Is your family important to you? If something were to happen that put the lives of your loved ones in danger, how would you react? It’s not until something really happens that you realize just how important your family is to you and just what you would do to keep them safe.

I swear to you, this is all true.

Sunday night, I slept poorly. It was easily the worst night of sleep I’d had in months. I lay in bed, tired but wide awake, as if there were an energy in the air keeping me awake. I’ve had nights like that before, where my mind was furiously working through a problem that it just couldn’t let go of. That wasn’t the case two nights ago. I simply could not drift off to sleep, and I didn’t know why. I dozed in and out a few times, and finally went downstairs around two in the morning. My head had begun to ache and throb, so I went down for some little white pills and some water. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that I should have been cycling into a REM sleep cycle. The house was silent.

After swallowing my two pills, I made my way through the dark house and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Back in the bedroom, and under the covers, I settled in and hoped the sandman would visit.

And I lay there, eyes closed but still wide awake. Tired but alert. Again, I was hit with the feeling that there was something in the air, keeping me awake. Soon, I finally began drifting  to sleep. Slowly. Just as I reached that in-between state, the state where we sometimes jerk ourselves awake with a subconscious body spasm, something terrifying happened. I heard somebody in our house. Specifically, I heard a door being shut. A door in my house. The one place where I have an expectation of safety for myself and for my family.

There was no thought. No wondering what I should do, or if I really heard what I know I did. The only thing that ran through my head was “my family.” The next few moments are burned into my memory as a strobe-effect; simply a series of images. The ceiling fan, as my eyes fly open. The bed sheets, in mid-flight, as I rip them away from me. My feet hitting the floor and me pushing off the bed. Delilah taking post at my heel. My hand closing on the door frame. In just one more moment, I will be down the stairs in two jumps, praying that I hit the light switch with my first attempt. Then, I don’t know, but I will protect my family.

In the instant before I pulled myself into the doorway, I remembered something crucial. Earlier this day, my little tyrant of a son learned how to open his own door.

I stepped around the corner to see him standing before me. Innocent. Relief – and fresh anger – swept over me. In the fog of near-sleep, Tyler’s newly acquired skill had been forgotten. Also forgotten was the fact that this was the third or fourth time tonight that he had gotten up. The two main differences were that he was much quieter before, and that Sarah got up those times to put him back to bed. On this particular instance, he opened the door and (I think) accidentally slammed it behind him.

In an angry whisper, I told him, “Get your butt back into bed, right now!” In my head, I added, Jesus Christ, boy, I almost killed you.

“Mommy,” he cried.

“Mommy is making her night nights. You get into your bed, now Tyler!”

As I tucked him in, and my heart slowed back into its normal rhythm, I kissed Tyler’s cheek. “It’s time to sleep, Tyler. You stay in this bed, okay?”

Tyler whispered, “yeah.”

“You do not get out of this bed again, and you do not open your door again, got it?”

Still in a whisper, “yeah.”

“I love you, buddy.”

“luh-loo.”

I pulled his door shut, and tied a shirt sleeve around the knob, hoping to make it more difficult for Tyler to turn, should he disobey my orders. He didn’t, and he slept through the rest of the night, presumably in his bed.

Today, Sarah reversed the door knob so that we can lock him into his room. And, today, Tyler took an unheard-of three and a half hour nap.

We’re still smarter than you Tyler.

It’s like giving a death-row inmate the keys to his cell.

It’s like leaving the bank vault open and expecting the money to be there in the morning.

It’s like the boxer putting his guard down and expecting to not get knocked into next week by his opponent.

It’s like two parents, worried that their 20 month old child will soon break his neck if they don’t do something about it.

We had to convert Tyler’s crib into a “transitional bed” a couple days ago. We really had no choice though. Over the course of 3 days, this is what has happened:

Day one.
8:30am. Sarah is downstairs, waiting for Tyler to wake up and call for her. Soon, she hears noises and prepares to go get Tyler as soon as she finishes what she’s currently working on. Moments later, she hears the baby gate. AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS! Tyler, as if this is completely normal, says, “Hi.”

