well-mannered hits and spits

Another sweet day with the boy. He woke up at 5:30 hungry, which is about an hour earlier than usual. It wasn't surprising since he went to bed an hour early. I pulled him in bed to cuddle and eat, and I managed to fall back asleep until 8:30 when I could no longer ignore him pulling on my face and whacking me repeatedly. I'm not stupid, I know that his limbs are very well controlled by now. These are not spastic newborn movements. They are quite intentional. After some tickling in bed, we got up and went to our playgroup.

All of our friends were impressed with Josiah's mastery of sitting up. While we were there he got on his hands and knees and rocked back and forth a couple of times. I was very impressed. He is certainly getting close to crawling. He was determined to obtain his friend's toy. After playgroup we came home and took an afternoon nap. This time I didn't nap with him the whole time, which is a first this week. When he woke up we played in his room some and I decided to open a new toy that he received at Christmas. You would think I hung the moon. The toy is a plastic firetruck with three animals that stack on top. He looked at the toy and then at me like, "Finally you break out the big guns. I am a boy, you know, and I'm tired of these soft toys. I want the real things." He was smitten with the shiny plastic pieces, and I was glad to have something new to mix up playtime a bit. I also showed him a plush Cookie Monster he had never seen, and he really liked it. Of course he has no idea who Cookie Monster is, but he liked the bright blue color and how he could run his fingers through the fur.


For some reason, the above picture reminds me of my dad.

Being on the topic of toys...I have been really surprised at how even a small baby can show preference for some toys over others. There are some toys in Josiah's collection that I don't think are any lesser than the others, but regardless of how many times I introduce them, he just isn't interested. osiah has a giraffe that I have always loved, and he thinks it is okay, but he doesn't really want to play with it. He would MUCH rather have his hippo or duck that to me seem to be on the same playing field as the giraffe. I asked my friends if they noticed this behavior, too, and they concurred. It is so fascinating to me. I truly don't understand it. These little people come out with personality quirks and preferences and all of the things that you think must be learned, but they aren't.

We went outside for a little while to swing in the swing Josiah's PawPaw built for him. He loves the swing, and it's the only way I can get him to give up a big belly laugh. Oh that is the sweetest sound I've ever heard. He gets so tickled as he approaches your face. I think he was a little sad when I finally made him get out, but he didn't protest.

At "dinnertime" I took on new strategies on how to keep everyone a little cleaner. We were about a quarter of the way through the meal, and I was wearing a smug look of pride due to Josiah's ever-pristine bib and hands. I managed to hold his hands out of the way and prevent him from helping the spoon, and eventually he caught on and wasn't even protesting. Everything was going great--until he decided to just bypass the spoon and put his hands in his mouth and then all over everything. I watched, plan derailed, completely helpless, as rice cereal got all over the bib, the face, the hands, the seat. I knew it was too good to be true. At least we made some progress, because it didn't require a full bath today.


Speaking of messy things--One observation I have made is how differently people with kids and without kids react to spit up. People without kids have been known to say to me, "Oh, he is throwing up!" or to race into the room to get me to resolve it. Sometimes they say it with surprise, sometimes with disgust--but always with extra emphasis as if the child might grow a third eye any second. In the occasional extreme case I have had someone ask if he needed an outfit change for a couple of spots of spit-up. Now, after 6 months of poop, pee, boogers, ear wax, and spit-up, I know better than to change an outfit unless it is unsalvagable. I already have to wash enough laundry doing only that. I just wipe it up (I maybe wouldn't even do that, but I've learned it cleans much easier when still wet) and keep moving. A lot of times I will use my sleeve or shirt and smear it around enough so the white parts resolve themselves, and then keep going. Yes, yes I do. This is survival of the fittest, folks. There isn't always time for the wet washcloth. The point is, it is really funny to see how different people react to spit up. Spit happens. now I will just chuckle to myself and keep moving...

Today my home telephone rang three times. This usually wouldn't be significant, but I haven't given anyone my home telephone number yet. I knew when it started ringing that it wasn't for me. That is annoying. It's like getting a card in the mail and then realizing it is addressed to your neighbor, and when you trade mail all you really got was a lousy circular.

I suppose I should once again go to bed responsibly, as I know the face whacking will come far too early tomorrow.