Milestones

6:56 a.m. -- 4 mos.

In honor of Baby A's 4-month birthday, and purely in the interests of scientific inquiry, with no hint whatsoever of parental pride, let's review her development by comparing her achievements with those of one of the Net's ubiquitous milestone charts.

First, a brief word. As with so much of the Information Age, the instant accessibility of such data is both an anxiety-alleviating blessing ("My child is OK") and an anxiety-creating curse ("My child is substandard"). In either event, it can create in the obsessive a cause to search 27 further sites for details and explanation -- and, poof, there goes a morning.

In addition, this charting phenomenon -- indeed the whole parenting phenomenon -- has sparked internal conflict. Imbued in me is a deep distrust of cheap praise -- well, let's face it, praise of any kind. Given my extended family's general comportment, I'll go out on a limb and conclude that it's an Irish cultural trait. Perhaps we feel that a hint of braggadocio will call down upon our tribe the wrath of the faeries, or of Satan. Perhaps it's simply an inclination to distrust. But I have an instinct to assume that kind words are inherently bogus. And I'm inclined to dole them out myself only upon extreme provocation.

Family story that proves the rule: When my mother was marrying in 1957, at what was considered the ancient age of 26, her mother heard incessantly from the neighbors about what a fine catch she'd made, what an upstanding young man her fiance was, what good prospects he had, what a good Catholic family he came from, etcetera. Finally, upon hearing this for the upteenth time, my grandmother pronounced, "Well, he's not exactly putting his foot into a bog himself."

In my family, that counts as effusive.

And thus my internal conflict. On the one hand, I want to shower my daughter with praise, to show her that I'm proud of her in every respect, to shout her inherent greatness from the rooftops. On the other, I want to avoid (and I know this sounds ridiculous for the father of a 4-month-old) giving her a big head, pressuring her to do things only to please her parents, or becoming the kind who attaches bumper stickers like "My daughter is Student of the Month at Grendell Grammar School Pre-Kindergarten."

So, I repeat, the following is presented only in the interests of historical research and of scientific rigor.

Mastered Skills (most 4-month-olds can do):

Smiles, laughs -- Check (the latter since about 2 months).

Can bear weight on legs -- Check (for more than a month now).

Coos when you talk to her -- Check (since at least 2 months).

Emerging Skills (half of 4-month-olds can do):

Can grasp a toy -- Check (for about a month now).

Rolls over from tummy to back -- Nope. She has several times rolled from back to tummy (by lifting her knees to her chest and tucking), but I've never seen the reverse. I blame myself for providing inadequate "tummy time" (which is a royal pain which most infants apparently despise, worthy of its own blog entry).

Advanced Skills (a few 4-month-olds can do):

Imitates sounds -- Check. She's not doing repeated sounds that require plosive consonants (like "dada" or "baby"). But she's been attempting to imitate us since around 1 month, when I began howling to her like a wolf. (Don't ask.) She's given up howling, but she currently enjoys saying fricative sounds like "fffff" and "vvvvvv," probably because of their proximity to blowing bubbles, a favorite recent activity.

Cuts first tooh -- Nope (though the pediatrician notedlast visit that she's begun teething).

May be ready for solid foods -- She'll be purely on breast milk probably until 6 months, or she shows interest in our food.

Moving up the chart, Baby A has also done the following things more typical of 5- or 6-month-olds: play with hands and feet; recognize own name; turn toward new sounds; sit momentarily without support; mouth objects; and pass objects from hand to hand (just last weekend!).

In short, Baby A, you're fabulous in every respect. Oh, and let me hasten to add: No pressure, kid.