Day two.
Time unknown, but it’s in the morning. Tyler is being a brat, so we put him back in his crib, and tell him that we will get him out when he calms down. Moments later…. BANG, CRASH, SCREAM. Sarah runs in to see Tyler on the floor of his room.

Day three.
8am. I hear Tyler making a noise. It’s my morning to get up with him, so I saunter into his room. As I walk in, I see Tyler holding onto the top of his crib, trying to pull himself up. His feet are against the side, trying to walk vertically like a freaking spelunker.

His mattress was already in it’s second-to-lowest position. The next, and lowest, position is only two inches further than where it currently sat. Two inches. If it made any difference, it would have been rendered moot within a week, at most. As a result, Sarah and I – very reluctantly – made the decision to uncage the beast. Sunday morning, we set to work removing the front of Tyler’s crib and installing panels that simply protect Tyler from rolling out of his new transitional bed. He was ecstatic! The minute we finished, Tyler ran and climbed into his bed. Then he jumped out (and fell on his face). Then he climbed back in, then back out, then back in, and so on.

*sigh*

We’re both wondering how long it will be before he fully grasps this new freedom. He napped fine in his new bed. Last night, he slept just fine in his new bed. When Tyler woke up this morning, Sarah walked into his room to find Tyler still in his bed. She asked how his first night in his new bed went. Tyler sat up, started clapping his hands and said, “yayyyyyyyyy.” But, we’re not stupid. We know he’ll soon be stomping around his room while he’s supposed to be napping. We know the little tyrant will be found at some point, sleeping on his floor after playing there hours after bedtime.

We know…. and we wait with bated breath.

I’ve wanted to write this post for a couple weeks, but couldn’t bring myself to do so. Sarah reads to Tyler at least ten times more often than I do. I’d actually put it closer to twenty times more. When Tyler wakes up in the mornings, he wants to read. I’m already at work, so Sarah sits on the floor with Tyler and reads book after book after book, until Tyler decides he’s hungry and must eat right now! They may read ten books one time, or they may read one book ten times. Tyler also enjoys story-time before his nap. And after his nap. And before bedtime. I find it difficult to sit here and complain about reading books over and over again, often to the point of inadvertent memorization – I don’t need to reference any books to tell you that Ichy Ichy Ichabod starts with I, I, I, or that the Three Bears never saw Goldilocks again – when I know that Sarah feels the pain exponentially worse than I do.

But that damned Apple Tree Farm (Farmyard Tales) is driving me bonkers.

Apple Tree Farm chronicles the adventures of a farm family, ran by Mrs. Boot, the farmer. I won’t detail it here, so hop on over to Amazon.com if you’re curious or interested. I admit that the stories are not bad. They aren’t too short and they aren’t too long. Imagine if baby bear had written the stories; they are just right. But when you read about Ted and his runaway tractor for the 10 to the nth degree time, well let’s just say that it starts to get old.

We have a thick book that contains the entire collection of the Apple Tree Farm stories. It helps that, when Tyler brings the book to us saying “Boot, Boot, Boot”, we can select whichever of Mrs. Boot’s stories we want to read. It doesn’t help that we’ve read every single one of those stories countless times. Countless.

There have been a few occasions where Sarah and I both have said to Tyler, “No thank you Tyler. Let’s pick a different book.” Sometimes, Tyler protests, but he usually just grabs another book. That is precisely what happened a couple weeks ago.

Pulling the blue Apple Tree Farm collection book from Tyler’s hands, Sarah told him to pick out a different book. And he did. He brought us this book instead:

That’s right… first, he wanted to read The Complete Book of Farmyard Tales. We told him to pick a different book, so he DUG AROUND in his bookshelf and brought us The Little Book of Farmyard Tales, which is the exact same thing, but a little smaller, and with a few less stories.

He’s learning. That little booger is learning.

