Nine months

Nine months last week.  Yeah, I'm pretty behind in my blogging, I know.  But there is a very good reason for it:



Now, I don't know if you noticed, but what he was going for was not the super-fun ball that Mummy was offering, but the USB cable hanging off of the camera that Mommy was holding.  Yup, our kidlet is part rabbit, apparently - he loves cords.  And, without entering the nature/nurture debate, I will simply assert that he got my determination.  Once set on a course, it's very hard to distract him.

So blogging has to wait until naptime.  Unfortunately, so do the dishes, the laundry, and any work that Mummy may have to do.  But fear not, devoted blog-readers, Mommy's summer vacation starts soon, at which point the blogging should resume again at a fairly normal rate.  Until, of course, another round of Asa-determination pays off...

End of an Era

The bad news: the house where my family has spent over 50 years accumulating memories is gone, crunched away bite by bite thanks to a very strong digger.

The good news: so many of us could be there to commemorate and celebrate.

Some better dressed than others...

The best news?  We can all be together in the house for the first time in a very long time, and sleeping in the boathouse has become a choice, rather than a necessity, once again.

Swing Dancing

For the whole experience, click "play" above.

Mothers' Day

Being a mom, we both agree, is awesome.  In both the literal and the colloquial sense; we are often in awe that we even dared to attempt something so... crazy.  And the smiles are awesome, and the laughs are awesome, and the new tricks - tongue clicks, babbling, beginning to actually crawl - are awesome.

Another new and cool trick: sitting up in the high chair.  (Perhaps one day he will be as willing to do this during meals in restaurants as he is at home... as it is, mental note not to order anything that needs to be cut.)

I have to say, I love how he looks both so huge and so tiny at the same time.  Even more, though, I love that he doesn't yet roll his eyes when I say things like that.  And I definitely love the reminder to give thanks for all of the mothers in our lives - our own, our grandmothers, and our friends who have shared their experiences, their wisdom, their perspective, their wicked senses of humor.  You know who you are (yes, you too!) and we love you all.

Happy Mothers' Day!

Sippy Cup

Taken after the food/nap fiasco yesterday.  Seriously, you just can't continue having a bad day when there is this much cuteness around.

Possessed by Demons

There are days when this is the only possible explanation for the transformation of our normally sweet and well-behaved son.  This is one of them.

It starts with a low-grade whine.  Almost a hum, especially at mealtimes when he refuses food - any food, even his favorites - after three bites.  Lower lip jutting, he whines.  Continuously.  Gratingly.

Should I take away the untouched, pushed-away, conscientiously-avoided food, it progresses to a much louder, although equally continuous and grating, open-mouthed complaint.  Which does not mean that he is willing to eat any of said food.  (What happened to our little foodie?)

All this whining brings us to naptime, finally.  Or, rather, what used to be naptime but is now a prolonged scream-fest.  For eight months, we had a wonderful routine: a cuddle next to the crib, with nuzzles and kisses, a reasonably-long lullaby, and then down.  On his belly, with Sheldon tucked under his arm and the Sleep Sheep speaking whale.  (Mental note: name the Sleep Sheep Dory.)  At worst, he'd complain for five or so minutes, then be soundly and peacefully asleep.

This week?  Not so much.  Routine followed to the letter, but being put on his belly is now an invitation to push up and crawl.  (Putting him on his back hasn't been an option since before Christmas, and should he roll onto his back in the night, he wakes up immediately.  Fabulous.)  Now?  He screams.  Full-on, red-faced, open-mouthed screams.  For a loooooooong time.  (As of right now, it's been 40 minutes.)  I go in after five minutes... after ten minutes... after fifteen minutes.... I soothe, thump his back, rub his back, shush him.  And he grins at me. And coos.  There's nothing at all wrong with him except that he doesn't want to sleep.  Nevermind that he's been rubbing his eyes and yawning, he's not really tired.  No, Mummy, really - not tired.  Not tired at all.  Especially not tired after all this screaming.  Wide awake, Mummy.  Hi!  (And yes, I tried getting him up to see if he was hungry, having only eaten a few bites of breakfast.  He didn't stop screaming for a second, and spit out the food.  So much for that idea, kidlet: back to bed.)

Weeks like this make it bloody lucky for him that he's so cute.

Anyone want to babysit?

Hands and Knees, Hands and Toes...

But he hasn't quite figured out that he needs to move his hands in order to go forward.  Either he rocks until he scootches backwards, or he pushes with his knees, overbalances, and face-plants.



I do appreciate the bum-in-the-air, on-the-toes position, however.  So cute.

He has begun rolling a lot more, in order to get where he wants to be.  It's distinctly a stop-gap measure in his head - he'll try to crawl, end up moving backwards, get frustrated, and finally just turn and roll until he ends up where he wanted to be in the first place.  Like the toy basket.

He's getting so big in so many ways.  Mommy and I both had to be away on Saturday, so Nonni and Poppy came to watch the Bean.  He was such a perfect angel for them - no fussier than he would have been with us, and still a good eater and good napper.  Perhaps this means that Mommy and I can re-institute Date Night?