L’s six month birthday was yesterday. Today he went for his six month checkup, to receive more vaccinations. He was a real trooper, and made sure he wore his cape.
Things are changing so rapidly we can’t keep up. First he was able to steady himself on his hands and knees. Then he was able to straighten his back legs and do a makeshift crab walk. Then he was able to scoot himself around the bed and floor in a somewhat crawl. Now he can kneel, grab ahold of our hands, and pull himself up.
We celebrated last night by lowering the mattress in his crib a notch.
The friend I sold the 240 to was a flake to the maximum. I haven’t seen payment, and he dropped the ball on insuring it, registering it, and getting it to pass inspection. It’s the ultimate bad situation.
E and I went with a jump box and repo’d it last night. It’s now stored at my friend’s house, to fix a wiring problem and trailer it back to Dallas from Mansfield this weekend.
It’s fitting this is coming up today, as it’s got an engine from a country with no emissions requirements, and a piece of straight 3 inch pipe instead of a catalytic converter. Happy Earth Day!
I always get asked if L is on “solids” yet. I was perplexed at first by this question, one because a “solid” is a euphemism for poop, and two because there’s nothing at all solid about pureed bananas. But if liquified fruit qualifies as “solids”, then yes, L is on them.
Or, should I say, they are on him. All over him. On his hands, his seat, the entirety of his clothes, his bib, his face, his hair. Very little, if any, actually makes it to his mouth.
He seems to be under the distinct impression that feeding himself is already his job, and that making a fist around the business end of the plastic purple baby spoon full of goopy fruit-foods will somehow accomplish this task.
Until he is a little less overzealous, making any headway at feeding time usually requires continual relocation of his arms with a quiet explanation that they’re better off at his side than wrapped around what he’s trying to eat.
