Perspective

Remember this shirt?

C'mon... anyone?  Cute little side-snap, short sleeved (he's got an under-onesie on), with a green alien-robot thing?

No?  You sure?  'Cause he's worn it before.  It's just been a while.

One more chance - think hard, now...

Okay.  I'll tell you.  Or rather, show you.

His coming-home shirt finally fits.

But why, you may ask, did we put such an enormously huge shirt on our newborn?

It gets back to the perspective that I mentioned in the post title.  Now certainly, there were a couple of practical-ish reasons: we didn't have many side-snap shirts, and had been assured that these were best for babies who still had their umbilical cord stumps.  We also didn't think he'd be quite that small, of course.

Much more importantly, however, we had very little idea of baby sizes.  I mean, let's be honest: baby clothes are small.  Even toddler clothes can look unbelievably, ridiculously tiny.  And although we'd received plenty of clothes from size Newborn to size 18 months by the time he was born, we hadn't really developed the eye to figure out what might fit him when.  Now, it's all still tiny, but at least we can more or less determine just how tiny, in relation to the other clothes he owns.  We've gained some perspective.

The real perspective, of course, comes when we watch him sleep, or when we put away outgrown clothes... or put on a shirt that finally, six months later, fits the way it's supposed to.  It comes when we have late-night discussions with other young parents about how to raise a sweet, caring boy.  It's in those all-too-rare moments when we can step back and look at how our life has changed, and allow ourselves to look ahead at the changes to come.  This is the perspective that we only glimpse but cannot claim to really "have"; as fleeting as any true understanding we might find of God or of the universe.

And if we're wise, when we take that step back, and find that perspective, we'll immediately step forward again into the moment, into the joy of a smiling, bouncing boy in his alien-robot shirt.

Breakfast is messier...

...with a cold.

I'm not sure how he got zucchini and rice on his eye when he sneezed, but he did.  What can I say - he's a talented boy.

I am looking forward to the return of my nice neat eater...

Snotty, slimy days

Hence the dearth of photos over the weekend.  I mean, Asa's still cute with goo running from his nose, but even we get a little grossed out.  And in a picture you can't wipe the goo away, which is definitely how we've been dealing.  Wiping and using the snot-sucker.  Fun times, man.

Even if I were willing to post the runny-nosed kidlet, neither Mommy nor I have been all that presentable.  I, because I look and sound a lot like the kiddo.  Mommy, because she's been letting me sleep and getting up to comfort, nurse, and suck snot.  (Reader, I married her; now you know why.)

So we will take a blogging time-warp, as I remember why I stockpile cute pics and videos without posting them right away.

ah, for the no-snot days... may they return soon.

Happy, Well-Rested Boy

About an hour and a half after putting him down for his morning nap, I heard cooing in his room and went in to investigate.  I was greeted by a huge grin.

"Hi, Mummy!  I'm awake!"

Who knew this was the solution to the only-marginally-tolerated Tummy Time?

Ah.  Truly irresistible.  Enough to make a Mummy's heart melt.

Cuddle Bugs

A boy and his Mummy. It's a beautiful thing!

Ask Not For Whom My Heart Beats...

Ask neither why Mommy has a stethoscope.

What can I say?  We got used to hearing his heartbeat last summer, during those weekly fetal monitoring sessions.

Asa's turn...  such a neat toy, Mommy!

I just hope he could hear all the love filling Mommy's heart.  If not, I'm sure he could see it radiating from every part of her.

Still Buddies

Yeah, yeah, y'all are sick of hearing about the cats as well as the boy.  But really, these two are so sweet together.

Even now that Asa has begun grabbing at ears and tail and fur (despite our constant reminders of "gently with the kitties"), she spends the better part of the day near him... although, wisely, just out of reach.

Tummy time is often playtime; it's not his favorite, so he fusses, but she can't stand to hear him fuss.  So she comes over to hang out, and he lights up.  They say to put toys just out of reach, to encourage a baby to crawl.  I don't think we'll have to do that - he'll learn to crawl to get to his Oliver.

We did have a funny moment the other day: early on in the scream-fest (which I'll blog sometime later when the trauma is a little less immediate), as I was leaning over the crib letting Asa suck on my pinkie, Oliver decided to see what was wrong.  As she often does, she stood on the arm of the chair next to the crib and put her front paws up on the crib rail.  But this was the first time she'd attempted it since we lowered the mattress, so I don't think she could see as well... either way, she didn't seem inclined to just jump in as she normally would.  Instead, she used her front paws to try to pull herself up.  Note, I said, "try."  She hung there for a moment, her back legs flailing, her front claws dug in, looking at me in utter panic.  And so I found myself with one hand in the crib, comforting the baby, and one hand under the hiney of a 10-pound cat, laughing myself silly.