DADWAGON

“Enjoy this time,” everyone tells us. “They grow up so fast.” And they do, and I do. I certainly don’t want this short window–the few months during which my son is preverbal but incredibly chatty–to end so soon. Any day now, he’ll be actually speaking, and everything will be different, yet again. (Same thing happened when he started walking. Suddenly he was finished being a tiny immobile sitting-cutely baby, and as much as I love this kid, I miss that kid.)

But there is one thing I am hugely looking forward to, and that’s easier mobility. Going somewhere with a toddler is (as most of you know) a Sherpa’s job, involving diaper bags, strollers, stroller rain hoods, extra clothes, blankets, ointments, snacks, sippy cups, toys and other distractions, and possibly a camera or two. For carless New Yorkers like myself, take all that and add to it the discreet charms of the subway–which, in the case of our local station, has not materially changed in form since opening day in 1904. The concrete steps are a very narrow eight feet or so wide, and go two flights down; the turnstiles are too tight for a stroller; the handicapped-access gate emits a loud alarm when opened, to discourage fare-beating. At the other end of the ride, there may be an elevator (if it’s a major transfer point), but subway elevators sometimes function as subway urinals, and they are extremely unpleasant places to be. The city has been required to make its stations ADA-compliant for decades, and has received extension after extension from the Feds, and it’s obvious why. A system of more than 700 miles and 400 stations, virtually all built in tight quarters long before the disabled were a consideration, cannot be remade unless (a) implausible amounts of funding materialize, or (b) we do it slowly, over 50 years or more, in among all the other patches on repairs on fixes that the subways require. We’ve all clearly decided to go with option (b).

What this means, effectively, is that we make very few trips out of our neighborhood. A fifteen-to-twenty-block radius often defines our weekend, and there are months where that’s it. My wife’s office is within that orbit, and mine’s a short subway ride beyond the daycare dropoff. The ruts run pretty deep, and being sprung from the tight limitations of strollerability is something I’m really, really waiting for.

Of course, that’s when I’ll have to start worrying about his running into traffic.

Or words to that effect. This just in from the Times on the summer “trauma season”:

Dr. Johnston and his colleagues studied large populations of children and found that if a child was injured seriously enough to be hospitalized, all the children in that family were at higher risk of injury for the next three months. After three months, the families’ risk returned to normal. In a follow-up prospective study published earlier this year, almost 20 percent of the families had a child injured or re-injured badly enough to need medical attention. The new accidents weren’t necessarily similar to the initial ones — it wasn’t one burn after another.

Holy moly! It’s like the Herculean-baby-brother-life-saving-from-jealous-mother-god-snake-attack story…in reverse!

Moral of the story, folks: Be afraid.

Kudos to Alice Park over at Time.com for spreading news of this study showing that the children of lesbians may do better in life than the average kid. Now, you know that I have differed with my dear Sapphist friends about whether boys should be allowed to pee standing. But you should know that I am not at all surprised to hear that their sons, statistically speaking, will outrank their peers. From the Time.com piece:

The authors found that children raised by lesbian mothers — whether the mother was partnered or single — scored very similarly to children raised by heterosexual parents on measures of development and social behavior. These findings were expected, the authors said; however, they were surprised to discover that children in lesbian homes scored higher than kids in straight families on some psychological measures of self-esteem and confidence, did better academically and were less likely to have behavioral problems, such as rule-breaking and aggression.

This is not, of course, because all lesbians are great parents or all straights are terrible parents. But I think the main reality–one that argues in favor of real, unfettered family planning–is that these women have to really want to become parents before it happens. Just think of the social and bureaucratic crucible they have to pass through before becoming parents, everything from finding the right donor to getting a good lawyer who can formalize both parents’ relationship with the child (not to mention living in the right state where they can have the most rights as parents). It’s an amount of hassle that simply pre-selects those families for success. For straight people to “become a family” you don’t need much more than a couch in the den and some alcohol.

But many people will find this report genuinely surprising because they have been told time and again that homosexuals are bad parents. Dangerous parents. So risky that many states would rather have their children languish in institutions and foster care than be adopted by gays. They have not been told this by the Bible, which really has nothing to say about gay adoption (although yes, it says that homosexuality receives the same punishments as adultery). They have been told this by their politicians, by elected officials who hope to keep their clammy hands on power just a bit longer by playing to prejudice.

Alas, those pols who go out of their way to purposefully spread hate and misinformation are probably just in the closet with Roy Ashburn, Larry Craig and all the rest. And the barely-legal boys the politicians are picking up from the gay bars: that’s right, they probably had straight parents too.

JP’s celebrated his final birthday party this weekend (for those of you keeping score at home, yes, that’s three; ah, the joys of joint custody).

A good time was had by all: there was frolicking, a bit of gamboling, some racing, gobs of skipping, hopping, and traipsing, and I must admit, a little bit of smacking, some crying, a single incident of kicking, and plenty of cupcakes. Typical fourth-birthday party, if you ask me.

One issue did arise (pun intended and forthcoming). A friend of mine who came to the party with his 5-year-old boy pointed out I hadn’t invited any girls to the celebration. Now, this wasn’t quite true, as Nathan would later arrive with his daughter, and another friend with a daughter had canceled last minute. But by and large, JP isn’t friends with little girls, although he does get along with them (my brother has two daughters and he is crazy about them).

I should point out (pun intended) that my friend didn’t just say there were no girls at the party. Actually what he said was this:

“Quite a sausage fest you got going on here.” A few other adults standing nearby laughed and agreed. They too thought it was quite a sausage fest.

Is this some new term that I haven’t yet heard? Does it only work on your iPad or something? I gotta say, it kinda freaked me out, and not just because I really like sausage. So to my friend, Gabe–who will actually be guest-blogging here next week–thank you for introducing a note of gay-locker-room humor into my little boy’s birthday celebration. You’re the best.

Also, any tips or reactions there as to boys only playing with boys? It seems to have happened naturally on JP’s part, but watching kids adapt to gender roles is always a fascinating and rather disturbing process. Discuss among yourselves.