Manic Panic

Zephyr just wowed the both of us with the most amazing collection of mood swings. After his bath tonight, before bed, he was in top form. Here's how it went:

"Dat? Dat? Dat?" he asks about nothing in particular, jabbing his little index finger in random directions. He leans into my arms and hugs me into a stranglehold, then pulls back and bucks giddily, grinning with his eyes squeezed tight, shrieking peals of laughter as he squirms his naked tushie out of his towel.

"Et? Et!" (his word for blanket) He's pointing at his blanket, so I grab it and tuck it into his arms as I lay him onto the changing table to get him into his jammies.

Epic meltdown. Inconsolable crying.

"What's wrong, honey?" I ask. He looks at me, face in a cartoon frown, and sobs. Then he flips over (Scott has just gotten a diaper on him), crying, and points to the Totoro mural on his wall, says "dat" and starts laughing maniacally.

Scott and I look at each other, confused, eyebrows raised, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness, lest we encourage him to act like this on purpose.

I pull his jammies over his head. Tears again. He's hugging me around the neck as he steps into his pajama bottoms. He starts slapping at me, and I gently scold him, "no hitting, Zephyr. That hurts." His face slowly crumples into another frown, and he wraps his arms around me and buries his head against my chest. More crying.

We get to the rocking chair, sing our songs and when he's finished nursing he flips his legs around to kick off my lap. He crawls off toward his crib, leaving me and Scott in our places at the rocker and starts to lay down on his rug. Scott picks him to sing the rest of the lullabies, and Zephyr shoos me off by making his kissy word, "mmmuh." Then he starts pointing at each of the stars lit up on his ceiling, "stahs. stahs. stahs. stahs. stahs. stahs." Points at the fan, "dat," then "stahs."

Sigh. "Goodnight, Zephyr. Sweet dreams. I love you."

"Stahs."

Oh, toddlers.

Walky Talky, Redux

...or, Why I am So Damn Tired All the Time

It's been a long time, I know. Sorry about that. I've been too busy chasing my kid all over the damn place, and couldn't be bothered to blog about. And even now that he's taking a nice long nap (all tuckered out from his first swimming lesson), I barely have time to eat lunch and get the rest of my other writing done. So here's what I'll do instead: I'll just show you.

Dizzy? Me too. My favorite part at 0:24, when he's startled by my presence with the camera.

Here's Zephyr's version of a phone call (on a remote control), which is representative of pretty much all talking he does.

No, I can't understand a word he's saying either. I'm hoping that eventually he starts trying to talk correctly, but for now he just babbles incoherently at varying volumes. Sooner or later he'll realize that it's just faster to tell me what he wants instead of pointing and saying "dis, dis" all time.

The last video I want to post is of him splashing around and being silly in his kiddie pool, but he's nekkid as a jay bird in that video, and I don't want any trouble. So that one will just be for Grandma to watch on my phone when she comes to visit in a couple months.

Zephyr's been doing great, though, and aside from the not speaking clearly, I think he's humming right along on his little milestones. His pediatrician said to let her know if he doesn't say ten words in a month or two, so that's a nice thing to be paranoid about. As it stands, he can say "mama," "dada," "caw! caw!" (for crow), "ball," "all done," "hi," "hello," and "I love you." A few weeks ago we were at the book store (he was in the carrier on my back) and I guess he got bored standing there, because he patted me on the shoulder and said "yecko, Mama" ("let's go, Mama"). And he never said it again. Same with several other words, uttered perfectly clearly, plain as day: strawberry, medicine, kitty. I'm choosing not to worry about it yet, because I feel like I'm already doing what I'm supposed to. I talk and read to him plenty, play with him every day, and narrate everything for him, nearly to the point of lunacy. We always freak out and panic that he's behind on things, then just at the last minute he comes along like it ain't no thang.

And it ain't.

Laugh it Up

Next week we're going on our first trip out of town with Zephyr. We'll only be gone for three days, but we haven't even taken him on a day trip yet, so of course I'm worried about messing up his entire schedule and making him miserable. But I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I think he'll probably be just fine, though I am bracing myself for the airport hell - all the crap we'll have to bring is going to weigh a ton. I hope they don't hassle us too much.

