Finally, Chins is dropping back into the pack with respect to weight! At one week and nearly 10 lbs he was in the 95th percentile. At six months and 21 lbs, he was pushing the 97th percentile. Now, at one year and only 26 lbs, he is down in the far more normal 90th percentile. I mean, that's practically diminutive for someone who started out life with a head the size of a three-month-old's.
Sure, he wears 2T clothes and large diapers, but he's only gained 5 lbs in six months! He finally fits clothes for more than a week! This is very, very good.
You know, I fear it's presumptuous to think that anyone would want to hear what I think about anything. But if I didn't already have a flair for the narcissistic, I wouldn't have a blog, now would I?
I bring it up because I have recently doubled my presence on the innernets. Drumroll please...
I hesitated to upload this to YouTube, because YouTube videos with cats in them are a total 21st-century cliche. Ah well.
Anyway, our cat Tequila incessantly demanded constant attention from d.w. (without showing the slightest inclination to reciprocate) throughout the latter's pregnancy, and it is not much a stretch to say that d.w. hated her because of it. Yes, hated. With a passion and intensity only a pregnant woman can muster. Maybe that's why Chins showers Tequila (yes, an unfortunate name for a child's cat) with constant, vigorous attention, and why she always seems grateful for it.
Not that we were neglectful before, exactly, but come on. It's hard to lavish limitless attention on an annoying cat.
It does make me a little sad, though, that no matter how much he pulls her tail and how many clumps of fur he removes, she always comes back for more. I really think she needs to see a psychiatrist or something. Then again, she was a shelter cat, so who knows what kind of emotional baggage she's carrying with her.
If it takes being constantly molested by a baby to help her work through her kittenhood trauma, bully for her.
[Oh great, now every perv that googles "molest", "vigorous", "baby", and "tequila" will be directed immediately here. It really is a brave new world. -z.d.]
I had to share this one because it just makes me smile.
Chins loves taking walks in the stroller, which we do as often as daylight will allow. While we're walking down the street, he leans forward, raises his fists, and yells "Uruh! Uruh! Uruh! Uruh!"
I like living in a college town. Even Ames (or L'ames, as it is periodically derided) has an independent movie theater, two different coffee houses, and an omnipresent bearded homeless transvestite. Unfortunately, as a college town it also has its share of newly independent 18-year-olds with pickup trucks and delusions of invincibility, which came home to me on Saturday when d.w. was rear-ended while sitting at a stoplight:
Thankfully she was fine, although she's had lots of x-rays, a referral to a physical therapist, and some chiropractic visits as a result of nagging back pain. Chins was home with me at the time, awaiting Mama's triumphant return after hours working in the studio. Of course, we still had to shell out a few hundred bucks for a new carseat, but hopefully the guy's insurance company can reimburse us for that. We'll see — I'm not holding my breath.
But you know what the kicker is? This is the second time our little car has been run into by a pickup-driving teenager with delusions of invincibility in the two years since we bought it. And last time the car had all of about 500 miles on it.
We were thinking about turning Chins' carseat around to face forward after his birthday on Saturday, but now I think we'll leave it as is for awhile, even if his knees are practically under his chin...
My son used to be a baby. Now he's almost like a real person or something. Now he can stand up. Like, on his own and everything.
He also talks. Did I mention that? Did I mention that when he comes over to you he does this weird little proto-wave and says "Hi"? He can also walk. He may not know it yet, but oh yeah. He can. He just thinks too much. I'd like to tell him it's like hitting a baseball or driving a stick shift, that if you think too much you'll whiff it or stall, but I don't think he'd quite get the analogy.
Oh, and he has hair now. Long, curly, red wisps of it. No more bald baby jokes for this kid. No more denying that he has more hair than his old man.
And a week and a half from now he's going to be a year old. How the hell did that happen?
Chins is quite the avid reader. Or rather, Chins is quite the avid sitter of laps, turner of pages, and squealer of delight. We have stacks of board books now (although he has, for the most part, moved on from tasting everything in sight), residing in bins and baskets around the house and in the car. Reading books is the first thing the pint-size (well, quart-size anyway) bibliophile wants to do when he wakes up in the morning and the last thing he does before bed.
This, of course, means that d.w. and I are always reading to him. Hardly something to complain about, except when it's your 74th time through Pat the Bunny in half an hour. After a while he doesn't even care if you're reading to him. He just likes the cadence of turning the pages.
As a public service, I thought I would share the books that make the rounds most frequently at chez zygote. Some are Chins' favorites, some are ones I think are pretty awesome. Well, awesome for baby books, anyway.
Look, Look! by Linenthal. A favorite since Chins was only a few months old. Actually, I think this book was the first inanimate object he ever really noticed. Nothing but blocky illustrations in black, white, and red. Like baby crack, but without the batteries.
Ducks in Muck by Haskins and Petrone. A story of clueless rednecks, wetland conservation, animal liberation, and daring rescue, told in a total of 30 words. What it was really about didn't even register the first few times I read it. Brilliant.
I am a Bunny by Risom and Scarry. The story of Nicholas, a rabbit who spends his days lying in the sun watching birds, watching frogs in the pond, and chasing butterflies. Lucky bastard.
Counting with Wayne Thiebaud by Rubin. "One piece of pie, two ice cream clowns, three sandwich slices, three pickle rounds." How awesome is that? But I think I'll steer clear of the Mapplethorpe edition of Everybody Poops.
Bean, Bean's Games, Bean's Night, Bean Soup, Soup too? and Soup's Oops by Hines-Stephens and Hines. The epic story of Bean (a cat), Soup (a dog), and Baby (a baby). They have some adventures, make a little mischief, and all manage to quietly fall asleep together at regular intervals. Can my house have a little of that?
Goodnight Moon by Brown and Hurd. How can you not love this book? Other than the fact that the author lazily tries to rhyme "Goodnight, Moon" with "Goodnight, cow jumping over the Moon", this book is pretty much perfect. The way it builds to a crescendo, and then coasts to the end makes me want to fall asleep where I'm sitting, even as Chins assertively hands it back to me to read again.
I can't possibly list all the books we've been reading these days. I've been meaning to put together a Compendium of All Knowledge Related to the Rearing of Offspring for this here weblog. Maybe I'll review a few more there.
But right now, I'd better get my book reading hat on. I think Chins will be waking up from his nap any minute, and I have a feeling I know what he'll want to do...
