Y’all. There’s something wrong with my bebeh. First it was chewing on anything made of leather. Then it was the carrying stuff around in his mouth. Now it’s this:

Do you want to know WHY he is doing that? It’s because the tile is cold and hard and his delicate little baby knees don’t want to touch it. On the one hand, those are some mad problem solving skills for a 9 month old. His little brain figured out how to avoid doing something he doesn’t like. This bodes very well for his survival in the world but not so well for my chance of getting him to mow the lawn someday. On the other hand, I want to tell him Dude, can you not SEE your knees? They’re the chubbiest little baby knees ever and if all that baby fat isn’t protecting you from cold hard things then I don’t know what it’s for.

Also, I am slightly jealous of his flexibility. I’ve always sucked at Downward Dog.

Dear Mr. Santa(1),
Although I know Baby Evan must have told you “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth(2)”, I would really appreciate a Silent Night(3) at some point during The Twelve Days of Christmas(4). Between the teething and his insane level of hatred for the pack’n’play, I’m totally exhausted and can’t help but wonder What Child is This(5) who keeps torturing me. As soon as we lay him down in the baby cage-I mean, the playpen- he wakes up no matter how sound asleep he was previously and cries like we just told him Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer(6). Although I’m very excited for his first real Christmas morning tomorrow, I’m afraid all the Jingle Bells(7) and your reindeer Up On The Rooftop(8) tonight might make it even more difficult than usual to get him to sleep. I know you’re in a hurry to bring Joy to the World(9) but if you could try and be extra quiet I would really appreciate it. And while you’re in the area, could you check on that BabyHawk I’m supposed to be getting soon? I wish I had know Last Christmas(10) how awesome baby-wearing is so I could have asked for carriers before I gave birth, but getting one this year will definitely make it a Happy Christmas(11). Really, I’m just so happy to be Home for the Holidays(12) this year that anything you could bring me will just be icing on the cake (frosting on the cookie?) If you happen to see Baby Jesus Away in the Manger(13) tell him “hi” from our family and thanks for the White Christmas(14).
Happy Holidays(15)!
Suzanne

*Sorry y’all, I’m feeling super cheesey this Christmas Eve and am doing all my posting from an iPhone this week so the typos may be worse than usual (see how I just casually mentioned my fancy new phone without being all braggy and annoying? And then see how I totally ruined it by adding this aside? And aren’t you both jealous and hating me a little bit right now?) Safe travels, Merry Christmas, and may the joy of the season be felt by you and your loved ones.*

If I was keeping the baby’s actual baby book up to date instead of relying on my blog to document all Baby Evan’s milestones I would have a very busy week of scrapbooking ahead of me. Along with catching up on the baby’s first Christmas*, we had his first real snow (although the closest he got to outside was when we looked out the front door to put  E out of his misery and tell him it was ok if he hired the neighborhood kids to do all the shoveling) and two top teeth that finally decided to make an appearance. Um, and also? He grew an inch overnight. I’m not even joking. Check this out…

Friday Night - He's making that face because his feet barely touch the ground and he can't balance well enough to ride on he FANCY NEW TOY.

Saturday Morning - He's much happier now because he grew at least an inch and can now ride on this little car the way he's supposed to...if he was 18 months old. CRAZY TALL BABY IS CRAZY TALL.

*We opened all our family gifts on Sunday because we’re going out of town for Christmas and don’t have the room in the car to bring them. It was actually Baby Evan’s second Christmas because he had his first in Ohio over Thanksgiving and he’s really getting the hang of present opening. We officially have more photos and video of a baby ripping up and chewing on wrapping paper than any one ever.

No I didn’t change my entire parenting philosophy, but the baby sure did. Or maybe all this attaching I’ve been doing has made him the world’s most independent 8 month old. Which I think is the point of attachment parenting, so…yah?

First there was the church nursery adventure, where despite my own hang ups Baby Evan didn’t show the least bit of apprehension at being abandoned left in the care of someone else while I actually listened to and enjoyed the service for the first time ever.

At Stroller Strides on Monday I volunteered to hold (and by “volunteered” I mean “grabbed out of his stroller without permission because OMG TINEEEEEEE BEBEEEEEEEEH”) a friend’s newborn for a few minutes. Instead of being jealous or upset, Baby Evan sat in his stroller and chewed on his shoes. You’d think seeing another baby that close to his boobs mama would have made him mad but he was totally nonchalant about it, like “Whatevs, woman, I’m too busy being cute to notice your shenanigans.”

Then at nursing group Baby Evan ran away. Ok, crawled away. But at a very high rate of speed. He then spent the entire hour climbing on other moms and/or babies. At one point he threw himself into our group leader Holly’s lap and leaned back to gaze adoringly at her while she talked about breast pumps. When he was done getting attention from Holly, he tried to crush hug Baby T and attempted to lick kiss Baby El (although she was also guilty of some licking). I could have easily left the room, or the building, or probably the state and he wouldn’t have given a damn until he was done playing and ready for lunch.

It’s kind of a relief to find that all my baby wearing and nursing and comforting and rocking to sleep has not spoiled my child to the point that I am his only source of security. Although I have to admit it makes me a little sad that our cuddly baby days are already over and we’ve moved on to not wanting to be seen with me. I thought I had about 12 more years before that happened.

In every celebrity mom interview I’ve ever read, the interviewer asks the gorgeous, toned, trim actress about how they find time to exercise and the celebrity says “Oh I don’t work out. Chasing after my kids is all the exercise I need!” To which I have always said “Bullshit, Celebrity Mom. Unless you gave birth to that 6’3″ 37 year old trainer you meet with three times a week, those abs are from hard work, not a couple days on the playground.”

Now that Baby Evan is not just mobile but ohmigod-someone-quick-grab-him-he-has-a-lighter-where-the-hell-did-he-get-a-lighter???? mobile, my skepticism towards those celebrity mothers has dropped about a zillion points. Ok, so they probably still meet with their trainer every other day but child chasing is a genuine aerobic activity. It’s shocking how quickly a baby can go from quiet play to extreme peril, especially if you live in a death trap old house. Apparently the hissing and popping of old cast-iron radiators is a siren song to babies, calling to them to come and put your mouth on meeeeeeee I taste like sunshine and dog hair and dried leaves and deliciousness. Baby Evan has started pulling open the cookie sheet storage warming drawer under my stove and trying to climb in it while the stove is on. Listen child, I know it’s cold in here but I don’t think baking yourself is the answer. I’m suddenly very very aware of just how hard that tile we installed in the kitchen is, thanks to the horrible CRACK sound it makes when it meets the baby’s head.

It doesn’t help that E and I have totally different parenting philosophies when it comes to baby-chasing. E’s attitude is “Let him figure it out, he has to learn eventually” while I follow more of a “Maybe it’s not such a great idea to let an 8 month old decide for himself what’s safe” line of thought. Call me crazy. I think “Danger!” is an important concept for Baby Evan to comprehend, especially at an age where “No!” just makes him laugh.

No! Don’t bite the dog! Giggle.

No! Don’t climb into the open dishwasher! Hahahahaha. (I swear to God the baby thinks he’s going to find the way to Narnia in that damn dishwasher. I couldn’t keep him out with a cattle prod. Not that I would try. I have no idea where to get a cattle prod.)

No! Don’t eat that bleach pen! Hysterical cackling.

So for the next six (four? eight? how long exactly does it take to go from cruiser to toddler?) months, I’m going to be spending a lot of time crawling around grabbing things from the baby and rearranging the interlocking foam floor squares over our kitchen floor. And just in case my baby CAN read, I’m being strategic in my rearranging.