I hope that our tight routine will translate well to the hotel - we'll bring his blankie, night light, Totoro plushy and iPod full of lullabies, and the baby monitor so we can slip over to Grandma's room for TV and a glass of wine without disturbing Booshie. I'm psyching myself up now for it to be okay. It'll be okay.

His next set of incisors is just about out. I think I see them right there sometimes, white at the gumline, but then they seem to retreat back for a day or so. His finger is always jammed in his mouth, but he still manages to open up once in awhile to say a few words. His new one this week is "debdeb" (Yo Gabba Gabba - not a useful phrase at all, but the name of the TV show we watch before naptime).

Last week he hit his 14 month mark, and he's getting ever-so-close to taking his first steps. He loves walking around the house holding onto my or Scott's fingers, and is doing a bit more standing unassisted. Honestly, at this point, I think he could walk if he wanted to, but is just being lazy. Why would he risk landing on his ass when it's so much easier to just crawl or get carried everywhere?



And since he's been such a sweet, huggy little guy lately, I don't feel like putting him down much either. He wraps his arms around my neck so tight and pats my shoulder. It's so cute. Last week he cracked me and Scott up when, at bedtime, he was finishing up nursing after we sang our bedtime songs, and he just started blowing raspberries for no reason. Scott though he was motorboating me (which he has done before). I pulled my face down close to his to whisper to him, and he bit my nose! He thought that was pretty funny. I guess I did, too.

Anyway - just a quick post. I just wanted to share these awesome photos. It might be getting close to time for his first haircut. I was hoping his widow's peak would have grown in by now, but I guess it's on the same trajectory as those teeth of his...

Fledging

Now that we've passed the one year mark, I guess I am only updating the blog when there's something noteworthy, like a new first or an achievement unlocked. Does that seem fair? Maybe I'll just update each week with photos? Or maybe I'll pick it up again after the holidays. I'm in the process of putting last year's better posts into his scrap book so he'll have something a little more analog to have when he's older, but even this is really so much better than doing a store-bought baby book. Scott and I actually have the exact same Hallmark baby books from our respective infancies - his blue, mine pink.

His one-year check-up was the Tuesday after his birthday (the day after the last post), and though he's still not walking, he does have the dubious honor of continuing to be above the 100% centile for height (at 32.5" tall). His weight was 26 lbs, landing him at the 88th centile, and his head has grown to the 93% centile. That is such a weird measurement to take, I think, but there it is.

He's cut his fourth tooth, his top incisor now has its mate. It's just poking through, and he keeps his finger jammed in his mouth pretty much all day. Between that and the perpetually runny nose he's been sporting, he's been kind of a pain in the ass. I mean, he's still a sweet, funny kid, he just has a bit shorter fuse. Coupled with his attempts at new physical feats (like climbing onto and falling off of his little box-table 6" off the ground), there've been a few more tears than we're used to around here. He's definitely stretching his little wings a bit more these days, experimenting with autonomy.

He missed a few naps over the weekend, because I was gone to a holiday bazaar (where I was selling my poorly-made homemade soft toys) and though I was able to get him down for his morning nap before I left for the day, he didn't really go down for any kind of afternoon nap and this resulted in a little more night waking than I can really tolerate. I'm thinking of night weaning him over the holiday, since Scott will be home for a few days to help with the night parenting without it cutting into his workday performance. It feels really drastic to even think about cutting him off, but I'm just feeling really beat down by motherhood these days. I'm carrying a lot of back pain and my upper body joints pretty much all ache. I need to sleep more than four hours uninterrupted (he still sleeps from roughly 7:00pm to 7:00am, but wakes once or twice, and I nurse him back to sleep to expedite things). I put the Totoro pillow that I made him in his crib to try to help soothe him, and I'm hoping that helps. I just found out that he even likes that thing - Scott sent me a picture last week of Boosh laying down on top of it, sucking his thumb. In the middle of the day. He just grabs it and holds his face against it and knows it's for snuggling. That's its purpose.

