Being a parent can be as trying as it is rewarding. Below, may I demonstrate my children and their uncanny range of dramatics. From sobbing over luke-warm steak to making giggly poop jokes. From screaming for some breast milk to laughing insatiably over the same giggly poop joke. You just have to keep breathing, deeply, and letting the rainbow-hued lines of window crayoning all over your off-white master bedroom carpet (or splotches of white super glue all over your newly installed black, rubber, basement office flooring) be what your child intended them to be. Self-expression.
Seven months old last week, my little Bobby Bear (actuarially, he’s now trending to 1 instead of 0). Yes, already. Happy, giggly, lovey, squirmy, vocal, bouncy, curious, tickly, strong, blue-eyed, beautiful baby boy. He’s grown so ridiculously fast since my last posts from a 5-month old, toothless infant cooing happily like a rooster in his crib;
to a 6-month old, 17 1/2 pound, 27 inch little boogie boy (he just loves a good dance party and thinks Mommy is pretty darn funny when she does some raving in the kitchen) with 2 bottom teeth and army crawling decisively around in circles on the basement carpet;
to a chatterbox of an energetic 7-month old who prefers standing to sitting (in fact, he just pulled himself up on the couch today by crawling up a pillow) and being held on Mommy’s hip to jumping solo. When he’s happy, which is most of the time, Tickly Bobby will charm you with his flirtatious, coy, dimply little grin. When he’s upset (about, say, being put down for two minutes while Mommy prepares his bowl of homemade purees), the universe will know. From the moment he exited the womb, we’ve never been concerned about Screamy Bobby‘s vocal chords (just ask the lady in Target who accosted me for letting my child scream for a few minutes while I made my way to the checkout line, as she was certain something was wrong and he needed to be comforted, and implied with her caustic remarks about my nonchalance that I was a terrible mother for not doing so). Thankfully, it doesn’t take much but a hug to make the shrieking stop.
At 7 months, Bobby is flourishing. He’s already said his first word “Hi” and possibly a few others (I’m convinced I can hear “Mama” through his wails as he follows me pleadingly across a room; “Jack” when the boys splash in the bathtub together; and a girlfriend mentioned she was sure he said “Dada” and “Doggie” while she babysat him last weekend). He responds to his name and also his brother’s name (if we call “Jack”, Bobby will search the room until he sees his idol). Although not the sleeper his brother was at the same age, he still gives me a solid 10-11 hours at night and wakes up in his crib content to coo (or, in Bobby’s case, moan like a satiated camel) for long stretches of time (usually long enough for a shower) with his little blue bear and doggy before we peek in and brighten our day with his morning smiles. He’s still nursing full time, which I adore and plan to continue as long as he doesn’t bite me, lift my shirt on his own, or shout the word “mine”. He still barfs perpetually, but poops infrequently. He switches between breast and breast milk in a bottle without flinching and my freezer stash remains intact. Bobby also eats everything I give him. I’ve managed to make all of his food, save some baby yogurt and one jar of Gerber meat just to introduce him to it, and he’s now a master at spoon feeding and rice cracker mess-making.
Like most 7-month olds, Bobby puts everything he touches into his mouth. He also diverts his attention from toy-to-toy quite rapidly unless it’s something extraordinarily delicious like the ears of his brother’s favorite brown dog, or his Lamaze moose. He passes his toys from hand to hand and pounds them on the table when he’s sitting up. He’s also more compact and more mobile than his brother was, which frightens me into thinking he might be walking within the next two months. After Jack started walking at 9 1/2 months and was running by 1, Kent and I swore we would discourage our second child’s mobility. But Bobby just does it anyway, darnit! He was rolling at 2 months, scooting forward at 5 months, crawling (essentially…he still prefers his chest on the ground even though he is fully capable of lifting it) and sitting on his own at 6 months, crawling over obstacles (like, Daddy) and pulling himself up to standing at 7 months. It’s amazing to watch his determination and the way he curls his toes to dig into the carpet so ferociously. I’m grateful for the Ergo to get my baby cuddle time, because Bobby is the strongest, squirmiest little thing who does not enjoy sitting still.
