Daddy Nightcare

I've been put in charge of Ryan's bedtime a lot lately -- MPW goes to withchild water waerobics twice a week at 7pm, so it's up to me to convince Ryan he's not getting any nursing out of the likes of me. She's also taken the opportunity once or twice a month to get with friends at "Recollections" for all-night scrapbook sessions (literally: she's done at midnight). Then Friday she hosted ten of her closest friends with checkbooks at a party for a friend of hers getting into a side sales business; it went on well past 9, so I was able to break Ryan away from the hot chiquita mommas (and three youngsters) to get him down. Or "in," anyway. He gets himself down. On it. "Get Down On It," I tried to get him to say at dinner the other night. Not so hep a cat just yet.
Anyhoo, it was a typically well-done affair held by the daughter of the attache...wine, garlic spinach dip, mood candles, even an ice bucket. You know that keeps ice from melting? For like hours! How does that work?
We've learned that Ryan is tall enough to reach up and grab food off the kitchen island, so I had to keep my eye on him. At one point, I picked him up so he could see everything, and offered what I felt was appropriate: "Do you want grapes...or crackers and dip...or bread and cheese...or strawberries...or blackberries?"
He points at the Belgian chocolates on the corner.
"Cake!"
Saturday we met a friend of Ainsley's up in Springfield and bypassed the Silver Diner since Ainsley forgot the coupons and I'm a cheap bastard and instead tried this place on the way to my work that seemed quaint, "Benjamin's", open for breakfast and lunch. I'll steal a joke I heard describing a waffle house: picture a men's room that serves pancakes.
We'd signed up for a re-tour of the Delivery Area at the Ft Belvoir hospital, but after waiting twenty minutes past the time (with a sleepy boy who did not want to eat cherry tomatoes) for the tour guide to finish a class and do the tour, one of the nurses on staff went ahead and answered all our questions. She even used Ryan's Born Identity room as the example. awww.
At the hospital, Ryan started spontaneously walking sideways. He's done backwards before, but this was the first time I'd seen him do this. I wanted him to demonstrate for his maternal boss. "Ryan! Show mommy how to walk sideways!"
Ryan paused, then put his hands on his hips.
"No, no; not 'offsides.' Walk sideways."
Curse his selective hearing and football sign knowledge.
Ryan didn't fall asleep in his crib, so he was pretty baked by 7 -- Ainsley had gone out to a friend's housewarming, so it was mano-a-boyo again. Glad he's comfortable with the routine of dinner-hide under the crib-naked boy-baths-books-hugs-aquarium shusher/lullabier.
I'm also glad I can try and make up for all the lost time, and all the time Ainsley's had to do this routine on her own, and give her a girl's night out occasionally. If I had friends outside of work I'm sure she'd let me go to ... uh ... do .. whatever guys do. When they're not teaching their son the difference between a collie dog and a scottie dog.
Saturday night, after Ainsley got back, we started wrapping birthday and Christmas presents so my sherpas-in-law could take a suitcaseful with them to Seattle this week. Sunday the Browns won on a weird field goal and the Redskins lost to the Cowboys but played very well, so even Ainsley wasn't all that horrendously murderous. It helps to have a cute kid cheering them on in burgundy and gold, even sensing a tense part of the game and blurting out, "Oh, Goodness!"