Being a goofball in his robot pajamas ("robut jams") and his Halloween hat

He's starting to pick up more and more language, and that means I need to start watching my mouth around him. He actually does a perfect mimic of my exasperated groan, the one I let out whenever I'm driving. (Seriously, people cannot drive in this town. It's just rain! It does that here.) When we ask, "Zephyr! Are you hungry?" he says, "Ffff! Fffff!" (for the sound of us blowing his food to cool it down), and now we can play the Where's Mama's (insert facial feature here) game and he will point to the appropriate feature most of the time. We are careful not to ever ask about eyes, because then he will laugh and think it's funny to poke my eyes out. He already thinks it's hilarious to flip over in the middle of every diaper change unless I turn the TV on to distract him, but this requires me to only change him on the couch. I'm hoping this is a phase he outgrows soon.

His favorite toys are still pretty much just household items: wooden spoons, finger bowls, recyclables like berry pint boxes, shipping boxes (we gave him a giant box that still has the paper packing material in it and decorated one of the flaps to look like a computer keyboard, and he thinks it's pretty awesome in there), empty plastic bottles, that sort of thing. He's really into stacking rings these days, and is gaining more dexterity to actually fit the rings onto their stem. He will open books and "read" them to us, mumbling little words quietly to himself in a language we don't understand.

We bought a mini tree, against my better wishes. The potted trees were all around $50, but it was only $15 for a little tabletop fir. Besides, it supports our local economy. This will be his second Christmas, and I know it'll probably be the last one where we decide what he wants. I really can't wait to see the boy he'll become, but I'm trying my best to relish these last moments of his babydom.

Toofsome

We finally have a third tooth. Just in time for his first birthday next week! You can see it there poking out. I keep hoping he'll end up with a diastema. Since Scott and I were both gap-tooth kids, signs point to 'yes'. Mine was "fixed" when I had a crown put on my front tooth (I broke it in half on my 18th birthday), and I wish they'd left it alone. Oh well, chances are Zephyr'll have one, and will hate it, and I'll always tell him how awesome and adorable it makes him, but he'll never believe me.


Here he is practicing his waving. He does this a lot, waves to himself by opening and closing fingers like the sign for "nurse." He will actually chase the cats through the house on all fours and stop to wave at them (he combines the wave with the "c'mere kitty" sign when he does this).

I have no idea, either. Best just leave this one a mystery.

His new camera face, though, appears to be bracing for the flash. I hate using the flash, but it's so dark all the time now, what with the rain and all those moody doldrums in the air. Nowadays we spend a little more time snuggled under a blanket watching cartoons and a little less time strolling around. I do get stir-crazy, though, and I'm sure he does too. Our house just doesn't feel big enough for all his explorations and I will probably start making the pool a more regular occurrence. I want to take him to one of those baby gyms but I don't want to expose him to all the ick that covers toddlers. But I know his little immune system needs a workout, too, so maybe I'll concede. Or maybe I'll just invest in some good rain gear for him.

Other news this week:

• Stacking is sticking around. He will stack things up in his hands, Scott's hand, and mine. However, if I am the one who stacks, he instantly destroys the stack. This has prompted the invention of a new game: How Fast Can You Stack Before Baby Smash
  
• He can use the sign for "more" (though it ends up being more of a touching his palm with his index finger), and he uses it a lot for food. If he thinks I'm holding out with fruit, he will ask for more until he's eaten about twice the capacity of his stomach.
  
• He freely gives objects to me if I present my open palm.
• He can drink with a straw (though he still prefers to empty a cup all over his dinner tray and himself).
• He can climb up and back down stairs. One more hallway needs blocking.
  
• Today he opened the under-sink cupboard. I went to put the locks on it, but turns out, we bought 5 of the latches for the fridge and none for cabinets. There is presently a rubber band around the cupboard handles, and this seems like it'll do the trick just fine.
  
• He can now stack those stacking rings back onto their peg instead of just picking them off and throwing them to watch how far they'll roll.
  
• He will put his toys BACK in their basket when I ask him to! Sure, he often picks up the basket and dumps them back out, but then he puts them back in!

This is all pretty much in one week! I can't believe how fast things change; once he's picked up some momentum, this boy is unstoppable.

Happy Dance

Zephyr said a perfect "yeah" today, and in context and everything. But it was followed by his string of percussive mono-and disyllabic babymumbles, "op. ep. uh-da," so I don't know that it was intentional. He pauses for effect between each word, looking at me, then at the blue cup in his hands.

