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How? How?? I realize I have been asking myself this question every single month since he was 4 weeks old, and yet it still stuns me when again we’re looking another new, larger number in the face. I mean really? That squirmy, chirping little babe is how old now? For real?
So.
Five months, and yeah blah blah mouthycakes I’ve been blathering about him nonstop for several months now, but he’s changed sooooo much in the past few weeks (hell the last few days), so I think we’re all due another Official Peter Robot Check In.
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He’s not much of a pacifier baby, I keep forgetting to tell you. He will only take one when he is overly tired AND ALSO not feeling well. If you attempt to offer him one under any other circumstances, he’ll give you a look of disgust and spit it out immediately. Remember his beloved Cheryl the pacifier duck? Well, they are still friends and play together, but that’s as far as it goes. The romance is definitely over.
Which is fine, because he has many other loves these days. He loves to take all his naps in our bed (he naps twice as long when in our bed. It’s the down pillow top and high thread count, right?). His absolute most favorite toy is his beloved slotted spoon, if you give it to him in any situation he’s sure to quiet down and play intently for awhile. He loves to be nekkid. He loves his plush puppy that sleeps in his crib (he curls right up to it at night). He loves to scratch his daddy’s beard, and to sit out on the deck in his rocking horse, and to help me in the kitchen. He just loves! Everything! He approaches things in life with the most charming little attitude, I wish I could bottle that stuff up.
Oh man, he loooooves to eat – the kid is downright demanding at mealtime, scarfing down food as fast as you can shovel it in his mouth. And don’t dawdle; he doesn’t stand for any of that nonsense. He is very equal opportunity and will chow down a vast array of foods – peas, green beans, squash, carrots, sweet potatoes, all fruits, oatmeal and cereal… he enjoys them all. The only issue we have? He has gone anti-homemade. Bring on the cruddy jarred stuff, and keep it coming. Goodness, not like I’m going to complain about Easy + Cheap, but really? Really? Like, can you embarrass your foodie parents any more, my son? He’s a simple kind of guy, I suppose. Don’t think I’m going to stop pushing the quality stuff, though.
Not to say he’s all smiles and rainbows constantly, there are a few things that make him upset. He cries when he is hungry, and is grouchy when he gets tired, and anytime his mother is out of his field of vision all hell breaks loose. It is nothing short of a TRAGEDY. I hear him start up as soon as I turn around, maybe to just run grab something off the counter in the next room, and I usually return to the room to find poor Peter, his usually-happy face crumpled, eyes full of tears and mouth open in a wail and OH MY GOSH, but really? Talk about separation anxiety. So most days you’ll find him on my hip or playing within close vicinity, and for now I enjoy it, because soon enough they’ll come a day where he won’t want to have anything to do with me.
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He’s still not very mobile. He rolls around, for sure. Crawling, however? He will kick and push and soon enough he is squawking angrily, then back to rolling. I am beginning to think we might skip past crawling all together. He’s not quite sitting yet; he loves to pull up to a standing position but is not interested in sitting. If you can actually get him to bend to a sitting position, he does a good job of holding himself up - hilariously enough, by grabbing his pant legs and holding on for dear life. It’s a sight to be seen for sure.
Oh my gosh! And he sleeeeeeeeps! Not all night, but close enough for me. For 5 months I went to bed each night wondering if he was going to make it a few hours, or if I’d be woken up to his crying in the next half hour. He’d get up several times from there, so that we were all zombies by 6am. And then, suddenly one night, he only got up once. And has pretty much kept that up ever since. It is the most amazing thing in the world, I tell you. He even keeps himself busy up in his room when he wakes up in the mornings, talking to himself and banging around in his crib. It’s pretty crazy to hear him up there chilling by himself.
On the vocal front: he has discovered a plethora of new sounds in the past week. He talks quickly sometimes, making these funny “blurbity blah blue-blue-baaaaah” noises. It’s like he’s performing scat jazz. His newest noise is his attempt at making the “pfffft” noise (you know, that raspberry-blowing sound). He screws up his face and tenses and with supreme concentration, all that works and what comes out is: spit. That’s it, just spit. Which was soooo funny at first, we kept demonstrating the “pffft” to make him spit at us. And we’d laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Only now, he spits on the exersaucer and on his lap and on your lap and on the rug and pretty much wherever he is… We’re over the spitting thing now. Hopefully he moves on quickly.
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And I can’t hit “publish” until I talk about Peter’s laugh. Not really a laugh, but more of a deep breath and an open-mouthed squeal while his head pitches back, all over in about one second. No giggles, no body-shaking chuckles. Just a lightning-quick flash of pure happiness that he reserves for only his nearest and dearest. And that’s fine by me.
