Nine months of constant vigilance (rest and relaxation? What do you mean by that?): A single, momentary look away could put him in jeopardy! Everything has become a choking hazard as things just always find their way into his mouth (Even his adorable baby foot poses a danger when he tries to take a bite of his toe). When the Little Crit has satisfied his insatiably curious palate, he would bang these things (including his foot) against my parents’ furniture and test the law of gravity by letting go and watching in fascination as the things fall to the ground. Our Baby Galileo. He then wails a big, loud “waaahwaaah” if we don’t return the things to him to drop once again. The things would usually be the baby bottle ring, or the baby bottle stand, or his shoe, or my round lip balm tin. He scoots around in his walker so fast now and we all have to huff and puff after him lest he bang his head on the corner table or decide to go down the stairs or pick up the rubbish on the overflowing trash bin. Even in his sleep, he squirms and wriggles and kicks and moves and shakes his baby booty, I have to keep one eye open in case he wriggles over me (yup, he’s big enough to do that) and falls to the floor. Maybe he dreams about Sophie le Girafe getting back at him.
Nine months of baby noises: giggles, coos, howls, screams, baby talk, phony coughs, burps, farts… and what rude, nasty farts they are…
Nine months of being manipulated by this pudgy little being. He’s like that battery-operated doll that reacts when its palm is pressed or when the body is shaken or when a button is pushed. Carry him, rock him, tickle him and he smiles and giggles (awww… what a heartwarming little smile; what an infectious laugh; what an angel). Put him down in his Pack n’ Play and the corners of his mouth immediately turn down. His whole face crumples like paper, he looks at you with those oh-so-innocent eyes like you were the meanest person in the world, starts bawling, stops to look at your reaction, starts bawling again, this time a more earsplitting and a more anguished bawl when his dry bawl did not elicit any response. He squeezes his eyes shut and puts pressures on his tear ducts until the tears run down his cheeks. He completes the act with a fake cough or choking sound for the ultimate performance… People at home then drop everything they do and run to him in panic. He then stops the racket and beams triumphantly as the gullible adults arms’ reach down to him and his chubby arms reach up to them. He scores again! He does so love the attention.
Nine months of living in my parents’ house. The Little Creature’s delightful laughter does brighten up my parents’ house and drive away the usual Mellon Collie and Infinite Sadness ambiance.
…which means nine months of being away from my cats. I have been away from the furry little things for so long! I miss them so much but they seemed to have moved on and have promoted my aunt as their new boss. Kitty B welcomes us whenever we visit SJ from time to time, but it looks like nine lives is not enough for Kitty C to forgive me. I have only seen Kitty C once ever since I gave birth and all she did was give me a condemning look from under my aunt’s bed. It made me so unhappy and guilty that I’d rather not see her at all.
Nine months of being baby food supply. He’s got four crooked teeth on his upper gums and two on his lower gums. Yesterday, he bit my shoulder. I stopped feeding him directly to my Bs since that day he began to chew on my nips like they were gummi candies. We’ve also began to feed him formula. My bmilk supply is decreasing ever since I decreased my pumping sessions from 6 to 3. Now I have no pictures of our jam-packed freezer to show off. It is a relief to not base my whole schedule on the sessions. Pretty soon, he won’t be needing me altogether. Nine months ago, I would have thought that relief. Now, I sort of find it sad. My baby, a mini young man!