Today he also danced for the first time, and bless his heart, it was because he was so rapt with joy at the taste of the oatmeal with cinnamon and pears I cooked for him. He had been eating his usual "Mommy doesn't know what to give you, Bubbie" dinner of reheated salmon, sweet potatoes and greens (frozen cubes for the win), and as usual, about midway through dinner he just starts cramming handfuls of food into his eye sockets and nostrils as he rubbed his sleepy eyes and runny nose (I should probably start giving him dinner earlier, but it was only 5:15). Then he started wailing pitifully, reaching out for me. I suffered the flakes of salmon down my shirt and smears of starchy, orange goo in my hair to comfort my sweet baby, and he instantly cheered right up and began chatting at us.

"That's an order!" - Booshie McBossman

He hadn't eaten much of his dinner, and I knew he'd be hungry again soon, so I squatted down to his level and fed him bites of dinner with my fingers. He ate it all up, so I gave him some of the oatmeal that I cooked for his breakfast tomorrow, and he loved it! I passed the pot with the wooden spoon sticking out of it to Scott and Zephyr yanked the spoon out of his hand and just started chomping down, doing that little bouncy happy dance that babies do, holding onto the chair for support. He ate a lot of oatmeal like that, dancing and singing happy syllables to himself and to us.

Last Sunday we got some cheeseburgers from Burgerville. Okay, we got ten of them. They were those tiny kind that they put in kids' meals, and they were having a deal (10 for $10) and I can never resist! Plus they're really tasty and local and guilt-free and all that, so don't look at me like that. I took one of the buns off one and cut it into little bites so Zephyr could have cheeseburgers like Mommy and Daddy (but without all the extra white bread and ketchup), and he was shoveling bites into his mouth happily, until he stopped, let out a little cry, and then started pulling the food out of his mouth with his fingers. He had tears streaming down his cheeks, but then he'd put another bite into his mouth. Then he'd whine and wimper again and pull it out, crying. We couldn't figure out what the hell was going on! Then I realized I'd cut his burger on the same cutting board where I'd cut up a hot red chili just minutes earlier. I tasted one of his bites to check. Spicy. Tongue-biting spicy. Poor baby! Luckily we still had like 5 or 6 cheeseburgers in the bag so I just cut up another one for him and we were all smiles all over again.

You see this face he's making? he does this a lot lately. It reminds me of the face our cat Wumpy makes when he smells something good and stinky. I can't tell if he's being funny or stretching out his gums or what. He does it every night at bedtime, too, it's the strangest thing. When I finish singing my lullabies to him and we turn on the iPod with the Radiohead lullaby music, he makes this exact face at the light of the iPod. Maybe he's practicing his best ballad-singing face for when he becomes a rock star. For now, though, it's just fun to watch him trying new things, faces included. He changes so much every day.

Mr. Snuffleupagus

You hafta admit, the resemblance is uncanny.

I tried in vain to get Zephyr to hold still and smile for my camera yesterday, but ended up with just a few shots of him glaring at the camera, nonplussed. In these photos he also looks remarkably like the men of my family. I can see my dad in this contemplative face, and my grandfather Edward. Very stern and serious men, they were, even in boyhood.

My father Donald, at age 12

Zephyr had just woken from a long nap in these photos yesterday, and was on the precipice of the cold he woke up with this morning. He's a sniffly Snuffy.


Zephyr still only has two teeth. I know of only one other baby close to his age that has this few teeth! There are so many foods that I want to give him, but he just can't gum through everything. He really prefers to feed himself, and I'm getting tired of giving him chunks of cooked carrot or squash all the time just because I'm afraid he'll choke.

Today we were reading My Mother is Mine, and I got to the page, "my mother feeds me." I suddenly realized I hadn't given him lunch yet! Out of desperation, I gave him a handful of cooked carrots, a Wasa Crispbread and a thin slice of olive loaf from Edelweiss (another vestige of my childhood - my grandma Laverne used to feed it to me on Wonder bread, or sometimes Braunschweiger, or sometimes pimento loaf). He gummed the cracker a bit, and pawed at the carrots, but he greedily ate up the olive loaf like a good little German boy. The sodium isn't great for him, but the iron is.

Zephyr looks amazing in autumn colors, doesn't he? I think so. If you really want to have your breath taken, click the photo and look at his eyes, which upon my hope of hopes are staying olive-gray with bronze-brown nebulae centers.

