthusiastic in the beginning but as the afternoon droned on, people would suddenly give a cheer when their grad crossed the stage, and then they’d vamoose. By the time poor Section J crossed, the place was deserted. Thank goodness Adam was in Section A–first across the stage, which was only important because Adam walked with Doodles, and by the time Section B made it to stage, Doodles was fast asleep in his stroller. As a bonus, Adam got singled out for a mention in the Dean’s speech.

What can I say about the past two years that I haven’t said already? Adam really enjoyed it and it wasn’t a horrible experience for me. I made some good friends and I got to poke fun at people who deserved a bit of fun poked at them. I’m sure I’ll come up with more as I have more time to reflect on it, but for now, I have no regrets about coming out here and being a “partner,” but on the other hand, I’m glad it’s over.