Dinosaurs, Elmo Guitars, and Pumping Iron

I have three things to talk about.

Issue 1: Cameron has developed a dinosaur scream. He seriously sounds like a Tyrannosaurus Rex in heat. He'll just be sitting there and if something is not to his liking (i.e. he's slightly tired, something falls out of his reach, etc.) he breaks into a high pitched ear piercing roar straight out of Bedrock. But he's not really even upset, because as soon as he turns his attention to you he just starts smiling again. It makes me fear toddlerhood greatly.

Issue 2: We have a neighbor who is probably about 10 years old. When Cameron was still in the first couple weeks of life, the neighbor knocked on our door and handed me a little Elmo guitar that lights up and plays music. He told me that he really liked it when he was younger, so he wanted Cameron to have it. It was really sweet. And you know what, he was right: Cameron loves that toy. He pushes that "Jam with Elmo" button and just rocks along with a huge smile until the song is over and then slaps at the guitar until another song has started. The other day he was literally sitting in his bumpo repetitively blasting the Sesame Street jam, all the while working the whammy bar with his toes. Then he turned to me, made a horns hand signal, and threw up. I'm telling you he is bound to be a rock star.

Issue 3: I decided that today would be Cameron's first foray into childcare (not counting the nurturing gardens of Baby Resort de Rudd). I called Mindy this afternoon and told her I was thinking of dropping Cameron off at the Gold's Gym kids club for an hour while I worked out. You would have thought I suggested leaving Cameron unattended on the floor of a public restroom while I went for a jog. For some reason she thought that the meatheads (aka personal trainers) working at the gym wouldn't know how to care for a baby. She also is under the impression that a gym might have a fair amount of germs. Well, I convinced her that these sentiments were pure craziness and managed to get the yellow light (I wouldn't exactly say the a-okay, more like the precede with caution and realize that if something goes wrong I will definitely divorce you and quite possibly murder you in your sleep). I decided to risk it. As I was walking into the gym I became acutely aware of the fact that I am now totally a housewife. I mean, I was carrying a car seat, had a diaper bag on my back, and was walking quickly so as to not be late for my mid-day yoga class. Anyway, I signed Cameron in and hung out with him for a few minutes to make sure the situation was kosher. For the most part it seemed okay. It was pretty chaotic in there, but they seemed to have enough staff, were ready to hold him if he started crying, and had a place he could lay down to sleep. The only really unnerving thing was this 1-year-old (that looked exactly like a miniature Al Sharpton) who was crying and stomping laps around the room continuously. That seemed a somewhat ominous sign, but I decided to go for the yoga class anyway. I'm about 25 minutes into the class (somewhere toward the end of the glut vinyasa) when I see a childcare worker slink in the room holding a little white board with Mike Graves written on it. My heart sank. I follow her back to the Kid Zone and I see Cameron being held by a worker with the saddest look I've ever seen on his face (I might be projecting my guilt into his facial expression a little too). They tell me that right after I had left he started crying and he hadn't really stopped. Well that made me feel worse. One of the workers asked me if I had a pacifier in my diaper bag that I could give them and then I could sneak out before Cameron saw me. Yeah, like I'm going to be able to go back to clearing my mind and chilling in deep relaxation pose while my 5-month-old baby is crying for an hour because I abandoned him. I didn't think that was a good plan. I took a real-tear-crying Cameron away from the worker and paced with him around the child care room. But the really cool / emotional thing was once I took him that little dude stopped crying in about 15 seconds. He was asleep in 5 minutes and now I'm the one who is trying not to cry. Overall, I would give his first stint at child care a C-. Nobody was seriously hurt and hopefully no life threatening illnesses were contracted, but it was a tad traumatic. I've got some strategies that I think will make the next go round a little smoother. Strategy 1: wait until he's 12 years old. Just kidding. Moral of this story is that when you see a miniature Al Sharpton wailing and lapping the room - just leave.

That's all I've got today. I think on my next blog I'm going to have to discuss The Hills because Mindy and I just watched the final episode and there is so much to say.