Tyler has been, as of late, trying to copy the words we say. Luckily, Sarah and I have our swearing under control now. If that weren’t the case, I’ve no doubt that Tyler would already have “damn” in his vocabulary, and likely some of Damn’s big brothers and sisters. Probably even Damn’s parents. The whole Damn family. He’s even surprised us by attempting some three syllable words/phrases like “I love you” and “Las Limas”. Las Limas is Sarah’s most favoritest Mexican restaurant. We actually went there just two days ago. Surprise surprise, Tyler loved it. He dipped chips into salsa, ate salsa right from his fork, and even used his fork to eat rice off my plate. Sarah practically lived at Las Limas during her pregnancy. Craving city. It was the same thing almost every day. I’d ask, “What do you want for dinner?”

“Chips and salsa.”

“We just went there yesterday.”

“Yeah? And?”

So should it really come as any surprise to me that Tyler loved the food there too? But, I digress.

Here is the current Tyler-to-English list:

Mama – Mommy
Dada – Daddy
Pumpy – Pumpkin (he sounds so cute saying this)
Howww – Help
Baba – Paci
Bahp – Up (pick me up)
Dowww – Down
Slyyy – Slide
Sie – Outside
More – More
Rie – Ride (either in the car or on Dada’s back)
Go – Go
Poddy – Potty
Yah – Yes
No – No
Nooo – Nose
Mou – Mouse
Mou (high pitched) – Cat (meow)
Neeee – Horse (neigh)
Deen – Drink
Dis – This
I-luh-loo – I love you (just started with this)
Ball – Ball
BALL – Football
Boo – Book (as in read one to me)
Nigh nigh – Night Night
Daw – Dog
Lila – Delilah (our dog)
Papa – Sarah’s dad
Nana – Sarah’s mom
Grap – My dad
Gram – My mom
Ishi – Aunt Acey
Jiji – Aunt Jiji
Jah-ee – Aunt Jenny
Paysh – Cousin Paige
Wek – Cousin Lexie
Germ – Uncle Jeremy (we call him Germs, for short)
Nah nah – Knock Knock
Pideh – Spider
Nummy – Nummy (he wants to give Lila a treat)

That’s not all. He’s got a handful of other words at his disposal. It amazes me that he not only uses the words but he actually uses them in the proper context. When I talk to Tyler (about something that interests him), I can see that he is genuinely paying attention and trying to absorb what I’m telling him. I also find it amazing that, although he can’t hold a conversation, he understands almost everything Sarah and I say to him. Unless it involves the word “no.” For example, telling Tyler “No, we do not play in Lila’s water” seems to have little effect on his playing in Delilah’s water bowl.

Because of Tyler’s perceptiveness and comprehension, we’ve been relegated to spelling and using other descriptive phrases. Park is P-a-r-k. Outside is “that place beyond our back door.”

Sarah made the mistake of saying “outside” during one of our phone conversations yesterday.

“Sie? Sie. SIE! LAY!” Lay means play, by the way.

“No, honey,” Sarah replied, “we’ll go play outside later.”

“SIEEEEEEEEE!”

Heh. I love that I wasn’t the one to make the mistake this time.

“Tyler, this is a sheep. Sheep. A sheep says ‘bahhhh’. Can you say ‘bahhhh’?”

“Ba.”

The above is an example of how we introduce animals to Tyler. My thought process is that, when you have a baby (obviously, Tyler was still a baby when we started talking to him about animals) who can barely manage single sounds, it would make more sense to have him say “ba,” then “bah,” then “bahhhhh” than it would be to try and get him to say “sheep”. Especially when he can’t even make the “sh” sound yet.

Lately, I’ve found myself wondering if my approach was the right one…

Tyler is in love with two inanimate objects. The first is Monkey. Monkey is a stuffed animal.

“This is a monkey. A monkey says ‘ooo oo AHH AHH’.”

“Ah.”

“Good job, buddy! You’re the smartest baby on the planet!” And yes, I really have said that once or twice.

