So Deceptively Peaceful

Yes, Max is beautiful beyond all comprehension, and yes, he is charming, but don't let him fool you. Max went to sleep last night around ten, and all seemed well until around twelve forty five, when he woke up under the impression that he was at a song-and-dance festival. For the next half hour or so, Max practiced his new and expanded repertoire of sounds (ah-eee-ba-ma-brr-pfft, and etc.), to an eclectic beat of his own invention. A fist-waving, foot-grabbing dance accompanied the burst of artistry. I read today that around seven months, babies will get so excited about their new skills that they may begin waking up at night to practice them. That's pretty great.

And The Living Is Easy

It has been officially HOT these past few days, and I must say that I envy Max his easy, clothing optional lifestyle (I guess technically, clothing is optional for everyone, but no one says "ahh, look at the dimpled knees! How sweet!" if I don't wear pants). Here he is napping it up, clothed only in a diaper, a sweaty brow, and his ever-present tuft of hair.
Max and the kitties have only recently taken any notice of each other, and their relationship teeters between fascination and fear. Max reaches for the cats when he sees them pass by, but his petting technique still needs honing. The cats, for their part, enjoy his warmth when he is asleep, and enjoy his milky smell even more, but they are unimpressed with his tail-grabbing, fur-yanking tendencies. Here they are having a family counseling session. The turtleskin rug acts as mediator.

Along with the hot weather come the desperate and ultimately futile attempts to keep the house cool. Having eliminated public nudity as an option for myself, I busted out the floor fan. Max found this a source of endlessly absorbing fascination. His head would swivel back and forth, following the fan's motion, and he would close his eyes and laugh every time it blew past his face. It must be so great to live in a state of constant wonder like that, where every time the fan goes past your face it is a humorous surprise, no matter how many times it happens, or at how regular of intervals.

I Said I Was Hungry!

Max is getting better and better at telling us what he needs/wants/wishes were different, and it is amazing to see him grow from a scrawny being who opened his eyes for five minutes a day to an opinionated, action-oriented person. The other day, he had a small bout of crankiness, which I attributed to tiredness. Accordingly, I put him down for a nap. Max kicked the crankiness up a notch or two. 'Wow', I thought to myself, 'he must be really tired'. I tried darkening the room, soothing him with music, lying down beside him. These kindly, motherly actions drove him into a full-fledged rage. Finally, Ian suggested that he might be hungry. It hadn't occurred to me that this might be the problem, because Max has not yet been in the habit of demanding solid food. I picked him up and put him in his feeding chair, where he proceeded to eat a jar and a half of sweet potatoes, poop a giant poop, and smile a very self-satisfied smile. Next time, hopefully I'll be a bit faster on the uptake!

Big Boy Accessories

We have recently been forced to admit that, fun as it was, the newborn phase of Max's life is behind him. He is outgrowing his clothing, his carrying equiptment, and the capacity of his mom and dad's upper body strength for toting him. As a result, we have been forced to upgrade. Max used to ride in his carseat, which snapped into his stroller, to go for walks. Now, however, his feet and part of his calves hang over the edge of the carseat, and Max has moved into the 'big boy stroller'. He is quite proud of himself. I am not photographed, because I am a little sad. I need an extra month or two of each phase, and I am just not going to get it, apparently.
Max has also officially outgrown his in-the-sink bathtub, and has moved up to this inflatable duck bath, which fits into the regular bathtub. He was pleased with the bathtub, the water, and the fact that he got to be naked in a whole new room of the house.
Yep, it was so cute, we had to put in two pictures of it.

Party Animal

In about nineteen years, Max will be photographed in a similar position, making a similar face, wearing a similar shirt, at some crazy frat party.

War Paint

Okay, okay, I know we've posted a lot of Max covered in food pictures recently. I also know that just because we find Max eating solid food a constantly absorbing novelty, doesn't mean that everyone shares our obsession. If you're reading this, however, chances are that you know and like Max, so maybe you'll bear with us. We've been broadening Max's food options, and he has liked everything we've stuck in his gaping maw. Until today. My aunt was telling me yesterday how much her kids always liked peas, and Max happened to get some pureed peas in his Easter basket, so I thought we'd have a go at them. I gave Max a spoonful, he gummed it thoughtfully for a moment, and then spat it out and laughed. Just a fluke, I thought to myself, and gave him another spoonful. He spat it out and laughed. I tried again. This time he mimed swallowing, and just when I began to relax, he spat it out and laughed. Whatever. I never liked peas, either.

Here we have evidence of a bad mistake I made as a mother recently. I was feeding Max prunes (which was a whole other kind of mistake that I paid for during diaper time), and I accidentally put the bowl too close to Max's questing fists. Before I could even begin to wonder where my life had gone awry, Max had dipped both hands in the prunes and given himself prune-dyed tribal tattoos. He was very proud of the result. I had to go in the other room and curl up in a fetal position for a few minutes.


For those of you who do not have children and have spent the last two paragraphs wondering why people have babies, here is why.

Max Resists Arrest

With his increasing strength, agility, and speed, we have noticed a definite 'tude increase in our young offspring. He is actively resisting being dressed, combed, and bathed. The worst part is how funny he thinks it is to defy us. Here he is turtle-ing up to avoid having his tummy soaped. Note his defiant, power-to-the-babies fist in the air. He needs soaping, too, because he has recently smeared sweet potato on most of himself.

Here he is attempting to roll off his changing table, shimmy down the side, and carve out a new, diaper-free life for himself in Mexico. Fortunately, he was captured and diapered before an international incident could occur.

Pajama Party

My mom makes everyone in the family pajama pants for Christmas Eve every year. This year, she got to make some tiny ones for Max. Predictably, she got very excited and made him several pairs (the rest of us still got one pair a piece -- hmm). One of Max's pajama pants pairs (is that correct grammatically?) was made from leftover material from a pair of my pajamas from several years ago. Last night I was looking for pjs for Max to wear, and found his Christmas pants. I just happened to be wearing my matching ones, and I thought I'd put them on and have an embarrassing photo taken. I was just in the nick of time, too -- Max has apparently gotten larger since Christmas, and his pants just barely fit.

Max and Yams: A Love Story or Why Chelsa Has the Sweet Potato Blues

As many of you know, I taught preschool for ten years before having Max, which basically means I got pooped, peed, thrown up, and snotted on professionally. This has led, as you can imagine, to a rather high tolerance for grossness on my part. I have sailed through the more disgusting parts of bearing and rearing Max, always telling myself confidently that I had seen/done/been covered in worse. Until the sweet potatoes came out to play. Now, I have nothing against the sweet potato in its unpureed form. The yam is a healthy, hearty tuber that has all that good stuff that orange food has, and I got some for Max because it is on the recommended first foods list. Somehow, however, it totally icks me out. I don't know why, but the smell of it, the texture, the orangeish-brownish color, I can barely stand it. Max, of course, adores sweet potatoes. They are his very favorite food. He has begun rejecting other things in favor of their gooey orange goodness. Here he is singing their praises.

And here he is licking the spoon clean after a giant helping of them. A pox on you, sweet potatoes!

Max Sits Alone (Mostly)

That's right, everybody. Max can sit alone. He can do his own thing. He's an island unto himself . . .














. . . Okay, it's possible that his mama's legs are on either side of him, just in case. He's an island, but he's an island with a round bum that doesn't always stay steady. Don't judge him.







Sometimes he's an island that doesn't feel like sitting up anymore. Don't judge him. (Granny, I included this back-of-the-head shot specifically for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy!)