"Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you." -- Robert Fulghum
In a sentence: Bubba gets fun-er and more fun every week ; p
In a paragraph: Every so often I flip open (or tap, it's on my Kindle) the Wonder Weeks book to help me understand why my baby is being difficult. And I just said he was fun, didn't I? Both equally true.
That book has been a great guide to the weekly & monthly developments that infants make -- mental growth spurts if you will. It reminds me of the understanding we adults take for granted: of spatial property, of distance, of sequences and processes, and all manner of things I had previously thought were innate from the get go. It reminds me that being an infant must be kind of like being a handicapped foreigner or recovering from an awful stroke. You have to learn how to make your own body parts work for you. You have to learn to translate thoughts in your head into sounds and words that have meaning for other people. It reminds me to have empathy because my son simply can't understand what I'm telling him or why things have to be mommy's way. As opposed to his way, which I imagine would be me, shirtless, holding him all day while he alternates between nursing and tugging on power cords, light switches, and vacuuming.
Yes, vacuuming. The belt wore out again on our vacuum cleaner this morning, much to our mutual dismay. I eventually shut it up in the closet. He kept gesturing to it and my repeated explanations why we couldn't vacuum the carpet were frustrating both of us.
At least the broom still works, which takes a close second in the favorite things category this week.
There's no denying it. Monkey see = monkey do. I'm catching myself more (thanks to this book also) and trying to give him due credit for his trying . . . trying to figure things out despite being told "no" and restrained from all the things he wants to learn hands-on. What a hypocrite I must seem like, jerking his hand away from the pot, saying it's hot, but continuing to stir it myself. Same goes for the off-limits dirty dishes.
^ Taking clothes out and not putting them back. Just like mom ^
Pink Floyd tee-shirt. Just like dad's.
I swear babies must have the hearts of Olympians. Their persistence in the face of repeated denial is incredible. Sarah Ockwell-Smith rightly calls them "little scientists."
Though I really wish I could get through to him why taste testing the toilet bowl is just not a worthwhile experiment.