July 28, 1921
Since the Pasteurized milk is apparently going to work me no harm, Father bought tickets today for Greenville, Pa., his old home. We go on Tuesday night. I’m eager to see the old place and Grandmother and Aunt Sara—and to be out of doors.
July 26, 1921
Great-Aunt Elizabeth had to leave us today. I love her dearly, ’cause she’s mighty good to me, and I hated to see her go. She is such a help to Mother, too, and is just like one of the family.
These are fearfully hot days. Too hot for me to be taken out, so I lie around the house all day with nothing on but a sleeveless shirt and a diaper. I manage to keep fairly comfortable: and would be more so, if it weren’t that certain teeth are threatening to come through. And I still wear my net cap, for my ear’s sake, most of the time.
There is much talk about going away from the hot city for the rest of the summer. We would have gone long since, but that my parents were fearful of changing my milk. Mother got the brilliant idea yesterday of trying me out on Pasteurized milk now, instead of certified such as I’ve been having, and today I’ve been put on the new diet. Thus far it agrees with me.
July 25, 1921
Grandfather and Aunt Nora came home from Nova Scotia, where they have been for three weeks. Aunt Nora brought me a pair of ducky little moccasins. We were all glad to see each other again.
July 24, 1921
Gas attack early this morning. It began at 2:30. As 3:30 my parents had to get up to dose me with hot water and walk me about, and it was 3:45 before they got back to bed. The rest of the day has been all right and I reckon this trouble has passed.
Mother complains pathetically, “I don’t see why my baby has to have so much gas where other babies have none,” and I confess that I don’t understand it either, for both my parents have excellent digestive apparatus. Father is inclined to blame it on the doctor’s formula, but he acknowledges that the doctor ought to know what is best.
In the riot yesterday I pulled my ear-plaster nearly off. So last night it was taken off entirely and a fine net cap was put on me. Thus far it has worked first rate.
I don’t suck my thumb any more. I almost aways stick it in my mouth as an aid to going to sleep — but that is all.
I am wearing short clothes now. Put ’em on for the first time last Monday, the 18th.
Twenty three weeks old!
July 23, 1921
A bad attack of indigestion today and I screamed ‘most all day. Neither Mother nor Great-Aunt Elizabeth could quiet me [Father was away in New York] and they wore themselves out trying. Don’t know what was the matter.
July 21, 1921
To the Park and got caught in the rain coming home. Father had to run with me, but I thought it was fun.
Ruth Coleman brought me two very beautiful little jackets which she made herself. She is exceedingly skillful with the needle — and good to me. Mrs. Shearby gave me another pair of stockings and a red pinwheel.
Bad gas attack from 8 to 9:30 P.M. Thank fortune, these attacks are getting rarer.
Another plaster on my ear today!
July 20, 1921
To the Park again with Father this morning and in the afternoon Mrs. Corner took us all down to Coney Island and Sheepshead Bay in her car. I had my first sight of the ocean. We sat under a big tree for a delightful two hours and the cool ocean breeze was very grateful on this hot day.
July 19, 1921
To the Park with Father yesterday and today. I was a very good boy and enjoyed the outings.
Father has a new song he sings to me when he wants me to grin. It goes like this:—
- “Pr-r-r-rampaty pang,
- Pr-r-r-rampaty pang,
- Pr-r-r-rampaty pang, — Pang, Pang!”
I love it because it sounds like the dish pan.
Miss Mary Hall, the librarian of Girls’ High School, brought me today a beautiful book:— Hawthorne’s Wonderful Book of Tanglewood Tales. We all think it particularly fine of her. —She thinks I’m a splendid baby!
Mother, Aunt Elizabeth and I called on Mrs. Chew today and I heard my first phonograph. I was crazy about it, and continually called for more music. Mother is sure I have musical talent hidden away in me.
July 17, 1921
To Bedford Park with Father this morning. It was hot and Mother and Great Aunt Elizabeth, against Father’s protests, put too many clothes on me, so we had to come home early to get cooled off.
Father intends to take me out to the Park every possible morning this summer.
July 15, 1921
Great-Aunt Elizabeth came to us today for a week’s visit. I didn’t know her at first, because, of course, a little boy’s memory isn’t very long: but I soon recalled her large kindness to me and told her I was glad she was here again.