Noah beats all ~ March 1, 1984

David Heiller

The flu knocked me out for most of last week. I missed three days of work, as I sat delirious and fevered in the big chair by the woodstove at home.

Cindy, my wife, gave the flu to me (not intentionally—no one hates me that much). We suffered together, while Noah had his run of the house. Noah is our eight and a half month old son.

Noah setting Binti straight.

Ask Binti, our 70 pound dog, about Noah’s supremacy. She’ll swallow and try to crawl under the woodstove. Noah wrestled Binti into a black mop last week, while Cindy and I watched helplessly, calling encouragement to the faithful dog from our perches on the furniture.

Noah rolled on Binti, climbed on Binti, rode Binti, and hung onto Binti’s ears as if they were reins. Binti grunted, groaned, licked, and eventually struggled to her feet and went outside.

Noah had his turn at us too. He woke up in the middle of the night several nights, and cried till we brought him into bed with us. Is there anything more like heaven for an eight and a half month old? You could have sworn it was 10 in the morning by how happy Noah was to be with Mom and Dad in bed. He sat up and laughed. Turn to face him, and he played with your face like putty. Turn away from him, and your back was a giant drum, to be pounded till you rolled over and the process began anew.

David, Noah, Binti and Miss Emma. Noah is about to 
begin drumming one of those expensive toys.

Drumming, I learned last week as I suffered and watched, is Noah’s calling. He pounds everything. All those expensive Fisher-Price toys, that click and ring and cost a lot of money, are reduced to nothing more than elaborate drums. That expensive electronic scale that I bought Cindy for Valentine’s Day, it’s nothing more than a perfect drum for Noah. The highchair tray, the cat, the stereo cabinet, all are perfect drums. There is nothing our house that is drum proof, including us.

Noah may also be a wrestler, I decided last week. I first got the idea after watching him rake Binti over the coals. Then I learned the hard way, as he showed me his latest moves in diaper changing.

I wrestled in high school, so I know a bit about the sport. In fact, I was a fairly good wrestler. But despite my 160 pound advantage, Noah can beat me, when it comes changing time. 

His strongest move (actually his only move) is escaping. As I get the diaper under him, he rolls to his left, and grabs the edge of the changing table, and pulls himself upright, sitting and grinning. As I try to bulldog him back onto his back, the diaper gets twisted up. As I straighten the diaper, Noah rolls to his left and grabs the edge of the changing table. It’s a no-win situation, for me, till I move Noah onto the floor, where there is no edge grab. Then my chances are at least 50-50.

Well, maybe I was just weak from the flu last week—maybe that’s why Noah won. But I have a feeling it’s not.

Editor's note: I remember this so clearly. I was stricken with influenza first, and spent two days alone with Noah while barely functional. I have to admit it: I was relieved when David got it too, and had to stay home.