Tyler’s second favorite is the bane of my existence. Elmo. I hate Elmo. He has a stupid voice, stupid red fur, and is stupidly annoying. I won’t delve into the reasons for my hatred of Elmo *cough*commercialism*cough*. And although that little red thing has wormed his way into Tyler’s heart despite my best attempts to prevent it, rest assured that I plan to never personally purchase anything “Elmo”.

For whatever reason, Tyler can not (or will not) say “Elmo”. He can, however, say “Melmo”.

I walked into his room recently after he had awakened from a nap to find all of the contents of his crib on his floor. On these occasions, I find myself wondering why he would throw all that stuff out when he knows he’s just going to want it back, and then I shudder in fear of the thought that this is all a precursor to a forthcoming crib-prison escape. I sometimes think I should put a couple pillows on the floor to catch his fall when he is finally able to climb over the rail, but wouldn’t that just make me an enabler or, at the very minimum, an accomplice to the crime? *Mental note: It’s time to lower his mattress again.*

“Did you have a good nap, buddy?” I asked in an accopella tone.

“Ya.”

“Good,” I said, as I pulled him from the crib and carried him towards the door.

Tyler turned, pointed at the floor and said, “Melmo.”

In the most agreeable voice I could muster while scowling at the object of Tyler’s pointing, I told Tyler that we had, indeed, forgotten Melmo, and thanked him for reminding me. As I attempted to walk out of the room for the second time, Tyler repeated his action and said, “Ah Ah!”

“Oh yes. We forgot Monkey too. Let’s go back and get him. You know, Tyler, if you hadn’t thrown them out of your crib in the first place, we wouldn’t need to do all this extra work to get your babies.”

“Ya.”

He seems to have a pretty good grasp on what yes and no mean, so I’m operating on the likely misguided thought that he really grasped what I was explaining to him^[1].

Once we were downstairs and had finished wrestling around – which mostly involves me picking Tyler up and throwing him onto the couch – I sat Tyler down to school him on something. I held monkey up and said, “Tyler, who is this?”

“Ah Ah!”

“No, that is the sound a monkey makes. This is a monkey. Mon-key.”

Silence from Tyler.

“Okay… Can you say ‘mon’?”

“Muh.”

“Good job. Now say ‘key’.”

“Kih.”

“PERFECT! Now say ‘monkey’.”

“Ah Ah!”

[1] Proven to be incorrect the very next day.

That’s the question I asked myself a few days ago.

When I started high school, I was placed in classes for “gifted students”, presumably, because I was smart. On the first day of classes, one of my teachers wrote a word on the chalkboard.

“Anyone who answers this question correctly goes up a letter grade at the end of the semester,” he said.

We all looked at the board and were perplexed at the simplicity of the question.

“Why?” the board read.

The answer the teacher was looking for was “why not?” It went against everything I’ve learned regarding answering a question with a question, but it was the answer he wanted to see.^[1]

So, when Tyler was having one of his I-cannot-be-separated-from-my-daddy-for-even-a-second-or-else-I-will-start-screaming-my-head-off moments as I walked into the bathroom to “make my peeps come”^[2], I said to myself, “Why not?”

*sigh*

I’m the type of guy that views the bathroom as private time (unless Sarah is doing her make-up. We try to fit the entire family in there when that’s going on, which I’m sure she just loves). I don’t let Sarah watch me, uhhh, conduct business in there, and I certainly wouldn’t watch her do the same. Unfortunately, I can’t just sit down at the table with Tyler and explain how to make peeps and poops in the potty. As a result, I know I’ve got to – at some point – allow Tyler into the bathroom with me to witness how the big boys make the magic happen.

So, why not, Tyler? Come on in and watch daddy bring the rain (pun intended. That one was for you, Mel).

To my female readers, I won’t get graphic here, but if you don’t know how peeing works for guys, let’s just say that, at any given time, at least one hand is occupied. You may be thinking that having one hand free would be sufficient in keeping control of the situation. I’m here to tell you that it is not.

