He isn't really a "sit still" kind of person, we're learning. If he's between us on the couch, Erin and I are basically human guardrails on either side of a pulsating, mutating mound of flesh with flailing appendages. At times it appears that this mound seeks to escape captivity; at others, it looks as if it's trying to become one with the cushions. Like a shark, he must always be moving, although it's not immediately clear why.
Bedtime is no different. Watching his tiny, grainy body on the monitor is like watching a Mexican jumping bean that's just had 10,000 volts run through it. He bounces against every side of his crib like a pinball with eternal momentum. Okay, enough similes. You get it. He has a lot of energy.
He's still a relatively good sleeper, although he has recently begun a new routine which I refer to as his "2 am Squirm & Shout." And because he can now sit, roll over, and beg (we teach him all the best tricks), his middle-of-the-night freak-outs look on the monitor like a prisoner in his cell going quickly insane. Okay, that was another simile. I'll try to stop.
Doesn't look like he's going to be a crawler. Knee-walking be damned, he says. Instead, he's a butt-scoocher. I mean, if you can't walk yet, I suppose it's the way to go. You get to stay more or less upright, and hold onto some shred of your dignity as you're going from place to place, for Chrissakes. Butt-scooching isn't the most graceful action a person can perform, but it's clearly superior to a four-limbed waddle. We've evolved, dammit.
But he won't be scooching for long. We got him a walker, and by Day 2 he's already zipping across the kitchen floor, ramming into stools and doors and whatever else dares to get in his way (sorry about your lives, cats; you had a good run).
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| Soon to be a holy terror |
Trying to get him to stay still at doctors' appointments is an adventure. Kinda tough to keep him in place on that cushioned table without a supply of bungee. Of course, the most fun part is trying to keep him from ripping up the sanitary paper they make him lie upon. By the time we're ready to leave, the office looks like the aftermath of a bull mastiff getting into the bathroom trash.
Yeah. Okay. I have a simile problem. I see that now.
Anyway, with all of this movement, it's clear that there are going to have to be some changes, and fast. We can no longer leave him alone on his playmat for more than about 15 seconds. Any longer than that, and he just might have butt-scooched from here to Timbuktu. Or at least to the fireplace screen. And it's going to get even worse once he starts walking. So we're in the beginning stages of baby-proofing. Moving cleaning products to high shelves. Putting rubber bumper protectors at the bases of tables and bookshelves. Installing outlet covers. Moving our S&M supplies to the garage. It's a process.
It's an exciting time, but I'm exhausted just thinking about how exhausted I'm about to be. What's the consensus on leashes and/or cages? Are they frowned on? I haven't been reading any parenting mags, so I'm out of the loop.
