Anselm was three months yesterday. This post is late because I didn’t realize until last night around 8:30 that yesterday, not today, was the 7th.

I’m already all confused trying to translate our routine to Central Time. I have no idea what day it is. (Well, now I do.)

Mr. Anselm is busy doing what three-month-olds do best: cooing, eating, sleeping, waving his arms about, and messing his diaper.

He’s taken a serious turn for cute.

As of a couple of weeks ago he was just a few ounces shy of doubling his birth weight. I’d say he’s probably here by now. (It’s not too hard to do when you’re a six-pounder at birth.)

He really loves his People (Mama, Daddy, Brothers, and the other family he’s gotten to know on his third trip to KY) is somewhat weirded out by the cat (she has no concept of personal space) and will soon embark on his fourth road trip to Florida, where he will meet more of his People.

He is beyond fascinated with his right hand, and is working on sucking his thumb. Either one will do. But that right hand…it’s something else.

 

He’s determined to get up and move. He’s been straining to sit up in his bouncy seat for the past month. two weeks ago I caught him trying to roll from his back to his belly. For the sake of comparison, I might share that Ephraim didn’t really roll from back to belly until he was seven or eight months old, and that’s only because I bribed him with bananas. (And yes I’m planning on telling that to any future girlfriends.) I don’t even need to mention Clive. Suffice to say that I’m very ill prepared for an early mover.

 

Happy Three Months, Anselm. You stop trying to get up and walk, and I’ll try to remember what day it is next month. Deal?