The Lighter Side of Violence

I probably shouldn't laugh when the bug repeatedly slams a toy either into a flat (and remarkably noisy) surface or against another toy.  But it's just too cute.

Partly because of the flinching eyes, instinctively closing in case pieces fly off in all directions.  Partly because seeing such unintended violence burst out of the sweetest looking baby girl embodies a kind of dichotomy that caters to my darker sense of humor.  Partly because such actions are often preceded, accompanied, and/or followed by top-of-the-lungs sustained vowel sounds not entirely dissimilar to singing.

If by "singing" you can include throat-popping moans a la Peter Boyle in Young Frankenstein.

I worry that I'm encouraging violent behavior by laughing - sending mixed signals and all that.  But, on the flip side, isn't this an important developmental stage?  We need to encourage her to explore her capabilities.  As long as she doesn't start in on the cats.

I've already started thinking of appropriately encouraging Christmas gifts:

• hammer
• drum
• piano
• those weighted bottom inflatable rocking things
• XBox 360 controller

Stinkerbell

Years from now, the bug will likely be either angry, embarrassed, or a mixture of both, that I chronicled her flatulence publicly and online.

For now, it's fine.  I can only hope she'll realize that she was only five months old at the time and be able to forgive me.

She's been doing really well eating her gruel.  Only, not much is happening on the other end.  Wifey and I are hard pressed to recall any blowouts in the last couple of days.

You see, the whistle's blowing, but the train hasn't pulled into the station.

Having worked out in the rain and cold for a bit this weekend and slept in dry heat, I'm not getting the full effect of any smells.  However, it's been described to me as cream cheese that's gone bad.

Now that Tuesday's here and I'll be on bug duty for the rest of the week, I know what I have to look forward to.  I've been advised that I may want to have a magazine handy.  (and I can imagine needing washcloths... maybe even the bathtub.)

Speaking of having a gas, we've expanded our repertoire of noises, faces, and actions that really crack up the bug.  The little girl loves to laugh.  Which makes me laugh.  Which makes her laugh.  It's a self-perpetuating cycle until she runs out of gas and needs to sleep.

Feeding the Bib

Turns out the bug was more than ready for her first bites of rice cereal.  She acted like we had been holding out on her.  I guess, in a way, we were.

I imagine a lot of parents stare unblinkingly at their baby's first bites of "solid food" (what's so solid about some rice flour dissolved in breast milk?) wanting to see some expression of delight, wonderment, confusion, or even disgust.  It's a big first step.  Our camera was rolling.  We planned the event at grandma's.  Typical.

This is what we got:

• The bug watched the spoon come closer and casually took it in her mouth.
• She smacked her tongue a little bit (probably searching desperately for flavor).
• She immediately grabbed at the bowl with a look like "what's in this stuff?" and tipped the whole thing over, including the brand new, no-flip suction cup that, as promised, remained attached to the bowl.
• She took a couple more oh-hum spoonfuls from what was left in the bowl and humored us with chewing motions (a mere formality at this stage).
• Granted, those of us over the age of five months were preoccupied with taking care of the spill.  Still, we weren't feeding her that slowly.  Regardless, after only a few bites of her gruel, the bug found it necessary to take matters into her own hands.  By "matters" I mean spoon.  And by "hands" I mean a two-fisted death grip from which not even photons could escape.

In time, we got the spoon back.  After having had a total of three such feedings thus far, she still isn't feeding herself in spite of her prowess with infant cutlery.

She accepts that she needs to wait on our ability to extract an empty spoon from her mouth, refill it at the proper receptacle, and competently transfer the spoon level, so as not to spill its contents, to her waiting mouth where spilling the contents is an unavoidable (and, as it were, necessary) eventuality.  She accepts this so totally in fact that her latest feeding pose involves leaning with arms extended to the sides, as much as the nylon straps will allow, toward the person holding the spoon and having eyes and mouth held as wide as manageable.

I'd say we're having a first feeding win.

In a related side-note, teething has begun in earnest.  No white tips poking through yet, but they can't be far away.  Stay tuned...

How to Shrink a Baby

All babies share one commonality.  They get bigger.  Really.  Turns out they're supposed to.  That's where adults come from.

The bug is no exception.  Five months old and still hanging out in the ninety percentiles.  She's wearing 6-9 mo. clothings (Seriously.  They need to focus on weights and/or lengths for baby clothes.  Months are no standard.)

A couple days ago, we dug out the box of "bigger" clothes that we stored way back when everyone that heard we were having a baby girl gifted us with a wardrobe.  We had to start a pile of 3-6 mo. numbers that she'll never wear.  She did squeeze into one pair of pants for a couple hours before adding them to the "yeah, right" pile.  (A common female experience, I'm sure.)  We may have to start giving each cute little ensemble an hour to ensure each one gets a shot at being worn.

As this ever-expanding doll of adorableness stretches the limits of her bassinet, dwarfs her tummy comfort chair, and forces more and more adjustments to nylon straps, our little girl doesn't seem so little anymore.

Then we learned a really neat trick.  I call it, "Shrink a Baby!"  (Catchy, huh?)

Here's what you do:

• Get a toy that the baby is a good month away from being able to adequately use.  For example, one of those activity ring things where the baby sits in the middle surrounded by things that all do different things and make different noises.  For example, the Wonderbug.  (See... we had to get that one.)
• Then, insert the baby carefully into the aforementioned toy, making necessary comfort adjustments.
• Lastly, step back and notice how this little toy engulfs your baby.

Et voila!  The baby is small, again.  Repeat as necessary.

So Cute I Can't Stand It

The bug turns five months old this week.  It's about the time in her life when mom and dad are no longer scouring through Dr. Sears to learn what milestones to anticipate.

She can roll over.  She can remain in a sitting position and often tries to sit up on her own.  She explores different textures with groping fingers, grabs approved materials in her tiny-but-mighty clutches, and checks out her world via leaking mouth.  She pivots around when playing on her belly.

But, she loves to stand (with a hand or two holding her for stability).  As I imagine it is with most parents, seeing the bug on two feet looking just like a little person is hilariously adorable.

Speaking of laughter... laughing bouts have taken a turn toward banshee.  She's definitely testing those pipes out and seeing what they're capable of.  It's a good thing it's happy sounds coming out.

We bought some rice cereal to have at the ready (and face shields).  The bug's doctor thinks she might be up for it, if not demanding, in the next couple of weeks (I smell a future blog post) and schooled us on the signs to look for.

Anyone have some good first food advice?  Anecdotes?  Warnings?