A love affair

Somewhere in the back of a factory, dozens of high-paid specialists in white lab coats are designing hundreds of stuffed toys with big eyes and bright contrasting colors, perfectly suited for the development of a newborn. Companies like Lamaze and Baby Einstein are making millions selling these creations to new, gullible moms like me who hang them from strollers and car seats and cribs and shake them around in front of our babies hoping to stimulate their little minds. I must have almost $100 worth of developmental toys laying around this house. So what does Sawyer like best? Which toy does he turn to every time he's awake? The ceiling fan. That's right. He has eyes for only one member of this family – I wouldn't have considered the fan a "family member" before, but now I think we are going to have to take it with us when we move. He won't look at me and smile, but he'll smile at the damn ceiling fan. In fact, the only thing I would suggest a new mom register for is a ceiling fan in every room. Sometimes, if the living room fan is off, I catch Sawyer staring at it hard, with the same red face and grunting expression he gets on his face when he's trying to poop. Only, I think he is mentally willing the fan to start moving. It works, of course, because I get up and turn the fan on and then – presto – his face relaxes. He thinks he has used The Force. I put him down on the floor under his specially-designed gymboree with bright toys dangling from every corner and he cries. I put him down on a blanket under the moving fan and he's entertained for an hour. Bright florescent lights and daylight windows take a close second. What, I wonder, does this say about the mental genius of my son?

By the way, Scott slipped the bib into the cart at Wal-Mart last night.