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Number Two is Two

My son is two years old or, in the jaw-clenching vernacular of uber-parents, he’s twenty-four months old.  Before having kids I vowed only to count a child’s age in months until they were old enough to count it in years. 

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Oh God, Not Another Baby Picture!

Baby pictures—honestly, who really is interested in them?  Does anyone want to see a picture of my baby?  Do I want to see a picture of anyone else’s baby?  I’d say the unrequested baby picture ranks up there with the

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STIMULUS OVERLOAD!

Be witness as Number Two reaches his maximum stimulus threshold.  Could there be any more colorful toys around him?  He has no escape! Update:  Oh, COME ON WORDPRESS!  This post would make much more sense if you could actually see

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Who Can Understand the Mind of an Infant?

Now that I’ve returned to work full-time, I get to see my one-month old son in a nice long block from 6-10pm.  It is therefore unfortunate that this is the time of day he reserves for his colicky meltdown.  The

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Number Two

There’s a second Harbat on the way, and coming soon, mid-November to be exact.  Funny how the second time around you’re much more relaxed.  It’s like final exams in high school—as a freshman you’re sweating it out and planning your

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How Do You Explain Parenthood?

I’ve tangled with this issue for a while, the impossibility of describing what it is to become a parent.  It’s much like explaining three dimensions to a two-dimensional being, or explaining quantum physics and multi-dimensional space-time fabric to a drunk

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Bye Bye Baby

Growing up is an incremental thing like the formation of a stalagmite—you can’t see it happening but over time the change is extraordinary.  But every once in a while the transition is sudden and the baby of yesterday is left

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Apologies All

I know what it’s like to be a zombie.  You see them staggering around the streets with their ragged clothing, ragged skin, ragged breaths.  “I won’t become one, I’ll be careful.”  Then there’s an itching at your ankle.  “Nothing, nothing

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Greatest Achievement

Before I was a parent I’d hear people say that their greatest achievement was raising a child.  This always struck me as pathetic, that you would define yourself through someone else.  Vicarious achievement has never been my goal as a

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