10 months

There are certain catch phrases that, when spoken aloud and to the right company, immediately conjure up memories from specific periods of life. These phrases, in their truest form, require no explanation or back story.
They are a secret language.
They speak for themselves, and they speak volumes.

An example from my generation:
"OOOOOoooooooooooooo....bussssssted."
You are 11 years old and you have broken something. Maybe a rule, maybe some stupid vase given to your Mom by your aunt, maybe curfew.
The phrase is being spoken by your friend with a specific mixture of glee and trepidation; the exact formula being derived from the degree of involvement this friend has in the situation at hand.
The11 year old's version of the "walk of shame" commences.
You begin the long march home/inside/to your Mom's minivan, the gravity of your mistake weighing you down like cement filling the insoles of your LA Gears. We've all been there.

We are collecting new phrases in our home like badges of honor. They remind us of what we've been through as a family. They help us keep perspective and a sense of humor. They make us smile, and remind us that we're in it together.
Examples:
-Yeah for Stone!
-for 30 minutes every 15 minutes
-wait a minute...you?!??
-walk downtown, look all around

The phrase for month 10 in Stone's life is "Midnight Party".
Every night we get him out of his crib, often out of a deep sleep, to play with him in our bed.
I know:
Crazy. Selfish. Bad sleeping habits.
Blah blah blah.
He is so damn sweet at 9:30 at night, and he loves it!
I know:
He loves light sockets, would I let him play with those?
No, I wouldn't. Shut yer trap.

As we travel from the nursery to the bedroom, he rubs his eyes and nuzzles my shoulder. He makes little groaning noises like "what the hell?". He yawns.
By the time we get to Mama and Papa's bed, he is ready.
He opens his eyes, and a little smile forms underneath his pacifier. We pull it out of his mouth and he gives us a good cheesy grin.
This is when things really start to heat up.
The three of us settle in; Mama and Papa on the edges, Stone in the middle. Stone takes a few laps around the bad, talking the whole way.
"Tha tha tha tha tha" "Da da da da" "Mmmmma mmmma"
Then he sits up and looks at us expectantly.
"Stoney, where's your doggy?" we ask.
Stone peers over the edges of the bed, hopeful. We call Durham up, and Stone freaks out. He bounces up and down, waves his arms, squeals. He climbs up onto Durham's back and begins the night's inspection. Here's what it sounds like:
Stone: "dadadadadadada. eeeee!!!!"
Us: "Stone, say DOGGY. DAH..GEEE. DOGGY."
Stone: "grunt, grunt. babababababababa."
Us: "DOGGY. DOGGY. No! Not his ears, Stoney. Gentle."
Stone: "Dah dah dah"
Us: "That's right! Doggy! Good boy! Gentle, Stoney. Gentle. GENTLE!"
...and so on.
The party ends with Stone rubbing his eyes or fussing. I kiss him goodnight, Garin changes his diaper and puts him back in the crib. He falls asleep immediately and stays that way until around 7 the next morning. Some nights we skip it, and he almost always wakes up way earlier the next day.
So, that's my justification. He seems to sleep more soundly, we get to end our day with a reminder of what we are most grateful for.
Our boy, our dog, each other.
Our family.
Our secret language.