What’s amazing to me is how much different Bobby is from his brother. When I look at Jack I often feel like I am gazing in a mirror and I’m smitten with the fruits of my own reflection. When I hold Bobby to my chest and he stares up at me with those piercing blue eyes, I continuously fall in love with a pint-sized copy of my husband. I adore them both equally, yet so differently.
Blueberry picking assistant
Love that flirty smile
Reading his first novel
Thumb in
Thumb out
Delicious toys
Nana+thumb = very happy baby
I love…Mommy and my thumb
Bum in the air. He usually sleeps on his side, so these pictures are rare.
Posing
Bobby’s thumb-sucking pose
Taking notes for Mommy
Working with Mommy
Milk coma and hilarious baby hair
I love Nana!
I love shopping
Delicious blankie
biiig smile
After our jog
Feet!
naps
Stroller naps
more naps
and…more naps
Flirty smile
Lunch
Enjoying the Science Museum
Lil’ Irish and his Aunt Kristy
Here’s a good place to nap
Go Diego, Go!
First swing
Old pro
Curled up with his bedtime doggy, bear and lullaby dog
Cracker…
…yum…
…thumb
Cars. Yum.
Flirting with older ladies
Snuggly Uncle CJ
Football tips
Ppppfffttt
DC Chillin’
Flirting
Sitting on the Mall with Woody
Must. Stay. Awake.
Sleepy tourist
Reflection in the Viet Nam memorial
Mommy’s power
Borrowing Jack’s pillow pack
The cuddles…that’s the fever of 104 talking.
Joining his brother’s motorcycle gang
This clean baby brought to you by the letter Q
Love that Q
Sitting solo
Mommy’s night out, clearly I was missed? Right?
A rare snuggle.
Water? Nah, I’d rather chew the bottom of the cup.
The oldest of my little men has recently passed the 2 1/2 year milestone (which according to any actuary you might ask, would be considered 3). His adorable wit and enthusiastic giggle continue to infect my heart, not to mention those expressive eyelashes and affectionate hugs. The vocabulary and imagination on this kid are astounding and I find myself speechless in awe of how voraciously he’s developing into a gifted little man. My favorite time of day is often just before Jack tumbles off into slumber, when I lie on his bed for a “couple whiles” to “just talk”. He loves when we ask him questions about his day and he recants the minutiae of his experiences (“I didn’t go on the slide because it was too hot, so I played with Eddie on the rocket ship on the playground…”). And given the number of those experiences that have built up unblogged, Jack’s 2 1/2 year old post is brewing into something quite lengthy. So let me summarize, to the best of my verbose ability, why I am 100% convinced that 2s are not terrible.
Quirks
I think we are blessed to have a child with an exceptional ability to communicate from a young age. This has, I am certain, limited the number of tantrums and time outs we’ve had to witness and administer. On the occasion that we do send him to stare at the wall in his time out chair to consider his disobedience, my creative little pumpkin has found a way to self-entertain, either by monologue, or with imaginary friend.
Jack still, after 6 months, will often refuse to leave the house if he is not sporting his bicycle helmet.
He’s obsessed with “lips” (aka chapstick) and will mash mounds of it onto his drool-covered puckers
My little conservative doesn’t like when I wear a tank top and much prefers my outerwear to have sleeves. He saw a teenager in a sundress the other day and told me she was “naked”.
In this age of growing independence, Jack prefers to do everything himself (pouring his own milk; brushing his own teeth; climbing into his own car seat; buckling his own seatbelt; and closing his own car door), including pressing the garage door button, which he is about 1/8th of an inch too short to reach. Hence, why he is constantly getting his rubber boots out of the closet on a bright, sunny day, so that he can be elevated just enough to reach the garage door remote.
