Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
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M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
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Monday, January 24, 2005 Progress Report Things that M. Tiny can do that he couldn’t do when we brought him home nearly three months ago: 1. Eat two ounces of formula in one meal without complaint. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t supposed to leave the hospital until he’d had two ounces at every meal for three days in a row. However, they released him when the number of meals in a row during which he’d eaten two ounces was zero. Sure, we could have said no, but we wanted him home, and we figured we could manage. Mealtimes were a little stressful for that first week home, needless to say. Now he eats two ounces before his first burp. And another two after that. And, usually, another two after that. After that, all bets are off. 2. Move. Of course he could move before, but it was all totally random flailing, and even that didn’t happen very often. Now his flailing seems to have a purpose, although what that purpose might be escapes us almost entirely. Unless it’s to thump himself in the noggin, in which case he succeeds several times a day. He waves his hands, especially his right one. He gropes for toys dangled within his reach. He does the air-Stairmaster on his back. He tries (unsuccessfully) to step in his poopy diaper, or (unsuccessfully) to kick it onto the floor so it lands poopy-side down, or (successfully) to kick the new one out of position when we’re trying to tape him into it. Which brings us to: 3. Get what he wants. One of his favorite things is bath time. He has somehow figured out that befouling himself will get him dunked in a nice warm tub toot-sweet. So he pees. And then Trash changes his diaper. So then he poops. Trash changes his diaper. While that’s happening, he poops some more. And also more peeing. All while flailing around on the changing table like a Solid gold dancer. And Trash is trying her best to keep everything contained, she’s got a cloth over his dong and a pad under his exit hatch, and trying to maintain containment but there’s too much going on, but at least he’s got to be empty by now and she puts her hand on his belly to steady him on the table while she looks away for a second and when she looks back he’s somehow lying in a puddle that’s soaked him all the way up to the back of his head. So, bath time now. For the fourth day in a row. By the way, I wasn’t more help with this because of: 4. Sleep in a crib. Yes, the little bassinet that he barely took up ten percent of back on Halloween weekend has somehow shrunk to only twice his size. Have to check the warranty on that. So yesterday I hauled the crib up from the basement and got to work putting the pieces together. Assembling a crib is one of those comedy touchstones that I assume I don’t have to waste a lot of time paying lip service to, but I will say that given the fact that this is a crib that was passed down to us by Deniece’s parents and it didn’t come with instructions, I was glad that I’d set aside a whole afternoon for the task. I only wish I knew what all those extra nuts and bolts and springs are supposed to be for. And holding up four segments of frame at the same time while simultaneously installing the mattress springs didn't leave me with many hands free to help Trash with a wiggling baby who was coming at her with every weapon in his scatological arsenal. And of course there was the break I took in the middle of it to help with the bath (see #3). Once that was finished, and I'd tested it by jumping up and down on the crib mattress, it was time to attach all of the mobiles and crib toys and rail-hanging audiovisual gewgaws that we've been holding in reserve. He'd fallen asleep on the changing table while Trash was re-dressing him (again). Then he napped in his vibrating chair while we set up his new crib. Then we put him in it and waited for him to wake up. If you ever want to see a three-month-old make a "what the fuck?" face, that's the way to do it. We figured it was time to let him graduate from the bassinet, because the crib seems more appropriate for a baby who can: 5. Lift his head and shoulders. This just happened this past week. On the changing table, as a matter of fact (he spends a lot of his waking hours there). We were doing "tummy time," which he hates. He'd really much rather be on his back, which is a powerful incentive for him to figure out how to roll over. Usually he just bitches and wiggles until one of us helps him out. But this time, for some reason, he lifted himself up on his hands an elbows and looked at us with a totally horizontal gaze. It was awesome. And he seemed to think so too, because he stayed that way for about five minutes. I think he's figured out that it’s the key to rolling over, so he's practicing it a lot now. All of which is great, and exciting, and we're happy, and happy for him. But of course it just demonstrates that we've begun the countdown to when putting him down is going to be followed by a lot less sitting down next to him and a lot more chasing. Today's best search phrase: "M how far would you have gotten if I hadn't called you back 3." I'm sure there's a great story behind that and all, but I have to say that I'm glad they went with "MP3" instead. Much catchier. posted by M. Giant 8:21 PM 5 comments 5 Comments:
Oh, good Lord. I remember when the Little Prince was still at that stage.
By My gf has three nephews, aged 4, 2 and seven months, so by default, I have three nephews as well. We've all been lamenting the fact that, with the seven-month-old, "the fun is almost over." He's wiggly when you hold him, he rolls around on the floor, and you can tell it's just a matter of time before putting him on the floor and looking at the computer screen for more than 5 minutes will result in a panicked flight-of-the-bumblebee routine through the house trying to locate him.
By
I too have experienced the stuggle with crib construction--and that was WITH directions.
By PICTURES! We want pictures! You can't tease us like that and not provide photographic proof.
By You're not fooling me, M. Giant! M. Tiny's ALWAYS gotten what he wanted from you and Trash.
By 
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