He's the best. I haven't really done any kind of record-keeping of where he's at... We have a 'Very Hungry Caterpillar' baby book that someone gave us, which is awesome, but still empty. I never seem to get around to filling it in, so I guess now is as good a time as any to get it down.
He has two bottom teeth, and the little white ends of two upper fangs as well, with the top middle ones threatening to make an appearance any day now. So far, touch wood, he hasn't really bitten me.
He used to be all about the looking as we carried him around, but now things must be touched, or rather, GRABBED as he hurls himself out of our arms/the sling/wherever. And he is no longer easily pacified with alternatives to the contraband articles he desperately wants to chew on. Before, the ol' switcheroo worked a charm. No more.
He has a fiery little temper. I suspect he gets that from his mama. Turns red in the face and clenches his fists and shouts when he's frustrated. Mostly this happens when he can't maneuver whatever it is he's trying to get into his mouth. Mango seeds are slippery suckers...
He eats EVERYTHING. On his own. Will not be fed, except at breakfast time, when I have put my foot down. Mama delivers the porridge. But every other meal ends with food all over the kitchen floor. The kitten has learned to linger for scraps of cheese and chicken. Too bad she's not interested in the cucumber, carrot, peas, corn, beans, potato, apple, pear, pumpkin, watermelon, cantaloupe, strawberries, banana (banana! Overboard! At $10 a kilo! Mama applies the 10-second-rule to this exotic delicacy), broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, bread, rice, pasta, eggs, cous cous, falafel, etc, etc, etc. He has tried everything and not turned his nose up at anything. Kid likes his food.
He talks and babbles and squeals and SHRIEKS at the top of his quite powerful lungs. I think his first word might be the cat's name.
He sings. Funny little baby monotone wah-wah-wah-ing along when we sing to him. Although, he's not so good with the usual nursery favourites. The photographer the other day was trying to get his attention by singing 'Twinkle twinkle little star', but the kid just stared blankly at her. Had she tried a little 'Love Cats', she might have had more luck. Nancy Sinatra is his bath music every night, and Bing Crosby knocks him out at nap time, no trouble.
He sleeps really well. It took what felt like centuries to get him sleeping for longer than 40 minutes at a time, and he still won't do it unless he's in his cot. But we usually get three naps a day in, and he's sleeping through the night like a champ. We're even beginning to lose the dream feed, here and there. (And when we do, I'm going to go to bed at 8 o'clock every night for a week.)
He loves riding on the motorbike at the farm. REALLY loves it. It's a little worrying. He does not love tummy time all that much. We still do it, but he gets frustrated more quickly than he used to. Bad luck, kiddo. You won't crawl unless you try. He is trying, but he's been trying for months and hasn't managed to put it all together yet. Oh well. Backwards and in circles is fine with me. At least I don't have to worry about him going anywhere when I leave the room.
He notices when I go, and cackles like a wild thing when I come back. He shakes his head and claps his hands and waves goodnight when The Boy takes him off to bed. He LOVES the mirror, and The Boy and my god, the cat. She may be his favourite. He loves going out for coffee with The Boy in his red sling, and bouncing up the stairs with me in his yellow pram. He loves pants-off, and bathtime, and saying hello to John, Paul, George & Ringo every day when we walk past the picture near his room. He loves banging and kicking and shouting and laughing and grabbing my hair. He loves, with great passion, a two-dimensional yellow duck that came out of a Lamaze book. He is indifferent about Sophie.
He is funny and sweet and BEAUTIFUL and so cute and hey-zeus, I love his guts.
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