Every day I am a little more embarrassed about how cliché I am, with all the Motherly Love, and every day it gets a little deeper. I hear this is only the beginning. I'm totally okay with that.

Duck Duck Goose

We took Zephyr for a little stroll at the rhododendron gardens last weekend. It was a brisk-yet-beautiful late summer day, just cool enough in the late morning to warrant a light jacket. The garden has free admission until March, but some of the rhodies are still blooming (and the anemones are gorgeous this time of year). The ducks still mesmerize the boy - maybe he'll take after his mother and ride his childhood bike down here to study and sketch, to fantasize about being the next best ornithologist since John Audubon.


It didn't take long at all before Zephyr was starting to wind down. In fact, he was nearly immediately ready for his afternoon nap.

Not a lot new this week. He's still cruising around in an upright fashion, and I've had to start putting things away. First, the collection of seashell souvenirs from our honeymoon. Next will likely be the large cow skull on the coffee table. My favorite aspect of his still-unfolding personality is his new growling, but his joyful squeals are still pretty good.

Prince Charmling

These top two photos were taken one day apart, but he looks so much older to me in the second one. Blows my mind. They really do grow up so fast!

I don't even know where to begin. I guess first, with an apology for not updating last week. There was so much happening (and yet, not), and I guess I got a little behind. The main update from last week is that the results of his 9 month checkup were that he is awesome and amazing, and though he is leaning out (coming in at the 85% centile for weight), he is still growing longer and taller (97% centile for height).

He's eating three solid meals a day now and smacks his lips and says "mmm", which is very reassuring to me. He is obsessed with Scott, and says "dada" (but not necessarily intentionally). The closest he's come to calling for me is saying "muh." Coupled with a newfound penchant for growling like an actual little monster, we have quite the little charmling on our hands.

But all of that is really neither here nor there. This, THIS is the real trouble we're in:


Oh dear god, help us all.

Fluffer Nutter

Here's Zephyr an hour before surgery last Wednesday, giving the proverbial thumbs-up, being a strong little trooper at the hospital and charming the shit out of everyone. His surgery went well, and he's recovering nicely. I even held it together, only crying a little, and only once. It wasn't even over Zephyr per se, it was over some little boy being pushed on a gurney to or from surgery. The little boy was really scared and was just wailing. It just really hit a nerve and I had to duck into the waiting room kitchen for a tissue.

Rather, when Zephyr woke up from his sedation in the recovery room, I heard him crying from down the hall and went into Mother Bear mode, all raw adrenaline, and ran to him, undoing my shirt on the way. It felt amazing to be the thing he needed, to hold him and make him feel safe and loved. The nurse in the recovery room tried to cover me up to give me privacy, but coming off the heels of Big Latch On (in which we participated) I righteously shrugged off the blanket and insisted that more people should see a mother nursing her infant. The other mothers (their personal feelings on public breastfeeding notwithstanding) didn't notice, though, because they were too busy staring love at their own cubs.

But that's all done now, and he's healing up quite nicely. Now he can get back to the unfortunate business of cutting his two upper incisors. These ones are really fucking him in the head - for the first time, today he pulled away from the breast mid-nurse just to arch and sob. Not even cherry-flavored codeine could chase this pain, and it took sheer exhaustion (ours and his) to get him to nap for more than 20 minutes today. Adding insult to injury, this nap came at 3:30pm, so I had to wake him up after only an hour and a half so we could still get him to bed on time.

Good news, though: Zephyr has just learned that pressing his face against the mesh of his pack 'n play a) feels interesting and b) gets major laughs. He likes getting laughs. Since he can't hang out in his exersaucer while his nuts recover from being helped into their new location, he's been spending a little more time in his little pen. Or as I like to think of it: "Baby's First Prizzin!" Scott said he even saw Zephyr running his little cup along the mesh, like a prisoner running a rusty tin cup across the bars of a jail cell.

He got to spend a little time hanging out with his cousins Logan, Ellie and Charlotte over the weekend last week, which he loved. He absolutely adores them, for obvious reasons: they are hilarious and completely rapt with him, and this is a winning combination in his book.

To top things off, his Grandma was in town. It's been so great having her around this week - not for the help, necessarily, but because she is in love with Zephyr, and he with her.