Along the same lines, Jack absolutely loathes eating “a piece” of anything. He must have the whole thing. The whole banana (peel on so he can peel it by himself, of course), the whole slice of toast, the whole peach, the whole granola bar, the whole popsicle (heaven forbid you split a two-stick frozen treat in half). He’s happy to share, but only after he’s in control of doling out the bites. The other day he shared a snack-sized banana loaf with me because he had already had one and I told him he was only allowed one. When I took my first bite, he inquired “can I have a piece?” Wily, I tell you.
Jack has taken to sing-song lately and I catch him bursting into melody about whatever is on his mind. “Pancakes…Pancakes…” He also loves his bedtime songs (listen here: Bedtime Songs).
Jack gets out of bed an average of twice before finally settling in to slumber. He’ll stand at the top of the stairs and say something like “I’m happy!” or “I want my motorcycle” (which is typically already in bed with him) or “Want to hold me?” His cunning attempts at escaping sleep are wholly entertaining.
Intellect
Jack’s memory never ceases to dumbfound me. While reading a book a few months ago, Jack spewed the names of the Presidents whose statues appear on the Washington skyline as clear as day (listen here: Presidents). He can point to specific states on a map of the US; he knows that Saturday and Sunday are “swimming pool days” (aka weekend) and that Monday is the first school day of the week; he can spell his name; he can navigate his way from his home to his school by telling you exactly which direction to turn and when; he can pass by a street and say things like ”Mommy and Jack went driving on this road to look at the big houses and Daddy didn’t go” multiple weeks after the event occurred. After meandering through the aisles of Walgreens after preschool one day, I realized once we were in the car that Jack had left his milk behind. He was able to tell me the specific location in the store where he had placed his glass (beside the Snoopy toy) so that I could go in and retrieve it. This past weekend we visited an ad hoc Ducati promotional tent set up at a local park and when we drove by on Monday after the exhibit had been taken down, Jack looked at the park inquisitively and said “the motorcycle tents are gone.” His capacity for organizing objects and processing their logical sequence, relation to each other, and position in time is seriously mindblowing. He understands yesterday, today and tomorrow (although he currently uses the term yesterday to refer to any moment in the past, whether truly yesterday or three weeks ago); and he can count to thirty (although he faithfully skips the number 15 for some odd reason – and if he is required to wait for thirty seconds he’ll count “1, 2, 3, 4, 5…30 because that speeds up his wait time); he can spell any word you put in front of him, whether upper or lower case (overheard in the car yesterday: “t-r-u-c-k, b-o-o-k”) and he informed me recently that the #1 in his numeric flashcard set was actually an l (they DO look exactly the same after all).
He also knows Mommy’s the boss. What can I say, he’s a smart guy!
Feats of athleticism
Jack is extraordinarily coordinated, fearless and agile. When his class had a makeshift olympics one week this summer his name topped the leaderboard in all the ‘sports’ (first in bowling; second in standing long jump). He’s been racing his tricycle around the park from the moment he turned 2, scaling monkey bars, leaping from benches. He can whip a frisbee clear across the side yard, hit a badminton birdie with a racket, throw a nerf ball in the air to himself and smack it with a baseball bat, kick a soccer ball so hard across the basement that it hits the middle of the wall. And now he lifts his entire weight with just his upper body to hoist himself over couch arms and…tractors?
Quotes
“I don’t want a bath, I want to go to bed. It’s my choice.”
“Ketchup on toast is not gross. Poo poo and pee pee are gross.”
“I don’t want this…I want Lady Gaga.”
“You wanna sleep with me for a couple whiles?”
“Because…” or “Actually…” or “You wanna…”
“Hey…” in front of the majority of his sentences.
“The sun is up, it’s time to wake up!” or “The moon is up…it’s time to sleep” (the former he says quite enthusiastically, the latter he whispers)
“Hey Grandpa, now can we go on the really faster boat?”