As soon as Tyler saw me raise the lid of the toilet seat, he had to be right there. He leaned a bit to see what was inside of the mysterious ceramic bowl, which put me in the delicate position of trying not to piss on my son’s head. Tyler must have thought the view wasn’t good enough, because he placed his hands on the rim of the toilet bowl and leaned further in. If we were playing the $25,000 Pyramid right now, “stopping mid-stream” falls into the category of “things that cannot be done” and frankly, I was so horrified that Tyler just put his hands on, arguably, the most disgusting thing in any household that I just didn’t care if I gave him a golden shower anymore.

With terror and disgust in my voice, I yelled, “GROSS!! DON’T TOUCH THAT!”

To Tyler, this roughly translated to, “SHOUT!! I’M YELLING THINGS THAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

Using my free hand, I attempted to push Tyler away. This didn’t work, because – with me standing and Tyler leaning – my hand just brushed the top of his hair. Instead, I jutted my right knee out and pushed him with my leg. I felt like a Ghost Buster, trying to set the Ecto Trap and still not cross the streams of our Proton Packs. Or in my case, not pee on my son.

Worried that he may try to get into the toilet again, I maintained the awkward pose of peeing while keeping my right leg out in between Tyler and the toilet. He didn’t try again. No, Tyler chose to focus his attention on something else. “Something else” being the very thing that defines me as a father and not a mother. My discomfort of the situation was reaching levels I didn’t know to be possible. I didn’t know what to do, so I concentrated on finishing things up as quickly as possible. I ignored the look of awe and amazement and wonderment on Tyler’s face, and forged ahead.

After what felt like an eternity, I zipped up. Tyler looked up at me, as if waiting for an explanation on what the heck he just witnessed. All I could muster was the look that you give a stranger on an elevator. The look where you raise your eyebrows and smile without opening your mouth or showing any teeth.

“Tyler, let’s never speak of this again.”

“DA.”

I’m choosing to believe that, based on his tone and inflection, Tyler said, “Sure thing, pop. Do you know if the Imagination Movers have a new CD out yet? Whaddya say we get the heck out of this bathroom and find out?”

Why not, Tyler? Why not?

[1] The majority of the class, including myself, wrote “because” on a piece of paper and turned it in. Others wrote paragrahs and pages, going on and on about creationism, or God, or something. Nobody answered with “why”.

[2] Ever since Sarah and I became dog owners five years ago, we’ve used the terms “peeps” and “poops” when asking Logan, and then Delilah, when she joined our family, if they had business to do.

Although my parents aren’t the most tech savvy people I know, they still managed to burn the video to a DVD and sent it to me via manila envelope. Subsequently, Sarah and I have taken videos of Tyler crawling around the house, which I’ve posted to YouTube. One video was actually sent in to America’s Funniest Videos, so I’m not allowed to post it here, or talk about it, yet. The video of Tyler’s first crawls somehow never made its way online… Until now.

**** Errr… Nope, the video isn’t available. There were some technical difficulties with the disc that the video was recorded to. ****

We went to Canada two weekends ago (the weekend previous to Memorial Day weekend) for the wedding of one of Sarah’s cousins. Driving back from Canada, the GPS had us passing through my hometown of Flint, Michigan. My parents still live there, in my mom’s childhood home, so we stopped by to visit and stretch. Tim, my awesome step-dad, got the camera out to take some pictures. Dead batteries. Tim then got the camcorder out to take some video. Dead batteries. But, that was remedied with a power adapter, and a little bit of a guilt trip from the rest of us.

Tyler eventually made his way to the refrigerator and, more specifically, the magnets on it. Leaning against the side of the fridge were two food trays. You know what I’m talking about, right? They fold open and closed like an ironing board, allowing one to eat food while sitting on a couch. They’re quite handy, unless you’re a ten month old baby and they are standing between you and the magnets you so desperately desire. Tyler stood there, hands on the folded trays, when they did the thing that the ladder did in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. In the movie, Clark Griswold is standing on a ladder and hanging Christmas lights from his house. He inadvertently staples his shirt sleeve to the house and, when he yanks himself free, the ladder upon which he is standing pulls away from the house. It sways to the precarious point where you’re not sure if it’s going to fall backward or safely to its original position against the house. This is what was happening with Tyler.

