Baby Ian

In the beginning, there was Baby Ian, born May 15, 1991. Happy 17th birthday, #1 son!

Everyone who had a baby that year remembers the suffocating heat of the summer of 91. If your child had already been born, he or she went semi-naked for months. This, Ian, was your everyday outfit. Cloth diapers and a diaper cover. That was it. Your downy lunago (baby fur) didn’t help in the effort to stay cool. I was sad that I couldn’t dress you up in any of the adorable tiny outfits that had been sent to you as gifts, and by the time it was cool enough for you to wear clothing, you skipped those size zeros and went straight to the six-month labels.

I was happy, however, that you were finally born, two weeks late. Thrilled that you were healthy. Relieved that I was no longer pregnant during that sweltering June, July and August. And your dad and I were overjoyed that you were “Ferberized” so quickly at four months, learning to sleep through the night alone after just one session of outraged crying. I understand Ferberizing is out of fashion now. Furthermore, we put you on your belly to sleep, because you had a major reflux problem, and this is now also taboo.

Ah, just some of the early parenting flubs we made. You’ve come a long way, baby! And so, I hope, have we.

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