scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

26.12.07

twelve weeks

You've decided standing up is your favorite thing ever. Ever. Standing up, and also chewing on both fists at once. At the same time, if possible. So at the last doctors' appointment you were a higher percentile for weight than for length (do we call it height, yet, when you can't stand up on your own? At what point do your dimensions change?) i think there's some muscle in there under the delicious little jelly rolls, because while you're at the upper limit of what it says on the diaper cover, kilograms-wise, you're only on the middle snap. So apparently your legs are skinnier than they look? (You just wiggled your finger. That's wonderful!)

But you have this great gaping toothless grin, it takes up your entire little head like Pac-man - and it comes on when we stand you up, and you have a hoarse sort of bark of laughter, or maybe a caw. It's very staccato and sounds almost like you're crying, except that you're happy. Incongruous. Baby P, your one-year-old friend, has a similar sort of noise come out of him - he sounds like he's already well past puberty, this deep, deep baritone. It's funny hearing him cry, and his few words, because this noise can't be coming from that pretty little boy with the angel hair - but there it is. And your laughing squall, well. (They're so perky, I love that.)

And you watch us when we do stuff, and you like being in your little blue kicky chair. A few times, you even took a nap in it. You're getting better at grabbing stuff and bringing it, not always to your mouth, but towards your face. You chew on your bottom lip, and when you cough, you stick out your tongue, long and pointy, like Gene Simmons. And, here, i'll take dictation: gah nnnngggg meh. nuuuuu ah ah ah um humm niiiii weh. moooooh. But every time we turn on the video camera you go all silent and staring. (Hello, lady.)

We're doing pretty well with the crib, too, on the whole. Last night you slept for an astonishingly long amount of time that i'm a little ashamed to post, as if it'll jinx it. You went to sleep (finally, after much coaxing) around eleven or maybe a little before - you do take forever to go to sleep. But then M took the dogs out in the morning and you hadn't woken up, and when he came back, you hadn't woken up, and quite a bit later, you did, finally. It was lovely, even if you were completely soaked through two diapers and one cover and the overalls and the sleep sack, we needed to do laundry today anyway. Nine. You woke up a bit after nine. Twelve weeks old and sleeping for ten hours straight. I am the luckiest mama in the world. But in a month there is Moxie's Four Month Sleep Shakeup: so i'm just going to appreciate this for now, since it probably won't last. (Good night, mama. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.)

You're also wearing, right now, size six-month fleecey off-white pants. Fairly warm. Nice and soft. And we're almost out of onesies, apparently: when you grow out of these you're all done, so you've only got another month or two, max. Unless, i suppose, you take up figure skating or gymnastics - but don't get your heart set on gymnastics, honey, you haven't got the genes for it. Gymnastics is for small, flat-chested people, and the likelihood of that being your future is something I guess you'll have to take your own chances on. You make eye contact, and smile, and coo, and they say if you can do that before you're three months old - a deadline you're well under - you can grow up and do anything. So, sweetheart, you can be whatever you want when you grow up. (Have fun storming the castle.)

The sleep sacks have labels that suggest they will fit up to a nine month old baby. But they are wrong: your little toes already reach the bottom. They will fit you, i think, i hope, through the end of winter, and then you won't need them until it gets cold again. At which point you can have a proper blanket, i think. (As you wish.)

Labels: baby, milestones

scrawled @ 17:17