Anselm, Anselm, Anselm.
How can I describe this little man who is now three-quarters of the way through his first year? He is a one sweet, silly, crafty little bird.
He started waving and clapping this month, but only after I quietly confided in Jeremy that I was a little concerned that he wasn’t waving or clapping or shaking his head (like Clive loved to at this age) or anything yet. Of course, the next day he started doing it. At first he only cared to wave at the pictures of Ephraim and Clive I have hanging over his changing table. I would wave and wave and wave at him, only to receive a blank stare in return. Then I would lay him down to change him, and he’d immediately start in on the waves. “Oh hey, guys! Long time no see! Look what I can do!” Little Stink.
Now he will wave at family members and occasionally Other People, but only after the Other People have been trying to get him to wave for at least five minutes and have given up and turned away.
Once he started waving, he started in with something that sounded suspiciously like “night-night”, which I figured was a fluke, until I picked him up from his high chair one day to take him upstairs for his nap, and he waved and said it very purposefully: “Ni-ni.” So okay, first word, maybe? Probably? I’m going to go ahead and count that one.
He also smiled and said “ma-ma” quite clearly one morning when I went to get him out of his crib. Just that–ma-ma–nothing else, no extra syllables, no babbling. So okay, second word, maybe? Probably? Probably not? I’m going to count that one too. No one can stop me.
He’s still pleasantly immobile. Just like his brothers at this age, he doesn’t even really care to roll over. He does, however, bring his knees up and shake his backside back and forth when he’s lying on the floor. It could be the first step towards crawling, or it could be his first attempt at a Zumba move, which would really be something to put in the baby book. Time will tell, I suppose. In the meantime, I’m enjoying being able to put him down somewhere and come back later to find him in the exact same spot. I’ll be missing that in a few months, I’m sure.
He’s decided he likes the cat. This is good because she is still obsessed with him and it was getting kind of awkward.
Family preference goes like this:
(This list is created by observing how long he does his happy-flappy arms when he sees someone.)
I haven’t noticed much stranger anxiety yet–he is still mostly cordial with the people he meets–but he has officially entered that stage where he realizes you’re leaving when you walk away, and he is generally Not Happy About It.
He’s following Ephraim’s lead in his penchant for babbling, loving to spend his happy times making happy sounds, n, m, b, p, g, d sounds, and happy growling, over and over again. When he is unhappy, he does all of the above, only in a most ornery and unpleasant manner that Mama and Daddy look at each other and wonder aloud if the other two boys were this vocally churlish at this age.
This phenomenon is chiefly experienced about the hour of 5:55 p.m., at which time Anselm turns into a pumpkin and is not amused by anything that doesn’t look like bedtime.
Crafty little bird.