My baby has officially spent longer outside of me than inside of me

I was all excited to mark Jack's nine month birthday as the turning point of him being a free-living being as long as he'd been a fetus (/embryo/blastocyst), but then I remembered that nine months was not actually the correct counting method, because months are all different lengths. Weeks are more accurate, and it's 38 weeks. So I went back and counted the weeks since December 17 and discovered that Jack had officially spent the same length of time outside of me than inside of me on September 9. I totally missed it. Darn! I remember at the end of the day that day, thinking wow I didn't even realize all day it was 9/9/9. And I thought, hmm, too bad there's nothing more memorable that happened today on such a special date. Little did I realize Jack had reached such a milestone.  I'm not sure anybody else pays attention to such a milestone, but it seems like the first important thing worth celebrating. It's not an arbitrary base-12 kind of celebration, it is truly surpassing something that seemed like a long time once upon a time. It's like the wedding anniversary that marks you having spent more of your lives together than apart. Maybe not a nice round number like "25" or "50", but more meaningful. Anyway, I blew it. Sorry Jack. We'll try to catch it for the next kid. That's the disadvantage of being the first child. Mommy's not on her game.

So have I buried this sufficiently into the post? I didn't want to lead with this because it's going to worry the grandparents, and actually I wasn't even going to write about this because I wanted to avoid that, but Danny already told his parents (why, Danny? As a parent yourself now, don't you understand that parents don't like to worry?), so it's only fair that the other set should know, too. And the rest of you don't really care, anyway, right? So here is the exciting news of what Jack did for his nine month birthday:

He took a trip! Down the stairs. On his belly. OOPS! There is a pocket door at the top of our stairs and we have neglected to install a baby gate because it seems easier and even more effective to just keep the pocket door closed. The pocket door is only more effective when actually closed, however. This is an important point, and I cannot stress it enough. The pocket door does nothing to keep babies from falling down the stairs when open. Since Jack has started crawling, the door only opens to let us through and then immediately closes again, and I still can't quite figure out how it was open and I didn't notice it. But I was in the kitchen, madly putting food together for Jack to send with him to the mom that takes care of him, and Jack was in the living room, playing with his books and puzzles and wooden ring-stacky-thing. It was my first day of teaching and I was preoccupied with what I was going to say, so I wasn't popping my head in to check on him as often as I usually do. I heard a thud, followed by a wail, and thought, uh-oh, he must've pulled himself up on the chair and fallen. Or maybe the coffee table. Oh I do hope he didn't bonk himself on the coffee table. I rushed into the living room, scanned the chairs: no Jack; the coffee table: no Jack; and in what felt like slow motion my gaze drifted over to the stairway and noticed there was no pocket door blocking it, only a stairway. With a little baby Jack halfway down it, face first, on his belly. I have no idea how he only made it halfway down and didn't tumble all the way down, cracking his head open on the tractor seat that has no business being in a stairway that a baby might fall down, but then, a baby really has no business falling down a stairway. I have had nightmares about Jack falling down the stairs and always wake in a cold sweat, relieved it was just a dream. This, I knew, was not a dream, and I have never felt so sick. You know how they say you should keep your cool when your baby is crying so he doesn't pick up on your nervous energy and get more agitated? I did not do that. I was hysterical, but Jack stopped crying almost as soon as I picked him up, and somehow, amazingly, there was no blood. No gaping wounds. No bruises, even. I couldn't quite believe it. He looked fine. And within about a minute, he was smiling at me. He must have fallen the exact right way to not do any damage whatsoever.

Meanwhile, I still had to teach. But, of course, being a paranoid first-time mom who had never experienced babies falling down stairs, I was unconvinced that he was really okay. So I spent 15 precious minutes on the phone with the Kaiser advice nurse, who told me I should bring him in, and then with Danny figuring out whether we should wait until the afternoon when I was done teaching or whether he should turn back around and take him in right away. And now I was late, for the first day. A pretty iron-clad excuse, though. My baby fell down the stairs. No one would judge me for being late. They might judge my aptitude as a parent. Anyway, Danny took Jack to the hospital, the doctor said he showed no ill effects, and the upside is that they took his measurements for the first time in three months so on his nine month birthday we know he is 25 pounds and 30 inches long! What a big boy! (I'm pretty sure he weighed closer to 30 pounds a few weeks ago, just using a crude scale. I think he's shed some weight from all this crawling.)

So that was Jack's exciting birthday. And my first day of teaching went well, and I also managed to finish my application for a fellowship that I found out about last Friday that's due tomorrow! It has been a busy day, and a busier week! We had some quality time with Jack this evening where I took a little photo shoot of him being cute on the floor that I didn't feel did him justice to how cute he was being, and then got the above treasure of him in the tub, looking like a little Calvin. I love his hair. He's almost ready for a haircut, but I can't quite bear to see any of it go yet.