After being told to get out of the middle of the street: “There are NO CARS, Mommy!”
“Pee pee is faster than cars.” “I runned faster than pee pee.”
“Mommy, you have to work so you can make money to buy me a dirt bike.”
Driving by Metro construction in Tysons Corner: “The rocket ships are building a subway where Bobby will live.”
About birthdays: “My birthday is in January. I will have a big cake. Bobby will have a little cupcake.”
“Upside down” and “upside up”
About tiptoeing, “I’m walking on my balls.”
About sickness, “I’m not feeling better.”
Food
Though we may have unofficially ruled out dairy and eggs as the catalyst for his eczema breakouts following negative skin tests at an allergist, he still prefers soy milk and cheeseless meals. But I am blessed to have a young man who is oddly willing to try just about anything. Perhaps because we guided him into many blended taste adventures as an infant, or perhaps because he sits with us at dinner and eats whatever Daddy has cooked, Jack’s palette is abnormally broad for a 2 year old. He eats salmon, every fruit, nut and vegetable that crosses his plate (in fact, he even requested “more spinach” the other night), lamb chops, mild curries and steak like it’s the last cow he’ll ever get to eat.
I still have to remind Snack Attack that cookies are not for breakfast (even though we keep our sweets on ‘unreachable’ shelves, Jack has been found stacking cartons for a step stool and helping himself to a sample of the forbidden when momentarily unattended in the mornings), but otherwise his diet is relatively well-rounded. When you have a kid who begs for mangos, broccoli and grapes, you definitely cannot complain.
Current Obsessions
Diego. Lord help me, he loves this show. He can now identify just about every species of rain forest animal known to man (including what those animals consume, what they’re afraid of and where they live); he puts a pen to his eye and tells me it’s his “spotting scope”; and he sings “rescue pack” while skipping around the house (as do I, because that *!#&*(&#@! song is so damn catchy). He also knows how to work the remote to get the next episode to play. As a bonus, however, his Diego briefs are helping us with potty training, because Jack feels very bad about peeing on his favorite cartoon character.
Motorcycles. If you’re willing, he’ll take you to view his favorite 1956 Harley Davidson on the print of 26 classic Harleys that hangs just to the right of his bed. He points out every. single. motorcyle. that he sees or hears by yelling and enthusiastic “Motuh-cy-tul!!” and asks me “can we chase it, Mommy?” if we happen to get passed by one while we’re driving. He sat motionless on his Grandpa’s lap at the Ducati exhibit, absorbing every detail of the most boring film about torque and metal alloy components of the motorcycle framework. Jack doesn’t mess around when it comes to his motorcycles.
Playdough. The colorful putty has become an almost daily pre-dinner ritual, but the creative effort required is minimal. He’s happy simply molding the putty into a sausage and pretending it’s a rocket ship. He’s also fond of the fluorescent putty that he made at the Maryland Science Center using Elmer’s glue and borax.
Gatorade. I don’t let Jack drink much other than milk, water, or limited quantities of juice, but Gatorade is a special treat for our exercise time. Jack is enthralled by the rainbow hued drink colors and when I need to fit a run in while I’m watching the kids, promising a few sips of Gatorade mid-way through our jog is a sure fire way to coerce Jack into crawling happily into the stroller (that and an assurance that our route will go past both the swimming pool and the houses under construction). In fact, on weekends, Jack eyes the Gatorade and requests “I want to go jogging now.” If a few ounces of electrolyte-infused sugar water are all it takes to convince Jack that a 3-mile jaunt around the neighborhood is fun, why not?
“Squirt” or “spray” hose. He likes to water the tomatoes, the grass and Daddy.