Oh, his new trick of the week: demonstrative word recognition (is that a thing)? Besides "mommy" or "dada," that is. We've been seeing quite a few squirrels outside our window since I refilled the bird feeder. These are basically smaller versions of our cats, as far as he's concerned, and he screams with excitement when he sees them. New trick: we were reading I Am a Bunny and got to the page that shows the squirrels in their tree with the acorns and all that, and I said, "look! there's a squirrel!" to Zephyr, and he looked up and out the window at the tree where the squirrels normally hang out. It blows my mind that he's already absorbing information - my work is just beginning.

He has had such a great week overall. Plus, his nuts are finally in their proper place, so there's that.

Yay!

Wazzberries

Wazzberries (wāz'běr'ēz) n. the soft sound of a baby blowing a zephyr through his lips and tongue; "blfblfbbltlfbltfblt." Not to be confused with raspberries, the small, aggregate fruits that a Zephyr enjoys eating directly from neighborhood bushes whilst on strolls to the store.

So, it's been kind of a helluva week. Of course, it was the dreaded 4th of July last weekend, and I think any but the most redneck parent of an infant or small child curses Independence Day with fist aclench and brow afurrow. Zephyr did okay, I guess, all things considered. As usual, we kept his room pitch dark (but for a night light) and kept two loud, cool fans running to lull him into white noise oblivion. But a few epic booms from illegal fireworks (likely purchased from the 'Couve, Portland's armpit neighbor to the north) finally took their toll, and he was up at 11:00, crying, needing to be nursed back to sleep.

And then, as he has done every night for the past week, he woke up again at 3:00am. We thought those days were behind us. We were out of the woods! But, no.

Every night for a week, Zephyr has woken up once, sometimes twice, unable to put himself back to sleep. It varied - sometimes 4:00, then 3:00, 2:30, 5:00. Sometimes he'd wake only two or three hours after being put to bed. Last night he went back to sleeping straight through to 6:00, but who knows what tonight holds in store?

He's also been a bit of a grumpus the past week or so. Granted, this is Zephyr's version of grumpin', so it means he frowns and says "buhbuhbuh", not that he's throwing tantrums or anything. But lately, unless we actively distract him by singing or playing, he will cry actual hair-wetting tears almost every time we try to change his diaper or get him into a sleep sack for bed. I can't figure out what's going on with him that makes him this upset. So we just keep singing and goofing at him to distract.

We have, though, figured out that "buhbuhbuh" is his frustration/pissed off word, as it is always accompanied by a scowl (I like to think he's sounding out the word "bitch"). Other words: "dwadwadwa" (happy, excited, interested) or "blftlbltfbbttltft" (wazzberries of contentment). And this morning he finished one breast, said "moh" (more?) and then moved to the other breast to keep eating.

I think he's going to have teeth any day now, for real this time. He gnaws anything that drifts into his field of vision, and I can actually see the bumps under the gums. So, any day. This will be exciting for his diet, too, since he has recently developed the pincer-like grasp that separates him from the other primates! He can grab blueberries and get them to his mouth, and other finger foods will follow his ability to chew them.

His new favorite foods are pretty much anything that we eat, undumbed, but chopped up for his tiny craw. He loves my minestrone, and grits with blue cheese and corn, and I made him some tomato-roasted red pepper soup with tiny star-shaped pastina, and it tastes exactly like Spaghettios. On these hot days, he really loves shoving a whole wedge of cold watermelon into his mouth and gumming the rind while sucking the sweet juice. I also made him a smoothie by blending strawberries with frozen breast milk, and he really seemed to enjoy that.

Here's Zephyr hanging out with his towheaded friend Zane at the Stanley's raspberry party. Hopefully when they're a bit older they'll form a supergroup of z-named kids and will take over the playground.

I live in a hollow tree

Look who's sitting all by himself! And I couldn't help it, I had to pixellate out his junk. It totally cracks me up.

We've had a bit of warmer weather, followed by another wee cool spell. On the warm days, I like to just put a towel down and let Zephyr hang out in the buff, as is his birthright. But after he pees on me I usually get his little nekkid butt into a diaper again.

