When he was about two months old, we took Ian to my sister’s wedding and subsequent reception. Aside from his first diperial blow-out during the ceremony, he was incredibly well-behaved. (Well, I suppose at that age, babies don’t behave – they really just respond. ) He didn’t cry or scream or in any way draw attention from the lovely, blushing bride.
Ian fell asleep during the reception. Hard. When the music commanded daddy to ‘Shake Your Groove Thing’, he did, and Ian went with him. As Kelly and I danced, painfully working our way through the ‘Electric Slide’, Ian was sprawled in my arms, dead to the world. Nothing fazed him; not Rick James, not the ‘Running Man’, not even daddy’s attempts at rhythm.
Ian has always been like this. He always seems happy to do anything, and he never really complains. We’ve taken him to choral concerts, church services, brass recitals, and baseball games – often returning well past his bedtime – and he loves every minute of it. For the most part. At his first baseball game, Ian screamed in terror at the sound of 40,000 fans screaming in joy at Big Mac’s return to Busch Stadium. It was rather frightening.
The other night I came home, and found that Ian had a fever of 102. No other symptoms, just the fever. The temperature alone was enough to worry a guy like me, but the aura of radiation surrounding him really had me freaked. Remember that old animated version of ‘Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer’, when Rudolph’s nose glowed Chernobyl-red and gave of a high-pitched whine? That was Ian’s head.
Ian was fine. He was giggling and smiling, and happy as could be. I’m convinced that his IQ has dropped to medium rare, and he wants to play.
Really, I’m thrilled that we have such an amiable child. It’s wonderful to be able to share everything with him, and that he isn’t afraid of new experiences or strange places. But shouldn’t some things cause him to complain?
Ian has his cranky days, but overall I’m amazed at how cheerful he is. Admittedly, I could take a few pages from his large-print book – I’d complain if my lottery jackpot were paid in 10s and 20s. I just hope Ian gets to a point where he’ll at least let us know if he’s too hot or hungry, or claustrophobic, or that his spleen has ruptured. As Kelly will attest, sometimes I need more than a frown to tell me that something’s wrong.