He is at the age of cusps. He’s almost too big for the Baby Bjorn, nearly too large for his exersaucer. He’s on the cusp of crawling. He still likes launching himself forward on the floor to get at things, but, in an important development, once he’s on his tummy he can (more or less easily) maneuver himself back to a sitting position. Oddly enough, he’s less able or interested in going from his back to his tummy, even though that’s the roll he learned first. In any case, once on his stomach, he can now contort himself to a crawling position, if not, exactly, achieve forward motion. Backward motion, however, comes quite naturally, which is why at least once a day I have to pull him out from under the futon in the living room.
He likes standing up next to the furniture — right now he’s standing up next to one of the chairs with a piece of plastic silverware, banging it and shouting. But he can’t quite pull himself up by himself, and he can’t quite stay there for more than thirty seconds without flopping back down on his butt. Again, cusps.
The Big Cusp has to do with sleep. This is, indeed, Ferber weekend. Dominic’s sleep schedule has evolved over the past couple of months to something pretty much nonexistent. He falls asleep and wakes up at a variety of times starting at around 9:00 and continuing through the night. He won’t fall asleep unless he’s nursing. This has led to comfort nursing at various times throughout the night, which is, to say the least, an unsustainable routine. With Ella we put up with a similar dynamic for way too long, and finally Ferberized her at thirteen months, with dramatic positive results.
So we’re just one night in, but the pattern already seems similar. He has cried through his naps so far yesterday and today, but last night, after crying for about half an hour, conked out soundly from 10:30 until 6:30. Like so much else in parenting, it’s a whole lot less stressful the second time around because you’ve already experienced what’s on the other side of the hard part.
Those inclined to gamble could start placing bets now as to whether “Mama” or “Ella” will be his first word. You could make an argument that he’s said both of them already, as long as you’re very, very forgiving when it comes to correct pronunciation and diction. It is undeniably the case, though, that upon seeing Ella walk into the room after getting up from her nap, he has bounced up and down with uncontrollable glee and shouted something in the neighborhood of “ehhhhwwaaa.” And there can be no doubt that when everything in the world is terrible from his perspective and he wants nothing more than to be held and comforted he intones “mamamama,” or “muhmuhmuhmuh” or something similar.
He enjoys Cheerios now, though he has moved them to his own mouth only a few times successfully. Instead he’ll hoard two or three of them in each of his pudgy fists and then try to pick up his bottle or sippy cup while keeping them clenched. Baby-food-wise he’ll eat pretty much whatever you put in front of him; the only thing he’s rejected is a vegetable blend we made at home — I suspect because it was too dense and dry, not because of the taste.
Separation anxiety is starting to kick in. When strangers ogle at him, which still happens all the time, he is just as likely to give them a “Who the hell are you?” look as he is to smile. And you can tell that when he can’t register my or Suanna’s presence in the room he gets increasingly nervous. For all that, though, he’s still a socialite at heart — once he gets over this phase I expect him to reestablish his reputation as the Great Flirt, with a vengeance.
He gets more and more fun with each passing month. He loves to imitate. I click my tongue, and he smiles and clicks his tongue back. I say “head bonk!” and he gives me a vigorous head butt. I nod my head and he giggles and shakes his from side to side — I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s nodding it and just can’t tell the difference.