I watched this happen, knowing that I could, potentially, have a very upset baby, and yet I did nothing. Generally speaking, if it won’t result in a hospital visit or expensive property damages, I let Tyler learn the consequences of his actions. I said something to that effect, and I fear I’m coming across on the video as an uncaring parent. The thing is, I viewed that as a controlled environment. I was there, and I knew that the worst that would happen would be a bump on Tyler’s head. I don’t want him to learn that lesson from pulling on a heavy TV or a dresser or bookcase that isn’t tethered to a wall. Those consequences could be disastrous. And, yes, I am spilling all this here in the hopes that you, dear readers, will validate my thought process.

My mom couldn’t stand by and allow the shenanigans to unfold, so she pulled the trays away. This left Tyler balancing on his own, with nothing to hold onto. This is nothing new, as Tyler stands on his own quite often. But, instead of falling to the ground and crawling to the fridge, like he always does, Tyler WALKED to it!!!! His first real steps were caught on video!

Video not playing? Want to view it larger? Watch it on YouTube by clicking here.

I simply find it amazing that a ten month old baby would make the decision to try to take a step, especially when he knows that it would be easier to just crawl. Parental pride aside, watching a baby think and make decisions and try new things is… well… "amazing" is the only word I can think of.

So, Tyler’s first crawls and his first walks were at my parents’ house. And, the latter probably wouldn’t have happened if my mom hadn’t taken the food trays away. It’s interesting how things work out.

Tyler will be 9 months old tomorrow. I really don’t know where the time has gone. It seems like just yesterday that he was born. Don’t worry though, dear readers, I will not be posting a mushy stream of thought about how fast time is moving, and how I don’t want to miss anything, and blah blah blah. I’ll wait until he’s a year old before I do that.

This story began about 3 weeks ago. Sarah called to tell me that she took her eyes off Tyler for just a minute. During that small window of opportunity, Tyler climbed up one of the steps leading to the second floor. I sighed, because I knew it was time to buy another baby gate. We already have one that we use to keep Tyler out of the kitchen and away from Delilah’s water dish. I wanted to get one that had a door that we could swing open so that I wouldn’t have to step over it every time I walked from room to room. I made the classic mistake of not measuring before I bought it. The gate wasn’t nearly wide enough to fit in the stairway without some modifications. As a result, the gate didn’t go up right away.

Later that evening or the following evening, Sarah ran to the store while i played with Tyler. Tyler’s been somewhat needy for his mommy lately, so I had to take Tyler from room to room to show him that his mother wasn’t home. Crying, he crawled to the stairs and put his hands on the first step. I’m not sure what a good parent would have done in that situation. On one hand, it’s probably not a good idea for a baby to play by the stairs. On the other hand, anything he does right now is helping him learn, so who am I to take that away from Tyler? Plus, I was right there, so what could go wrong? Tyler climbed two stairs. The “on one hand” side of my brain barked at me to get him off the stairs before he kills himself. My God, Joe, he’s so high up right now!! If he were to fall from that height, the results would be disastrous! I grabbed Tyler from the stairs and begged him to never scare me like that again.

Later, I decided that the “on one hand” part of my brain was being a vagina and that the “on the other hand” part of my brain had it right by letting him learn stairs. At least under our supervision. While Sarah was upstairs, I grabbed the camcorder and called Tyler to the foot of the stairs with me.

”Go get your mommy.”

Sarah was less than pleased when she appeared at the top of the staircase, but “on the other hand” is a persuasive little turd. She compromised by coming halfway down the stairs. Tyler was being needy for his mommy and crying for her. And…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqDxg6DYprQ

Even later that evening, Tyler climbed the entire staircase, with no assistance at all.