Games
We recently taught Jack to play “I spy”. Jack’s version, however, is to choose an object, which may or may not be in immediate view, and then tell you the answer before you guess. For example, “I spy with my little eye, something that is red – my helmet!” And there doesn’t have to be anyone else in the room for him to play. In the back of the car on our way to the Baltimore Inner Harbor today, we overheard Jack playing by himself. “I spy with my little eye something that is brown – the telephone poles! And the trees are brown too!”
Motorcycle dance. We have a dance for just about everything. The motorcycle dance consists of singing “dance, dance, dance…motorcycle dance” and doing some spins and kicks. We also have a pee pee dance where we do side-to-side chest pops while sitting atop the potty. The words to that one are “pee pee dance…pee pee dance.” Genius, really. Must be something Mommy made up.
Without reading the “for ages 6+” on the label, I bought Jack a pocket version of Guess Who (or as Jack calls it, “my people game”), thinking it might be fun. Playing by the rules didn’t quite work, but when we improvised slightly by using one board instead of two with Mommy holding the answer card in her hand and helping to prevent Jack from flipping all the faces up or down at one time, he actually did quite well.
Making up names. His little plastic pilot inherited the name “Pilot Wingsy”, his blue bear is “Blueberry” and he often refers affectionately to his brother as “Bob”.
Photos
And last but not least, a myriad of 2 1/2 year photos. All imagination, all the time.
Strawberry picking with his best bud
Hitching rides with older ladies
Homemade hair cut and Dr. Horrible
Silly eating
Old school triking
Helping Dad (and Christy) build the garden
Eating one of Christy’s 36-hour, best ever, chocolate chip cookies
He HAD to go out in a monsoon
After his cornhole victory at beerfest
July 4th fireworks
Marshmallow roasting lessons
Smores
Picking blueberries
“yoda”
Why hello, Handsome
Pinching Nana’s buns
Learning to crack an egg
Teamwork: Jack cracks the egg, Nana removes the shell
Whisking
Scooping by himself
He got most of it in
Meeting George
Jackson Pollock
Too cool (his legs were also crossed)
Serious driver
Turqouise Jeep
First roller coaster, went right to the front
Thirsty
Nana!
Admiring the guitarist
Watching a local concert
My handsome man
Police car
Back of a police car. Let’s not make this a habit.
Notice all the kids filing through orderly. Notice Jack.
Jeep!
Who needs quarters when you can make your own sound effects.
Mommy’s shirts – the new pyjamas
“I’m a really fast guy”
Still hates to leave home without his helmet
Can I ride it?
Jack and all the adults hit the Ducati test drive center
Door stoppers
Harleys and Puppies
Pancake Saturday
Safety first
Fish face
Excited to try the watermelon from Daddy’s garden
Potty with friends
Best friends, watching boats on the Baltimore harbor
Although Bobby spends most of his waking hours staring curiously and happily at his brother, throwing Jack hundreds of idolizing grins, this moment after school a few nights ago took the cake. God, I love these boys…
Oh Bobby, how I love this age. The giggling, the flirting, the feats of physical prowess, the playfulness, the wonder and intense observation of the world around. On the very day he turned 4 months old, he rolled from his back to his belly. Mind you, nobody saw it happen as the adults were all in the midst of a kitchen conversation when we turned around to see Bobby had repositioned himself on his stomach. It was another week until I was able to capture it on film. It’s adorable how proud he is of his newfound mobility. He rolls over, we exclaim “good job, Bobby!”, he squeals with delight, then…barfs. My sweet boy with the sensitive stomach, just like his big brother. Thankfully, the spitting up doesn’t seem to phase him, but we do go through an extraordinary number of receiving blankets in this household.
At his 4-month check up the pediatrician was perfectly content with Bobby’s development. He smiled and cooed and flirted his way through his appointment, up until his vaccines were administered, at which point his violent, protesting screams broke every ear drum in the office. He’s such a mellow baby, but when he’s hungry or mad, the whole world will be made aware. Though he came out of the womb exactly the same size as his brother, he’s trending to be shorter. He weighed 15 pounds even (precisely 50th percentile) and measured 25 1/4 inches (60th percentile). Beanstalk Jack was already 26 inches at this point. Ultimately, all this really means is that I haven’t had to revamp Bobby’s drawers with next-size-up clothing quite as quickly as I had to with Jack. He’s taking his time, growing at his own, contented pace.
