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.

Indian Summer

After a brief flirtation with fall-like weather, we are back to warmer days. And after a two-month stint with sleep regression, we are back to good old-fashioned, 12 straight hours, through-the-night sleeping. It started on Monday night with 13 straight hours. Scott actually went an woke him up at 7:30 so we could keep on schedule for his morning nap. I woke with my breasts as hard and swollen as when they first made milk, dripping everywhere until I could nurse for relief.

Surely this was a fluke? Then, naptime at 9:00, he finished nursing and looked at me, murmured a few babymumbles, and he rolled over with his thumb and blankie the moment he hit the crib. He napped for 3 hours that morning, then again in the afternoon. And though his naps are not always that long, he has regained his record of sleeping all night long without needing a snack. From 8 months until 10 months, almost to the day, I was afraid that this wasn't just a phase, but then it was. Everything is.

He can say "mom," and "yum." He makes music with a rattle I made of a yogurt tub filled with dry beans. He shrieks with delight when we play peek-a-boo. He has discovered his penis. He eats dirt if we let him.

He is a perfect little boy.

He Has Hives

Plus he's (still, oh god! still) teething. Poor baby. He's had a fever, constant sleepiness (with lousy napping), night waking, itching-to-bleeding. We just give him lots of hugs right now, but it never seems like enough.

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.

Cruisin'

This is a boy on the go. Each new mobility achievement is unlocked nearly before my very eyes. This week: everything but walking. On Monday, on the forgiving grippiness of the library's flat weave carpet, he just started cross-crawling (the classic belly-off-the-floor, alternating hand-knee crawl as seen in the top photo).

This means that getting him to hold still for photos is pert near impossible anymore.

He also pulls himself to a kneeling position, warranting his crib's transition from new baby height to big boy bed height. We caught this just in the nick of time - he was probably moments away from launching himself out of the crib. He stands when placed near furniture for balance, and then proceeds in trying to climb said furniture.

He's still only got the two teeth, but this week's epic droolfest suggests that maybe, just maybe, teeth #3 and #4 will be making their debut soon. He still eats mostly mushed up stuff like these pureed carrots with cooked acorn squash from the garden, but I've been giving him more chunky stuff like flaked salmon, boneless anchovy fillets, berries and diced fresh peaches. His pincer grasp is accurate enough that he feeds himself for 75% of his meal. For messier stuff (like last night's elk chili), we still help him out by passing him a loaded spoon. And he eats. And eats. Like his mother, this kid eats like he has a tapeworm. (Disclaimer: he does not have a tapeworm.)

Now, our main feeding challenge is keeping enough food around. He's years away from being a teenager, and is already threatening to eat us out of house and home.