A couple days ago, while Sarah was shopping, I decided that I needed a better shot of Tyler’s mountain climbing skills. So, I set the tripod at the top of the stairs and used Delilah as the bait up there. Why do I have so many bad ideas when there is no estrogen in the house?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoqLPnO1Kzo

I dunno, I guess I just presumed that Tyler would tackle walking – or even just standing unassisted – before attempting the staircase.

This is going in as my Wordless Wednesday entry.

I went back and forth trying to title this post. The runner up was “Sharkbait OO HA HA”, but then I realized that both titles would fall on deaf ears if you’ve never seen “Finding Nemo” half a dozen times or so.

On the off chance that you haven’t seen nor heard of the movie – and, if you’re a parent and haven’t seen that movie, then shame on you – it’s about a fish. How’s that for giving away the entire storyline?

Tyler is taking swimming lessons at the YMCA. Sarah signed him up a few weeks ago. The classes are once a week for about 30 minutes, and go for 12 weeks (if I remember correctly). Tyler just turned 7 months old, so we don’t really expect him to understand us when we say “kick your feet! kick your feet!”, or try to get him to climb up the ledge of the pool (really, the instructor told Sarah to try to get him to climb up there, even though he can barely crawl). But, it’s a good activity for him, and you can’t go wrong introducing somebody to swimming and water.

I can’t swim. When I was young – I don’t know how old exactly, but I was young – and I was at the beach with my dad, he decided he was going to teach me to swim. He had his hands under my body while I tried getting accustomed to the water. I said, very specifically, “Don’t let go”, to which he responded that he wouldn’t. Mere seconds later, he removed his hands and I panicked. Because of that experience, I’ve had a very real fear of water since then. That’s not to say that I couldn’t take baths or get on a boat. I just couldn’t put my body into any water that didn’t allow my feet to touch the dirt while my head was still above water. Even in that shallow water, I couldn’t do anything other than stand straight up. If we were playing frisbee and it went left or right of me, I could NOT dive for it. I’ve come leaps and bounds in the last few years. I’ve actually gone tubing, water-skiing, and “swimming”, but only with the aid of a life jacket. And I’ve somehow managed to not loose my mind when I get thrown from the tube, or get a water enema from skiing.

So, I think it’s great that Tyler is getting exposed to water and swimming so early in life. When Summer rolls around, and we go to the lake with our friends, or to the local pool as a family, Tyler will be a year old and will hopefully take to the water much more easily than I did.

I’ve only been to one of Tyler’s classes. Sarah told me that in his first class, he didn’t appear to be comfortable in the water, but that he still did pretty well. From then on, though, he loved it. I went with them this previous Wednesday to check it out for Tyler’s third class. I had a feeling that cameras were probably not allowed in there, so I just brought it in without asking. Better to ask forgiveness, than permission, right?

I can not believe how much Tyler enjoyed being in the pool. He was splashing and kicking, and lunging his body all over the place. Sarah had difficulty time holding him a few times. I’m still learning how some of the settings on my camera work, so bear with me on some of these shots.

Tyler loves splashing his arms in the water.

He was even pretty comfortable on his back. I really didn’t know what they were trying to accomplish, though. The instructor told them what to do, but I was completely focused on taking pictures. I’m pretty sure they were working on kicking their feet.

They were definitely working on foot kicking here. Tyler did really well, but we knew he would, because he does that in the bathtub too.

On his belly, Tyler did a great job of holding his head up while kicking and waving his arms. It’ll be awhile before we let go of him, but he’s definitely understanding the concept. Either that, or he just loves to splash the water. I’d like to say that it’s the former, but I’ve got a hunch that it’s the latter.

Time to towel off and hit the showers. I can only guess how much chlorinated water Tyler swallowed over the last 25 minutes.

Once we got home, Delilah gave Tyler some “good job” kisses after we told her how great Tyler did in the pool.