On cooler days, we like to stay in most of the day, helping Zephyr look at the world from a different perspective. He loves being upside-down now, or sometimes he'll cock his head to the side to see how things look sideways. Sometimes when he's upside-down I'll take the opportunity to snorgle his tiny chin, and this makes him squeal and laugh like a little pixie, the way it ought to.

I have such a soft spot for I am a Bunny because I had (and loved) it when I was a little girl. My beloved grandma Laverne used to read it to me. Whenever I buy books for Zephyr that I had as a child, I get a little extra nostalgic and misty, and write him a little inscription that makes me think of his future and this always makes me lose it, and I cry like a ninny. I've been making little notes to him in his Richard Scarry's Best Storybook Ever! that I hope he'll enjoy one day. On the page that shows different careers, I'm going to draw a girl bunny that is a biologist wearing her field vest and rubber boots.

Hey, look at him go, cramming some leaf or another into his mouth.

Still fresh on the heels of the raccoon shit brain-eating roundworm paranoia (particularly now that zomg, I personally KNOW SOMEONE who heard about a kid in her hometown THAT DIED FROM EATING RACCOON POOP!!! I decided he can eat some raw arugula straight from the garden instead of grass and clover. I was sure that it would be too peppery and that it'd staunch his desire to cram all the grassy stuff into his mouth. But whaddayaknow, he loves it!

...or does he?

Juneuary

It's the end of June, yet look how bundled I have to keep Zephyr. And the heat's still on! It's been such a cold spring this year. We've broken several records for precipitation and low temperatures. I guess I don't mind that much - it's easier to bundle Zephyr up in cozy layers than to cool him off, and his room is nice and dark and cool for blissful slumber. My tomato plants are hating it, but I can't say I really care. The rain doesn't keep us indoors, not one whit.

Just because I have a baby now doesn't mean I love children. I still sort of find most of them annoying, especially the little girl across the street. She's about 5 or so, and always hollering or crying or singing in that nasal Little Orphan Annie voice. The world is her stage, god help us all. But a long as it keeps raining, the insufferable Little Princess of Darkness stays indoors.

Anyways, this post is very late because we had our hands full with planning Scott's birthday pig roast (plus I had a lot of work-work to do last week, boo). And to celebrate his first Father's Day, I did (almost) all of the chores and party cleanup the following day. Three days of prep, one day of go-time, and one day of cleanup, and I'm just tired. But Zephyr performed admirable at his first shindig - he played happily with his baby friends, made a nekkid appearance (while I paraded him around, holding him over my head yelling, "blood for the blood god!") and then went right to sleep at bedtime.

You're probably thinking, "god, does that baby ever make any other face?" The answer is no, no he doesn't. Oh wait, here's a different one (though he was in the middle of getting his grin ready, and not really screwing his face up in a frump).

I have come out to play, and I'm here to stay

Last Saturday was gorgeous. I got some long-overdue yard work done, including mowing the lawn with our rusty, old reel mower ("Sally"). In these complicated times, I find it really satisfying to do some things the old-fashioned way, and the hard-earned whirr of a good, old push-mower hearkens back to simpler times.

Once the yard was cleaned up and the sun was safely behind the maple tree, I brought Zephyr out on a blanket to enjoy some fresh air. He was at the edge of the blanket and immediately began to stuff handfuls of freshly-mown lawn (ahem, weeds) into his eager baby maw. I wouldn't really mind, since everything growing back there is technically edible, but I've watched one too many episodes of Monsters Inside Me and am terrified of Zeph ingesting those brain-eating roundworms that live in raccoon feces. You think I'm being paranoid, but one end of our little pond is actually a midden site for the neighborhood raccoons (I've seen the scat!), and I stupidly watched that whole episode twice (for fuck's sake, it infected a baby boy!) and goddammit some things you just can't unsee. Unfortunately, Scott and I were too busy tag-teaming Operation No, Boosh, No to get a photo, but I have a feeling this won't be the last time we scramble to pull something horrible out of his mouth.

Hey, it turns out that Zephyr is a huge Simon and Garfunkel fan. He is awesome at singing along, and damn, this kid has some motherfucking soul. Here he is singing with all his gusto:



...and here's some general goofing-off and merriment with his old man. If you listen carefully, you can hear him telling his "joke" (the part where he emits a high-pitched gurgle). He always busts this out for a laugh.




And for those keeping score, yes, his pooping is completely back to normal.