Aug
1
August 1, 2006
A couple of housekeeping notes: sundrymourning.com has a spiffy new header graphic, made for me by the talented and fabulous Ranie O’Dell (you may have to hit refresh for it to show up), and look, the archives actually work now.
Is it bad when you wish you looked as good as your website? Eh, don’t answer that.
:::
Riley is 11 months old now, MY GOD, MY GOD.
This has been one of the biggest months in terms of milestones, I think. He started crawling – just all of a sudden, back at the start of July, he rolled up onto his knees on my brother in law’s carpet and cruised forward a few feet, and he hasn’t stopped since. For a while he would also drop to his belly and scooch along like the world’s tiniest G.I., elbows akimbo and his face a mask of concentration; now he moves so quickly his knees seem to barely skim the floor.
He “cruises” along the hearth, the coffee table, the couches, and the edge of his highchair, giving me constant heart palpitations (what if he smashes his face? what if he smashes his chin? what if he smashes his face and THEN his chin?). He stands unassisted for brief terrifying periods of time. He holds onto the headboard of our bed and bounces up and down, his mouth wide open with glee.
He YELLS. Oh god does he yell. When I annoy him by taking away a toy or changing his clothes or prying his little death-grip fingers off a pencil he’s attempting to thrust into his own eye socket, he YELLS – with great vengeance and furious anger, just like Samuel Jackson. “No yelling,” I say sternly, and he yells louder. I hope it’s a stage, because if this is indicative of his burgeoning personality we are going to be investing in a LOT of duct tape over the years to come.
He laughs easily, and it is the best sound I have ever heard (it sure beats the holy hell out of the yelling). If I inadvertently stumble upon something that makes him laugh, I’m happy to do it over and over again, even if it means I must repeatedly fall to the floor in a heap like I’m Ann Darrow and he’s King Kong.
He’s got at least 8 teeth now, and judging from the drooling/whining/general turdiness of late, he’s currently working on more.
If I say “high five!” he’ll reach out and slap my upraised hand. For a while he clapped a lot, but he seems to have abandoned that lately.
Both JB and I think he can almost say some words, like “ba pah!” for “backpack” or “duh duh” for “dog”, but I’m sure it’s just as likely that we’re hearing the same sounds he always makes and putting our own spin on them.
He ate practically nothing but macaroni and cheese for weeks, and now he completely refuses it in favor of chopped-up deli turkey. At daycare he apparently eats all kinds of food from their menu, but at home we seem to be in a turkey/banana/yogurt rut. I am slightly ashamed to admit that I fed him a couple small pieces of a Krispy Kreme donut recently, which he devoured with a worrying amount of speed and enthusiasm.
Also, Dog has learned that Riley’s mealtimes are usually worth hanging around for.
This may have been one of the hardest months, in its own way. I feel like I’m constantly chasing him, constantly monitoring what he’s doing and where he’s going and I can’t turn my back for one solitary second (something I thought was a parenting cliche, but it’s true! it’s true!).
And yet even though it’s exhausting, and there are times when I am absurdly grateful when he falls asleep for the night, it’s a no-fucking-shit miracle, all of it. I celebrate and mourn each new accomplishment, like I do every month, while I watch him grow up before my very eyes.
Jul
31
July 31, 2006
JB’s view this weekend:
Mt. Hood, displayed amid in the glory of a mountainous sunset, as JB made camp for the night on the slopes of Mt. Adams.
My view this weekend:
Pardon the crude artistic representation, Photoshop doesn’t quite capture the essence–the je ne sais quoi–of a teething baby, but if you imagine an angry little face that constantly makes a brain-grindingly horrible sound no matter how many Hyland’s tablets you stuff down its wailing, drooling maw, you’d be in the neighborhood.
Let’s compare and contrast, shall we? JB, hiking with a friend out in the wilderness, surrounded by nature’s bounty…
…me, stuck at home with a kid working on his MILLIONTH fang.
When JB was packing on Friday I noticed he had included a hilarious-looking product that’s apparently designed for cyclists. “BUTTr?” I said. “What’s this for?”
“Chafing,” he said defensively. “Long hikes can be, uh, problematic sometimes.” He noticed me going for the camera and shook his head. “No way, I don’t want you posting that online.”
“Even if I say it’s because you have such enormously huge balls, you have to create a smooth, chamois-cream protective area for them to bounce around in?”
“Well, in that case…wait, NO.”
I said fine, I wouldn’t, but that was before I got up at 4 AM, then again at 5, and 6, and 7:15 on Sunday morning to deal with a whimpering baby.
:::
The boy has Darwinism on his side lately, because however much I might fantasize about cramming his teething little rump into a wood chipper, how could I Fargo this level of cuteness?
Maybe the trick is to stuff him in a burlap sack first.
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