Trying to play my cards right

(magic nose) gobblin, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Jed and I are tripping over ourselves trying to witness our second child's firsts.

Last weekend, my hulking husband scrambled to his feet after playing on the kitchen floor with his son and roughly three thousand plastic containers and lids.

"He took his first steps."

Without even looking past the countertop, where the boy is hidden from view, I tell him "No. He didn't. What he's doing is called 'crusing.'"

"Well, I know what I saw, and this kid took a step."

"No. He didn't."

"Yes. He did!"

"No. He didn't."

"Yes. He did!"

"No. He didn't."

"Yes. He did!"

"Ok, this is getting us nowhere. I appreciate that you think Silas has taken a step, and that you want to be the first to witness this event, but I assure you he has not, in fact, started walking."

If I remain calm and collected, say my piece and turn back to what I was doing, I win. This, in poker terms, would be what they call a bluff.

Really, it's not fair that I get to witness all the firsts. I realize that. It's not fair that milestones in my babies lives don't actually happen unless I am there to witness them.

That old conundrum, "If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it; does it make a sound?" Well replace that old hunk of wood, root system and leaves with a chattering, wobbly boy baby, who has whole 'nother existence while his mommy's at work, and one can unequivocally say: "Nope. Not a sound."

Daycare providers all know that firsts happen first at home (even if they don't). They know that any telling of a first happening elsewhere will result in the one of the following responses:

"You're fired."

OR

"Oh, I forgot to mention, he started walking yesterday at 4:30 in the morning while I was trying to change his diaper and figure out that world peace thing."

OR

A wordless response might also result, wherein good ol' delusional mom turns into a puddle of heaving, sobbing Jell-O right before the caregiver's eyes.

Most daycare providers understand that we working moms can be an irrational a fragile set, so they wait until the mom comes in the next day and announces the kid's new skill.

No matter what game you're playing, this is known as a brilliant strategy. And a strategy that should be noted as being separate and apart from the ones we, as parents, are employing to ensure we triumph in the name game race ...

ME: "Who am I? MAMA. I'm MAMA."

HIM: "Hey Buddy, can you say DADA? Go ahead, say 'dada'."

ME: "Mama?"

HIM: "Dada!"

ME: "Mama?"

HIM: "Dada!"

ME: "Mama?"

HIM: "Dada?"

ME: "Mama?"

HIM: "Dada?"


...

....

...

CHAMP: "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"

...

...

...

ITTYBIT: "I think he said 'Annabel'."


And that, dear friends, is what's called a trump.

** Yes, and for the record, the boyo took two steps last evening into his father's arms ... in my presence. He also says mama, dada and dog ... but never when we ask.