Chillin’
Very proud of his mobility
Mmm…bananas!
With his newfound, controlled movement, Bobby is able to interact much more easily with his hands. During our storytime last night, Bobby clung to the left side of the book as he absorbed the cartoon images. While he nurses, he waves his free hand in the air and grabs at my shirt or my nursing cover before wrapping it into his fist. In his first few attempts at sitting in Jack’s old rotating activity center, he wobbled forward and played with a spinning plastic frog. He grips a finger on each of my hands while he’s tasting new fruit and this morning, prior to informing me of his hunger, Bobby lay on his side in the crib scratching at his mattress, interested in the changing texture of blanket and sheet. I adore this ravenous curiosity.
This whole growing up thing is going way too quickly. Almost makes me yearn for another…(but not quite…yet).
What’s more precious than anything about Bobby’s development is how completely he worships his brother. Jack, just by looking at him, or blasting a phony laugh from a nearby corner of the room, will make Bobby smile without fail. Just this morning, after running up the stairs to grab Jack’s toothbrush before heading out the door to school, I came back down to find Jack lying casually on his side beside his brother, exchanging toys and teaching him the colors of each plastic piece. Bobby was beaming back at Jack with unparalleled adoration. During their bathtime in the evenings, Jack (who is showing more interest in his brother each day as Bobby moves further away from infancy) frequently requests that he and Bobby “stand up together” so he can show Bobby how tall he is. They repeat this exercise several times as Bobby stares up at Jack and exhales happily. Bobby then reaches for Jack from his partially submerged position in the tub and Jack succumbs to let Bobby touch his shoulder or hand. And then, a whole lot of splashing, mess and merriment ensues. It’s one of my favorite times of day.
At school, Jack tells all his teachers and classmates that Bobby is “his baby”. And if Bobby is going down the hallway in the infant buggy at the same time that Jack is returning from his playground adventures, Jack runs joyously to the buggy to show off his brother to the other kids.
During our recent Grandparent Tour to the West Coast for a jam-packed 12 days of hyper-stimulating family and friend visits, Bobby hit his 3-month mens-a-versary. He left an infant and came back…a bigger, stronger infant (he’s a healthy 14.5 pounds). He now lifts his entire body from legs to shoulder blades off the ground by digging his heels into the floor and propels himself 180 degrees from the point at which I choose to lay him down. He supports his own head perfectly and much prefers sitting completely vertical to snuggling partially supine. He’s become far more jovial and relaxed between feedings and smiles constantly (unless he’s hungry, in which case, his cries of protest can shatter an eardrum). Although he hasn’t quite taken to sleep in the same way Jack did, he is usually good for 6-7 hour stretches at night and plenty of ad hoc naps. I can’t complain.
He has also (*gasp*) found his thumb, which now makes its way into his mouth in almost all instances that require self-entertainment (activity mat, car seat, swing, floor, crib). Save a couple of tryouts during our recent air travel, we thought we had successfully avoided pacifiers. But Bobby seems to be a much more oral baby than Jack was. Perhaps because he does not have the same high palate as his brother; perhaps because he nurses; perhaps because his teeth are developing faster beneath those sweet gums; or perhaps for no good reason at all. What I do know, besides the likelihood of orthodontia if we don’t beat this habit early, is that his demeanor has grown much more calm and predictable since he perfected the 5th-digit-to-mouth insertion.
Even more exciting than his ever changing I-have-no-idea-what-color-his-hair-will-be-but-right-now-it’s-titany-red locks, is the trend in his eye color towards the misty-blue of his father’s. The little flowerets around his pupil are now lighter blue than the original sapphire with which he was born. Quite the opposite of my chocolate-eyed first born.
