Category: Papa Journal

The two-month appointment for Carter came a little late due to previously scheduled vacation plans for his doctor. It’s just as well. This wasn’t a trip to which we were looking forward. At two months, a baby gets the first of many shots and parents the first of many tantrums testifying to how traumatic the experience is.

Carter could sense trouble the night before, despite not knowing what a shot was. I arrived home from work to find him peacefully asleep in the Graco swing, his Nanna trying painfully to keep from disturbing the boy by picking him up. He just rocked away, dreaming whatever one can dream with only ten-plus weeks of experience. Once he awoke, however, he spent the majority of his time making urgent requests to change his current position or activity. The pacing began.

Knowing that Shot Day was likely to be a long one, and having been drained of energy by a long night of consolation, I stayed home to rest up for the trip to the doctor’s office. Although it is much more relaxing to stay away from work than actually do some, it also depresses me to not get things done. So, Carter wasn’t the only Makice in a bad mood heading downtown.

But at the doctor’s office, things changed. A set of newborn twins wailed in the waiting room while a nearby toddler exhibited a complete lack of inhibition by attempting to help herself to their bottled lunch. Carter, tucked neatly away into the blue sling attached to his mother, dozed in silence. Out of context, this was no big deal. Carter can wail with the best of them and has a long wait before he’s capable of developing his father’s neurosis. Staring at my sleeping little boy, though, proved cathartic. “Don’t worry, Pop,” he breathed silently.

It didn’t hurt, either, that the staff at the Pediatrician’s office ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the sight of our healthy little guy. He’s a heart-stopper, that Carter, even more so since he started cracking smiles. Even though it’s not feasible to really take credit for the attention lavished on our baby — good parenting didn’t make him cute — it does make us feel good that people are paying attention at all. And that he has yet to pee on anyone but family.

The weighing and measuring went well, too. Carter has dropped off his initial pace of a pound and an inch per week, but at 25″ and 15-plus pounds the boy remains well above the 95th percentile. The nurse doing the honors said he’s destined to be a football player. I didn’t have the heart to insist I was shooting for power forward or center.

That’s when the Big Green Dot entered the picture.

On the wall next to Carter was a Fisher-Price Thingy. Back in my day, the many-levered, multi-colored playthings were called Doodle-Bops. Or Whirl-a-Jigs. Or possibly just Toys. At any rate, the Thingy fascinated Carter.

There was a spring-loaded switch that made a cat wobble back and forth. There was a blue lever that caused a ball and a wheel to spin. There was a series of twirling plastic beads on a wire. There was a yellow phone dial that clicked as it spun around. There was a mirror in the center of the contraption that allowed Carter to see me and me to see him. And, there was a Big Green Dot.

Remembering my own experiences with a Thingy, I pressed the dot. Predictably, it squeaked. It wasn’t even a very good squeak, having suffered through years of similar abuse. But the noise fascinated Carter. The green dots on the chair rail in his room at home were much smaller and made no noise when pressed. This dot was something very special.

I pressed the Big Green Dot again. Carter lay motionless on the patient’s bed wondering what could possibly happen next. Twice? From the same dot? That’s unheard of. I solicited two more squeaks before Carter’s left arm made a swipe at it. Though he missed connecting with the Thingy, it was clear that the operating thought had registered.

Touch the Big Green Dot. Make Noise.

The next several minutes were amazing. I’d provide the example by pressing the toy, and Carter would study the Thingy for a while before making his own attempt. His hand went up and down in jerky motions, but each time he seemed to zero in on his goal — the Big Green Dot. A couple of times, Carter managed to make contact without producing a squeak from the Thingy. Puzzled, he scrunched up his face and started drooling. I showed the procedure to him again, and Carter resumed his work.

Shaking and hiccoughing with excitement, the small boy took a mighty swing with his arm. It connected with the Big Green Dot, providing just enough force to get the tiniest of squeaks to escape. Mission accomplished.

I’ve been marveling at that brief scene ever since. No, AIDS isn’t cured through hand-eye coordination, but the road to the cure is paved with little puzzles to solve.

Carter has been learning about the world from day one, but most of what he’s achieved is based on instinct. Things go in, things come out, and in between we sleep. Now, for possibly the first time in his brief life, there was real signs of intellect. There was reason and curiosity. There was an emotional response to his own experimentation. In the words of the Doctor on TV’s Voyager, Carter is exceeding his programming.

Oh, yeah. Four shots. He cried. He survived. … But, man did you see the way he hit that Big Green Dot?