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I could just write one sentence that says, "I'm very literal-minded, which makes it easier for me to understand (a) why computers act the way they do, and (b) how to bend them to my will;" but that would be a very short blog entry and I don't think anyone would enjoy reading it. Alternatively, I could tell you a story about how this way of thinking has led to some awkward moments. What do you think? I knew you would see it my way.

The very first time I remember a doctor — or for that matter, anyone — asking me to pee in a cup, I was very young. Too young to remember how old I was, but I'm guessing I was less than 10. At least, I won't admit to being any older. But I do remember this much. His instructions were to go into the bathroom, where I would find a stack of cups on the back of the commode. There, I should pee in a cup, and bring it back to him. Simple enough, right?

Being so young, naïve, and literal-minded, I tried to follow his instructions as carefully as I could. I went to the bathroom, found the cups — right where he said they would be — and started to… erm, do my business, as it were. Then something unexpected happened. The cup started to fill up. And I still had plenty more to go. What's a boy to do?

I did my best to pinch it off, set the cup down, procure a new cup, and start … err… using it in a single graceful motion. I don't remember if I spilled or sprayed at all, but I wouldn't be surprised at either, and neither is the point of this story. As I finished filling the second cup I reasoned that I could only carry two, and if that wasn't enough for the doctor, he would just have to make do. (Maybe this is where the expression, "Thinking on your feet" came from?) I finished my business in its normal receptacle, and proudly carried two cups full of my urine back into the little room where my mom and the doctor were waiting for me.

Sadly, I don't think I even knew enough at the time to know that I should be embarrassed when they were amused at what I had done.

All I did was follow instructions. When the situation's scope went outside the scope of the instructions, I tried to infer what the best course of action was. He didn't explicitly say that he only needed an inch or so in the bottom of the first cup, so I had no choice but to assume that he needed as much as I could offer.

So many years later, I realize that not all kids think this way, so I understand why he might not have felt it necessary to explicitly define the amount he needed… but a mark on the side of the cup or some additional instructions couldn't have hurt.

Am I sure that the reason I filled 2 cups is the same reason I'm a good computer programmer? No, I'm not a psychologist. But it seems logical to me.

Dylan, you're 5 months old today. Just this weekend you rolled from your stomach to your back unassisted for the first time… and then promptly refused to do it again when we had the camera rolling.

I started writing this entry on the train this morning, and finished it at home this evening. Since I started, you've also successfully rolled from your back to your stomach. We've decided that both were unintentional because it doesn't seem possible to coax you into a repeat performance — yet. (Now back to your regularly scheduled blogformance…)

You also started "solid food" — some "rice cereal" mixed in with milk. (For the record, I don't blame you for spitting it out. It looks oddly gross.) Add to that the fact that your uncle Jared and his girlfriend came to visit too, and you had a pretty big weekend.

You're almost consistently waking up in a "6:00" position (we put you down at "12:00"), and often, we find you up at the head-end front-corner of the crib, laying on your side, sucking your thumb in your sleep. You usually wake up very happy, and still, 5 months later, it melts my heart to see you smile; especially when it's because you see me.

You're half-way between scheduled check-ups at 4 and 6 months, so we don't have any official stats, but your mom and I estimate you weigh about 16 pounds, and you're probably about 26 inches long.

Still no honest-to-goodness, tv-commercial, giddy-baby belly-laughs, but you do laugh… or very happily cough, I'm not sure which. It doesn't matter, it's adorable either way.

Having just had a birthday myself, and thinking about what it means that I've been alive — breathing air, thinking, wanting, discovering, learning, and creating** — for twenty seven years, I both wholly understand and am flabbergasted by the notion that you're doing the same. It's amazing how so much of my daily life now revolves around taking care of you, yet the very thought of how you came to be and what lies in your future is impossible to wrap my mind around.

I work at a job that — not only did it not exist when I was born — nobody ever thought it would exist. I've been doing this job for somewhere around 10 years now, and it probably existed another 5 or so, in early but passable forms, before I ended up doing it. That means there was about 12 years between the time I was born and the time my job was conceived and realized. I'm not a betting man, but if I were I would bet the farm that your generation will get to work at hundreds of thousands of jobs that hadn't been conceived when they enrolled in college (That is, assuming colleges still exist in the form we know them today). That's not a particularly exciting thought, I guess, but it amazes me how fast things change, and how rapidly the speed that things change increases… which is why it's so hard for me to wrap my head around what your life will be like. (See? I had a point after all!)

So here's to 5 awesome months of life… whatever that means!

** Of course I mean you. What else?!

This months reach into the grab-bag of scary foods was another of opportunity, again at Susan & Ed's house, at my own (shared) birthday party, for heaven's sake! I'm beginning to think they are planning these things in a sick sort of premeditated spontaneity intended to see how far they can push me before I vomit. I know they take pleasure in watching me squirm because Susan is actually advocating trying things I didn't like again later… Ok, maybe not quite that sick, but I just sort of think of this stuff 2-3 words ahead of the cursor, so cut me a break.

Preparation:

1. Break the root-end off (possibly only to make them fit into the plastic bag?)
2. Place in a plastic bag with a little bit of vegetable oil, salt, and pepper; do the shake-n-bake thing, only without the baking.
3. Cook in an open pan on medium to high heat for a couple of minutes.

Thoughts:

Despite assurances I would love it, I didn't. Several people, some of them in attendance, have told me it has a sort of nutty flavor, and I recognized that. To put it plainly, I had 2 bite-size pieces on my plate, and I gave the second to Megan. For the record, I ate the pointy end — what I would normally call the "scary" end.

I'm told that this batch sat cooling too long after cooking — that I should try it again when it's piping hot, out of the pan, practically; and I probably will — but I don't believe it's going to change my opinion of the stuff.

Sorry, but I guess my pee is going to have to go on smelling like it already does.