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And for the record – it is going by so quickly that it hurts. Stop getting so big, my little one. Mom just wants a few more minutes of cuddle time.
So.
Five months, and yeah blah blah mouthycakes I’ve been blathering about him nonstop for several months now, but he’s changed sooooo much in the past few weeks (hell the last few days), so I think we’re all due another Official Peter Robot Check In.
.JPG)
He’s not much of a pacifier baby, I keep forgetting to tell you. He will only take one when he is overly tired AND ALSO not feeling well. If you attempt to offer him one under any other circumstances, he’ll give you a look of disgust and spit it out immediately. Remember his beloved Cheryl the pacifier duck? Well, they are still friends and play together, but that’s as far as it goes. The romance is definitely over.
Which is fine, because he has many other loves these days. He loves to take all his naps in our bed (he naps twice as long when in our bed. It’s the down pillow top and high thread count, right?). His absolute most favorite toy is his beloved slotted spoon, if you give it to him in any situation he’s sure to quiet down and play intently for awhile. He loves to be nekkid. He loves his plush puppy that sleeps in his crib (he curls right up to it at night). He loves to scratch his daddy’s beard, and to sit out on the deck in his rocking horse, and to help me in the kitchen. He just loves! Everything! He approaches things in life with the most charming little attitude, I wish I could bottle that stuff up.
Oh man, he loooooves to eat – the kid is downright demanding at mealtime, scarfing down food as fast as you can shovel it in his mouth. And don’t dawdle; he doesn’t stand for any of that nonsense. He is very equal opportunity and will chow down a vast array of foods – peas, green beans, squash, carrots, sweet potatoes, all fruits, oatmeal and cereal… he enjoys them all. The only issue we have? He has gone anti-homemade. Bring on the cruddy jarred stuff, and keep it coming. Goodness, not like I’m going to complain about Easy + Cheap, but really? Really? Like, can you embarrass your foodie parents any more, my son? He’s a simple kind of guy, I suppose. Don’t think I’m going to stop pushing the quality stuff, though.
Not to say he’s all smiles and rainbows constantly, there are a few things that make him upset. He cries when he is hungry, and is grouchy when he gets tired, and anytime his mother is out of his field of vision all hell breaks loose. It is nothing short of a TRAGEDY. I hear him start up as soon as I turn around, maybe to just run grab something off the counter in the next room, and I usually return to the room to find poor Peter, his usually-happy face crumpled, eyes full of tears and mouth open in a wail and OH MY GOSH, but really? Talk about separation anxiety. So most days you’ll find him on my hip or playing within close vicinity, and for now I enjoy it, because soon enough they’ll come a day where he won’t want to have anything to do with me.
.JPG)
He’s still not very mobile. He rolls around, for sure. Crawling, however? He will kick and push and soon enough he is squawking angrily, then back to rolling. I am beginning to think we might skip past crawling all together. He’s not quite sitting yet; he loves to pull up to a standing position but is not interested in sitting. If you can actually get him to bend to a sitting position, he does a good job of holding himself up - hilariously enough, by grabbing his pant legs and holding on for dear life. It’s a sight to be seen for sure.
Oh my gosh! And he sleeeeeeeeps! Not all night, but close enough for me. For 5 months I went to bed each night wondering if he was going to make it a few hours, or if I’d be woken up to his crying in the next half hour. He’d get up several times from there, so that we were all zombies by 6am. And then, suddenly one night, he only got up once. And has pretty much kept that up ever since. It is the most amazing thing in the world, I tell you. He even keeps himself busy up in his room when he wakes up in the mornings, talking to himself and banging around in his crib. It’s pretty crazy to hear him up there chilling by himself.
On the vocal front: he has discovered a plethora of new sounds in the past week. He talks quickly sometimes, making these funny “blurbity blah blue-blue-baaaaah” noises. It’s like he’s performing scat jazz. His newest noise is his attempt at making the “pfffft” noise (you know, that raspberry-blowing sound). He screws up his face and tenses and with supreme concentration, all that works and what comes out is: spit. That’s it, just spit. Which was soooo funny at first, we kept demonstrating the “pffft” to make him spit at us. And we’d laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Only now, he spits on the exersaucer and on his lap and on your lap and on the rug and pretty much wherever he is… We’re over the spitting thing now. Hopefully he moves on quickly.
.JPG)
And I can’t hit “publish” until I talk about Peter’s laugh. Not really a laugh, but more of a deep breath and an open-mouthed squeal while his head pitches back, all over in about one second. No giggles, no body-shaking chuckles. Just a lightning-quick flash of pure happiness that he reserves for only his nearest and dearest. And that’s fine by me.
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And for the record – it is going by so quickly that it hurts. Stop getting so big, my little one. Mom just wants a few more minutes of cuddle time.
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