Downward Facing Goose Egg

Willem took it upon his tiny self to be super baby this weekend and taught himself how to both crawl and walk. Saturday he was a bundle of emotions as he got up on all fours and put one wobbly limb in front of the other. Sometimes it thrilled him and other times it just wrecked his world. “Mama, can’t you see how this is killing meeeee?” Sunday he decided to turn away from me and head straight for the (padded) corner of the bed. He toddled about six steps and…whaump…took a nice body slam into the comforter. He likes body slams. We do pretend ones all of the time. Any chance he got, he'd leave the safety of the perch he was clinging to and venture off. The walking and crawling had us giddy and amazed but, really, it's too much too soon.

Since he had figured out how to make himself more mobile, he had the issue of learning how to go from one to the other. The crawling led to him lifting his buns in the air in a mini-downward facing dog (or puppy, in his case)...







but the next move eluded him. What would generally follow would be a face first splat on to the floor. After about two goose eggs to the noggin and a sore nose, he decided it was going to be either walking or crawling but no conversions from one the to the other.

I noticed for the first time how big his feet really are when I bought him some sandals to wear (at TARGET!). Dr. G, his pediatrician, said we’d better start putting them on him now or we’ll never be able to keep shoes on his person. I laughed my buns off as W tried to walk with the new footwear on his pads. He shook them like a cat with a rubber band around its feet.

Saturday morning I spent about 2.5 hours visiting with a dear friend who I hadn’t seen in ages. We met up for caffeine and pastries and some much needed conversation. I had no idea the time had flown by so quickly until one of the employees of the place came into the dining area and announced very loudly “Is there a Mrs. Fantasy here (okay, so he used my real name but for Googling sake, I’m not going to publish it here)? You’re husband is on the phone.” I didn’t flinch but just looked at my friend and without words, our meaningful stares at each other said a million unmentionables. I grabbed my cell and called home and was greeted with “Are you ever coming home?” It took everything I had to not say “I’m not and in fact, we’re loading up the car right now with drugs and money we just laundered and we’re headed south. Kiss baby for me. I’ll send postcards.”

We didn’t do much for Father’s Day. Dada was returning home from an overnight gig later that afternoon so W and I just made sure he could do whatever he wanted the rest of the day. We did have a card for him from W that he signed along with getting purple marker in the corners of his mouth, on my arms, and on his walking toy. Seriously, I was right there as I held the card in front of the marker in his hand just to get a few artistic swipes from him but, man, he’s fast with the oral desires. Speaking of that, he’s old enough now to know that I am the official carrier of nice, warm milk and chases me like a bloodhound. His verbal cue is a series of fast-paced breaths but now he’s getting physical and goes for any visible flesh with his hickey-making machine of a mouth. Forget low cut blouses. The idea sends him into a dither. I guess this is where it all starts. He gets it honest.