Chapter 111 - Youre Carl
At three months old, my son had already developed strong opinions about several things.
He liked ceiling fans.
He liked being carried facing outward so he could inspect the world like a tiny landlord checking whether the property was being maintained correctly.
He liked the sound of Layla opening a bag of chips, even though he had absolutely no business knowing what chips were.
He hated socks.
Not wearing socks.
Socks.
We discovered this distinction because he was perfectly happy barefoot, perfectly happy wearing pajamas that covered his feet, and personally offended if an individual sock was placed anywhere near him.
I tested this twice.
For science.
Layla caught me the second time.
"Why are you holding a sock in front of our baby?"
Carl stared at the sock.
His mouth turned downward.
I moved it slightly to the left.
His eyes followed it.
The lower lip came out.
"Interesting."
"Lia."
"I'm establishing whether the reaction is visual or tactile."
Carl inhaled.
Layla immediately pointed at me. "Remove the sock."
"But we're learning."
"Remove the sock before he files a complaint."
I lowered it.
Carl stopped preparing for emotional devastation.
I looked at Layla.
Layla looked at me.
I wrote something on my phone.
She closed her eyes.
"No."
"What?"
"You're taking notes."
"I take notes about everything."
"About our son?"
"Of course."
"About the sock?"
"It's relevant information."
Layla reached for my phone.
I pulled it against my chest.
"Privacy."
"You made the baby cry for research. You have no privacy."
"He did not cry."
"He was composing the opening statement."
Carl made a small pleased noise from his bouncer.
I pointed at him. "See? Fine."
Layla leaned down and kissed his forehead.
Then she looked at me again.
"What exactly are you writing?"
I sighed and opened the note.
She read aloud.
"Carl. Month three. Strong negative response to loose socks. Pajama feet acceptable. Possible objection to concept rather than sensation."
She stared at me.
I stared back.
She scrolled.
Her eyebrows climbed.
"Prefers left shoulder after feeding."
"True."
"Falls asleep faster to running water than white noise."
"Also true."
"Dislikes yellow giraffe."
"He does."
"He is three months old."
"He has eyes."
She scrolled again.
"Laugh response to sneezing?"
"Very consistent."
"Suspicious of Kuya Nathan?"
"Only when he wears the cap."
Layla slowly lowered the phone.
"Lia."
"Yes?"
"Are you collecting data on our child?"
"I'm learning him."
"That was not the question."
I took the phone back.
Carl kicked both legs.
One heel hit the edge of the bouncer and startled him.
He froze.
Then he looked deeply betrayed.
Layla covered her mouth.
I lasted two seconds before laughing.
Carl stared at both of us as if we had done something.
"Oh, anak," Layla said, lifting him. "You attacked yourself."
He immediately buried his face against her chest.
"He's embarrassed," I said.
"He's a baby."
"He knows."
"He does not."
I added another note.
Layla saw me.
"Lia."
"Possible early sense of dignity."
"Delete that."
"No."
"Delete it."
"It may become statistically significant."
She laughed so hard Carl lifted his head to inspect her.
That was the thing.
I really was learning him.
Not a child.
Not my son as an abstract category.
Carl.
He woke hungry and furious, as if we had deliberately withheld milk for several years instead of ninety minutes.
He slept with his left hand closed beside his cheek and his right arm thrown dramatically above his head.
He could ignore a toy specifically designed by six developmental experts, but if someone gave him a clean silicone spatula, he would study it for twenty minutes like it contained the meaning of life.
He liked Ate Bianca immediately.
He liked Sofia after approximately twelve seconds.
He needed three visits before deciding Kuya Nathan was acceptable.
Chloe required no evaluation at all because the first time she held him, she looked directly into his face and said, "I'm the normal one."
Carl smiled.
Jane nearly fell off the sofa.
"What the fuck?"
Chloe looked smug. "Children know."
"He smiled because you made a weird face."
"I made no weird face."
"Your normal face is weird."
"Jealousy is ugly on you."
Jane turned to Carl.
"Baby. Look at Tita Jane."
Carl looked at the ceiling fan.
Jane followed his gaze.
"No. That thing does not pay for gifts."
The fan continued rotating.
Carl smiled at it.
Jane gasped.
"Lia."
"Yes?"
"Your son likes appliances more than me."
"That appears accurate."
"Fix it."
"I don't interfere with his relationships."
Chloe adjusted Carl against her shoulder.
"Healthy parenting."
"You shut up. Give him to me."
"No."
"You've had him seven minutes."
"And?"
"There should be a rotation."
"You are not entitled to access."
"He is my godchild."
"We never assigned godparents."
Jane froze.
Chloe froze.
