Bouncing Baby

If I had to sum our boy up in a word, it would be this: drool. He produces it in copious amounts, and spreads it bountifully on all with which he comes in contact- wall, floor, clothes, door; toys that are old, toys that are new, he spreads it on me, he spreads it on you. (This blog is really my only creative outlet, unless you count humming the theme music to Major League Baseball. Which I don't.) I honestly don't know where he's getting the raw materials for the stuff, since his daily salivary production far outstrips his liquid consumption. It seems quite impossible that he could be gaining weight, but miraculously he actually is. Now, I'm no stranger to miracles (we had another hamburger miracle at the lake this summer, witnessed and corroborated by many and even captured irrefutably on a digital camera!), but some of Max's feats are beyond comprehension. For example, if one gives him any empty glass bottle, he will expertly manipulate the opening into his mouth, and, as if he were a poisonous snake you were milking for venom, he will hand you back a half-filled beer bottle within a minute. Make sure you empty this bottle and put it in the recycling bin right away, because you never know how thirsty the person who happens upon a half-filled beer bottle is. (Although a hearty swig of baby drool will do wonders, if not actually to quench thirst, then to cast the thought of liquid refreshment so far from the sampler's mind as to really be the same thing.)
He is pretty fun, though, even if you can't get a good grip on the slippery, serous little creature. He really laughs these days, if you give him a good raspberry or balance him, standing, in one hand (new trick we figured out yesterday. I can't prove it because his mom won't take our picture while we do it). We were playing this game where I would look all around the room, and then finally look at him, and he would crack up. Over and over, for 5 minutes. Then I tried putting on some junior birdman goggles by putting my palms on my forehead, fingers down, and circling my eyes with thumb and forefinger, y'know, and then I looked at him. Dead serious. He just stared back, without a hint of smile. He wasn't scared, I don't think, but it was more like I had cheated at our little game. I took my hands off my face and he cracked back up.
He's still not doing a lot of rolling over, at least, not consistently. Occasionally we'll leave him on a blanket in the next room and when we peek back in on him, he's on his belly in the corner, playing with the power tools. But usually, he's just right where you left him. Even if he's pissed off, and doesn't want to be on his belly anymore, he'd rather lie there, arching and grunting and screaming til you come flip him, than just frickin roll over already. I wouldn't count on it, though. His staying put, I mean. We went to the Gorge yesterday, and I had him on Mariam's raincoat at the top of the cliff while the rest of the crew (Mars, Adam and Emily) was climbing down below. When they were done, I was going to untie and clean up the anchors while they hiked back around, but Max was close enough to a 60 foot drop that I didn't feel okay leaving him unsecured. He had a good 6 or 8 feet to the edge, and that would be a record series of rolls for him, but still. So I put him in Adam and Emily's mesh hammock and fastened it shut with carabiners. He seemed fine long enough for me to walk about ten feet away, but then I think some primal instincts from back in the day when our ancestors had to deal with horse-sized spiders kicked in, and told him to get the fuck out of that giant web. I sprung him and we ended up waiting until the others got back and let them pull the anchors.
At 4 and a half months, he still doesn't sleep that well. The whole co-sleeping thing didn't live up to its promise for us. We moved him to a futon mattress on the floor next to our bed, so that if he just wants to kick and wiggle, he won't necessarily wake Mariam up. That seems to help a little bit, but it's still rare for him to go more than a couple hours without Mars feeding him or dealing with him somehow. Hopefully he'll keep getting incrementally better at sleeping. He does wake up every day at about 7am, no matter when he went to bed or how well he slept, and he's always super happy and smiley and good natured in the morning. I was going to try to wake up earlyish with him so I could get some of that happy time in before school, but I can't drag myself up until there's just enough time to dress, eat and run (out the door, that is- not run for excercise. Jeez. Although I am in a triathlon on Oct. 5, so I've been running with him in the afternoons and just started swimming again. Even got a waterproof mp3 player so I can listen to This American Life while I do laps.)
Overall, we're glad we have him. I still forget about him occasionally, like when I'm thinking about vacations and how relaxing it will be wherever we are, and then I remember that nothing is ever going to be relaxing ever again. So we've traded relaxing for marvelling and cooing and bouncing and demonstrating and changing diapers and doing laundry and exploring the world all over again. Which is wonderful, except at 5am.