He used to be content with the living room. It had everything he wanted--couches to stand against, remote controls to lick, toys scattered upon the carpet, and usually a mommy with milk to spare. Now the living room is dull, dull, dull. He makes rounds throughout the kitchen, dining room and living room like he's doing laps. I see the floor lamp sway and know just where he is. Mostly my ears follow the SLAP, SLAP, SLAP sound of his hands beating a trial in front of him and I know he's fine. It's when he gets quiet that I jump up from my seat to see what trouble he's gotten himself into. Just now I stood up to see him happily gumming the dogs' rawhide chew. It's beef-basted. My little vegetarian is straying from the pack.
I'm exhausted by the end of each day. Paxton doesn't need a lot of interactive play time. He's very happy entertaining himself, which is nice. If only his idea of entertainment didn't include crawling toward everything that's a terrible danger to his safety. Our house is fairly baby-proofed. The only thing we really can't control is the residual effect of having five cats, two dogs and a bird as family members. Pet hair on his clothes is a fact of life. Bird poop on his knees shouldn't be. Ick. He loves the bird and Bartok encourages him like a wicked witch. "Come closer, my little pretty, come closer!". Cleaning the floor is one of the things I hate most in the world, but I have no choice now. If I don't want to lose my child in a tumbleweed of fur, I have to vacuum often.
I just looked up (since it was too quiet suddenly) and Paxton had gotten his diaper box out of the cabinet and was pulling the wet wipes, one by one, from the dispenser. It is second in joy-giving only to chewing on the teething tablets pill container.
This weekend, Chris, Pax and I went to Dallas for the King Tut exhibit at the Dallas Museum of Art. We stayed at Sarah's guest house in Sanger and it was heaven. Most of the house is carpeted with this lush, beautiful carpet. The furniture mainly consisted of an over-stuffed couch, loveseat and ottoman. The layout of the house was blissfully open. Paxton was in heaven. I want to go live in that house until Paxton is school-age. She even has grass in her yard. And sidewalks in the neighborhood. When we walked the dogs and Paxton last night, we almost got plowed down by a middle-aged man in a convertible on the one-land road we're forced to traverse.
New things our boy wonder is doing since the last post:
- He has mastered drinking from a straw. My mom is amazing. She teaches him things that I never would have thought of. She's currently trying to teach him to pick things up with his fingers in a pincher motion, using just his finger and thumb. The straw thing just blows my mind. He looks like such a grown-up when he leans in and takes a little sip from his cup. So cute!
- He stood unassisted on Sunday for the first time. He is great at standing and loves to do it, but he has always had to have the assistance of the couch or the dining room chair or Momm'ys shins. On Sunday evening, he just used his own muscle strength to stand in the middle of the room. Chris was in a zone, so he just watched calmly, while I looked up and saw the feat and dove toward him to catch him when he inevitably fell back and smacked his head on the t.v. console. He didn't fall quite so dramatically, but my sudden motion did cause him to fold to the floor.
- He has really mastered the 'screaming-at-the-top-of-his-lungs' technique of letting us know he's not ready to go to sleep. Chris feels that by momentarily ignoring this, we're scarring him for life, leading him to believe that he's been abandoned. I tend to tune it out and feel certain that he's going to realize that we're not falling for his wiley ways and just lay down for a restful sleep. I think the compromise we've reached is that we'll let him scream for no more than 15 minutes before we go in and check on him, letting him know that we still adore him.
- Thankfully, he also has discovered the joy in frequent laughter. He loves to laugh. He catches a glimpse of himself in the backseat mirror and just chuckles merrily. He also likes to share whatever he has. He takes a bite of his mum-mum and then holds it out to the bird or me or his reflection to enjoy a bite, as well. It's very sweet.
- On the flip side of the sharing coin, he also is angry as all get out when someone takes something from him. This is a new phase I'm not particularly enjoying. At the library, if a big kid takes a toy from him, he grabs it back ferociously, complete with angry growls. When I take a dangerous item from him, he shrieks and looks like he wants to deck me.
- He had a taste of all sorts of taboo foods this weekend. At a Mexican restaurant on Friday, he made a grab for a plate of beans and rice when I wasn't looking. He shoved fistfuls of beans and rice into his mouth. He loved it. Then on Saturday, he crawled over to me when I was eating a slice of pizza. I sort of jokingly let him nibble on the crust. Seeing my example, my brother-in-law, Craig, let him have a couple bites of his own crust. And to top it off, in the car on Sunday, I was sitting next to him, feeding him banana when he reached over to my lap and snagged a french fry, quickly shoving it into his mouth. The look of bliss he had matched my own every time I eat fries. I think it's hereditary. I realize that this menu doesn't reflect well on my own eating habits. But this was roadtrip food. I swear.
He's napping now and the cold weather is making me sleepy, too. I'm going to close before my eyes beat me to the punch. Until next time...
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