Happy Birthday to Grandpa

Benjamin Bug and his Grandpa B. on Grandpa's birthday.

Happy Mother's Day!

The Bug on Mother's Day. (Which also happened to be the day before Steve's and my one-year anniversary. Shocking.)

The Cheerios Stage

We have entered the Cheerios stage. Cheerios for snacks. Cheerios to stop the crying. Cheerios to keep him from getting bored. Ten Cheerios stuffed into his chipmunk cheeks at once. Cheerios stuck up and down his arms (which we call the "Cheerios Pox"). Cheerios all over his high chair. Cheerios attached to his backside when you pick him up out of his high chair. Cheerios melting on the floor. Cheerios at the bottom of my purse. Cheerios in his bed. Cheerios in our bed. Cheerios in the car. Cheerios mixed in with the cat food. Cheerios, Cheerios, Cheerios.

The First Hair Cut

So, I finally agreed to let Steve let Micki cut the Bug's hair, but I made the mistake of letting them go off alone on the big adventure. Steve came home really excited about how well Ben had behaved, how happy he'd been sitting in his green Bumbo chair, chewing on a bottle top while Micki's scissors flashed around his head.

Steve came home excited; I practically cried.

I mean, they cut off all his hair!! I was totally unprepared. I figured a little trim to let his ears show. . . but no. All hair, gone.

Steve keeps trying to point out to me that it will grow back, but my heart is still broken.

But I guess the Bug is still kinda cute. And now that he has gotten his hair cut by his dad's stylist and they have the exact same do, they look totally identical, which is kinda cute too. . .

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Party Tricks: Getting Smarter

It's sort of odd, after the first few months of imprinting on this kid as a being which cannot communicate and which doesn't have a lot of opinions on how is world is run, to register that his current babble, current movements, current actions actually have a lot more purpose to them. Especially since there's no big sign from on high, or even from the little creature down low to acknowledge that whatever the Bug has just done is really the conscious action of an aware human.

He has twice now -- a month ago and two weeks ago -- waved and said quite clearly, "bye bye." Twice in a month. At neither time did he look at me and smile like he knew he'd just accomplished a big thing. And he's never repeated the action when I try to get him to.

It's enough to make you think it was a coincidence.

But there are signs that there's really stuff going on in his head beyond being excited to pet kitties or being sad when he hits his head. (Which he has done three times today already. Learning to stand is HARD, I tell you.)

There is a turtle music box in his crib, which has three buttons. One to turn on the lights and make little fishies dance around. One to make ocean noises. One to play a variety of songs. He bangs and bangs away on that song button, changing the song every few moments between "Baa Baa Black Sheep" and others that are more classical. Unlike every other kids' music toy I have ever heard, the turtle sounds pleasant, almost like an organ playing.

This morning -- as he banged away after he woke up, and I lay in bed with the pillow over my head, hoping that the music would keep him entertained until a suitable hour -- I realized that he wasn't just hitting the button randomly. He'd hit it to switch over from "Baa Baa Black Sheep." He'd hit it to switch over from "Fur Elise." But he'd stop every time when he got to one particular song, which he listened to in its entirety.

He wasn't just banging. He was fast-forwarding to his favorite tune. Over and over.

I said to Steve: "I think he's actually hitting the button until he finds the one song he likes."

"Of course," said Steve. "He always stops on Blue Danube. That's my favorite, too."

Of course, my husband says. I mean, PLEASE. I was supposed to figure this out? The kid doesn't know to be excited when he says "bye bye," but he knows what he likes in music?

Teeth

 

Look, a tooth! (If you click on the photo to enlarge it and then look very very closely. . . )

His favorite thing to do with it is bite on furniture.