Walks!
A little too happy about being one of Mommy’s ACC rivals
Bobby’s first responsive smiles started at about 4 weeks of age and are now a perpetual waking occurrence. He’s honestly the most angelic baby a mother could ask for.
Happy Boy
His eyes are inquisitive, warm and crinkle when his lips turn upwards. He’s easily calmed when he’s fussy (a simple walk around the room will usually do it). He has already had more than one instance of an 8-hour sleep-through-the-night and despite the inconsistency of those 8-hour durations of rest, he has settled into a relaxing evening routine very similar to the evening routine we established for Jack at the same age. He spends most of the late afternoon and evening alert; fusses a little bit through the family dinner time (with a little assistance from our battery-operated swing, we can usually get through our food without too many infant cries) then once Jack is in bed for the night, I nurse Bobby, play with him, give him a shower or bath, nurse him again and he’s out for at least the next 5 hours (which I’m certain will become a failproof 8-10 hours within the next month). As with Jack, we’ve continued to remain a pacifier-free household given the blessing of self-soothing babies.
Diaper assembly line
It’s a lot of work balancing the varied needs of two children, both of whom are ravenous little poop-machines. Kent and I have most certainly sacrificed much of our once plentiful “us” time, which is now reserved for the luxury of showering or sleeping. But when Jack throws himself beaming into my arms in the mornings after he tiptoes into our bedroom at 7am, or when Bobby burrows his head into the skin below my collarbone, little fingers gripping vehemently to my shirt and eyes fluttering into slumber, that unequivocal adoration makes every laborious effort of motherhood worth the sacrifice.
What makes Jack laugh the hardest? Watching me get bonked in the face by one of his toys. In fact, during his diaper removal mayhem of fury these days, I’ve resorted to pretending to take a headbutt from the plastic key ring that I place in his hands to distract him from the woe that is the powdering of his tooshie. It’s much more joyful to wipe poopies from the bottom of a baby vibrating in giggles than one who is flatlining in an anger strike. Despite his pure love of bashing, smashing, clanging, gnawing and pounding, on the brink of his 9-month birthday, his movements are still quite gentle. His outstretched index finger exploring the lid-covered cavity of my eye socket moves curiously slow and tender. He is simply a boy becoming cognizant of his aggressive boundaries. As long as we teach him the difference between playful roughhousing and inappropriate hurting, I don’t feel like we’re indoctrinating any bad habits.
Here Jack plays his favorite game: Disassembly Line. I make it, Jack breaks it. Really, this could go on for hours. From the moment he slipped into the birth canal, there has never been any question that my son is all boy.
This is the newest of Jack’s nicknames along with “fuzzhead” for the mass of curls protruding in all directions from the top of his dome like a windblown toupee. As soon as we arrived at our incredible new house, Jack decided to begin pulling himself up and standing on every possible thing he can. The window sill, my leg, my back, the bottom stairs, the bathtub, his car seat. In fact, when he fusses all I have to do is stick out my two index fingers for him to grab onto to lift himself vertical and he’s instantly contented. Place him upright against the dining room window so he can smudge his drooly fingers across the glass and all is right in his world.
What’s interesting to me is how drastically Jack has changed in the past few weeks. Three weeks ago, due to his casual lack of interest, he could barely crawl (he was pulling himself forward in an army maneuver using his elbow to drag himself towards his intended destination) and now suddenly, Speedy Gonzales is pepping around the empty house and attempting to climb everything that is within his 2 1/2 foot wing span. One thing is certain; he loves it here. There are so many corners to explore, nooks to crawl into, rooms full of carpet to spit up on, hardware to fingerprint…
Happy 8 month birthday, my not-so-little monkey!
Standy-pants loves stairs
If only I could get my foot up high enough, I could climb these bad boys all the way.