I froze.
Layla, standing near the dining table, very slowly put down the glass she was holding.
Jane looked at me.
"What do you mean you never assigned godparents?"
"We haven't."
"I assumed."
"That sounds like a governance failure on your part."
"Lia."
Chloe started laughing.
Jane pointed at her. "You assumed too!"
"I did, but I'm handling the information better."
"You are holding him like you already won!"
Carl chose that moment to spit up directly onto Chloe's shirt.
Silence.
I looked at Jane.
Jane looked at me.
Then Jane whispered, "God has spoken."
Chloe stared down at the wet patch.
Carl looked peaceful.
Layla turned away because she was laughing too hard to remain useful.
I took my son.
"Okay. Come here."
Chloe stood.
"You know what? Jane can be godmother."
Jane screamed.
Carl startled.
All four adults immediately shushed her.
"Sorry," Jane whispered.
Carl considered her.
Then he sneezed.
I laughed.
He smiled.
"See?" I said. "Sneezing."
Layla pointed at me without looking. "Do not take notes right now."
I waited until she turned around.
Then I took notes.
By six months, the note had become a spreadsheet.
This was apparently where Layla drew the line.
"What is this?"
I glanced over from the kitchen counter.
"What is what?"
She had my tablet.
I knew immediately which file was open.
"Okay."
"Why are there columns?"
"Columns help organize information."
"Why does our baby have a dashboard?"
"It is not a dashboard."
She turned the tablet toward me.
There were, admittedly, several charts.
Layla tapped one.
"What is this?"
"Sleep."
"It has a trend line."
"That's how trends work."
"Why are we trending the baby?"
"So we can see whether adjusting his afternoon nap affects bedtime."
"Or we could look at him."
"We do look at him."
"Apparently while entering data."
I crossed my arms.
"It works."
"Does it?"
"Yes."
Carl was in his high chair between us, enthusiastically chewing on a cold teething ring.
Layla scrolled.
"What is 'breakfast receptivity'?"
"He has preferences."
"He is eating mashed banana."
"Exactly. Banana is currently at sixty percent."
"He ate all of it yesterday."
"After rejecting it for three consecutive mornings."
"Maybe he wasn't hungry."
"That's why hunger is a separate variable."
Layla stared at me for so long that I began to feel she was being unreasonable.
Then she turned to Carl.
"Your mother has turned you into a quarterly report."
Carl slapped the tray.
I pointed at him. "He appreciates structure."
"He is trying to throw the teether."
The teether hit the floor.
Carl looked down.
Then at us.
Then down again.
He waited.
I picked it up, washed it, and returned it.
Thirty seconds later, it hit the floor.
He looked down.
Then at me.
Layla's eyes narrowed.
"He's testing you."
"He's six months old."
"You've spent six months testing him. It's his turn."
The teether hit the floor again.
Carl looked directly at me.
I stared at him.
He smiled.
"Oh, you little shit."
Layla laughed.
I picked it up.
Again.
At seven months, Carl's favorite toy was a plastic food-container lid.
Not the expensive activity cube.
Not the soft sensory blocks.
Not the imported wooden stacking set I had researched for two evenings before ordering.
A lid.
A round, translucent lid from a container that used to hold leftover adobo.
He carried it everywhere.
He slapped it against the floor.
He chewed the edge.
He stared through it.
He held it above his face while lying down and made loud philosophical noises.
Jane bought him a stuffed dinosaur.
He ignored it.
Chloe bought him a set of textured balls.
He ignored them.
Ate Bianca bought him a musical toy with lights.
He cried.
Then Sofia gave him a second plastic lid.
Carl looked at her like she had brought fire to humanity.
"Unbelievable," Jane said.
We were all sitting around my parents' living room while Carl crawled after the lid.
"I spent money."
"That was your decision," Chloe said.
"It has developmental benefits."
"So does Tupperware, apparently."
"It's not Tupperware," I said.
Everyone looked at me.
"What?"
I pointed at the lid. "Different brand."
Jane leaned toward Layla. "How do you live with this?"
Layla took a sip of coffee.
"Comfortably."
That got me.
I looked at her.
She smiled at me over the rim of her cup.
Comfortably.
Our house had become full of evidence that another person lived there.
Not the polished evidence adults leave behind.
Baby evidence.
A bottle drying beside the sink.
Tiny clothes mixed into the laundry.
A folded stroller near the door.
One sock under the sofa, abandoned by its enemy.
A changing mat in the bedroom.
A container lid beside my laptop because Carl had dropped it there and apparently I no longer had the authority to relocate household objects.
We slept less.
We left the house carrying equipment for an expedition even if we were only going to lunch.