a boy and his granmaggie
seven months (ephraim aleksandr)
Likes: squeaky sounds, sitting up, the inchworm, jumping, peaches, bilabial phonemes, raspberries (the kind you make with your lips, not the kind you eat), laughing at nothing in particular, people, cauliflower, other babies, Daddy’s beard, the kitties, talking, talking, talking, and that new weird squishy face we’ve suddenly learned to make, pattycake, peek-a-boo.
Dislikes: sweet potatoes, being left alone (unless he’s in his crib), lying down to play for more than a few minutes, Mommy saying “no”, being sleepy, teething.
Nicknames: Remy, Ephraim, Fatman, Remy-Lou.
Our favorite.
oldies
Going back in time, a little, to a day when Remy still had dark hair, muddy eyes, and barely fit his 3-6 sleepers.
(April 24th – 2.5 months old)
Speaking of 3-6 sleepers, I have had to pack almost all of them up–the feet only reach to just below his knees.
Grow, Remy, grow!
a year ago, today
Dear Remy,
A year ago, today, I had a doctor’s appointment. It was a scary day for me, because I’d never been to a baby doctor before without getting bad news.
But guess what? We got good news. In fact, we got great news. You had a heartbeat. We saw it on the screen, flitting away, and your Daddy and I cried. Then you did a wiggle dance, and we laughed. You were holding your hands together, and the doctor took a picture for us.
You were a teeny tiny little bean, and I decided to call you Beetle-Bug until I knew which name you would have. That’s why I still call you that, sometimes, though I prefer Tatey-Bug just a little more.
We went to a little sandwich shop to celebrate seeing you, then later that night we went to a football game, and we were so excited that we could finally tell everybody our good news. And people were happy with us, because they knew how very special and wanted you were.
I carried that little picture of you around with me everywhere, until you got a little bigger, and I got a better one. š
Today, you’re almost seven months old. You like jumping and sitting up and giggling at the cats. You still like to hold your hands together, sometimes. You’re learning to feed yourself fruits and veggies, though you’d really prefer to just have fruit. And all of a sudden you’ve developed a “poop face”. I know you’re going to kill me for saying so, but you have. And it’s hilarious. Someday I’ll get it on video, and you can see it.
I love you bunches, Beetle-Bug.
Mommy
oh, they are friends.
<3
the sorrows and joys of teething
Hi, Remy. It’s your mother.
You’re six months old–almost seven. And boy, are your teeth bothering you.
And they’ve been bothering you off and on for a while, now. Like, oh, two months? Three months?
Six, almost seven months?
I feel for you. I really do. Not that I remember getting my teeth in. But I remember having my braces tightened. And man, did that ever hurt.
It’s OK if you gnaw on my shoulder.
Biting while nursing is not acceptable.
Feel free to stick my fingers in your mouth. I’ll keep them clean for you.
Do you think you could find another way to tell me you’re tired and cranky and teeth-y, rather than shrieking like some sort of demented banshee? I would appreciate it.
Oh, and while I hope your teeth leave you alone ASAP, I hope that doesn’t mean your newfound love of rocking in the rocking chair will suddenly disappear.
Mommy sure likes that new leaf you’ve turned. š
latent.
a different kind of Tatey Time.
inchworm
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