Mini Me

Apparently Max doesn't mind clothing, as long as it's not his own. He extracted this shirt of Ian's from a laundry pile the other day (a clean laundry pile, fortunately), and decided that it would make a good full-body tunic. He actually put his arms in the arm holes, and his head in the head hole, although the shirt is so many times too large that it is hard to tell and doesn't really matter to the overall functionality of the outfit. When I asked him what he was wearing, Max smiled proudly and said, "Dada!" Clearly, he felt that the next hurdle on the road to manhood was mastering his dad's apparel, and that he had conquered it with distinction.

Sock It To Ya

As I have mentioned before (with photographic proof to back me up), Max is not necessarily a fan of clothing. Given the choice, he would embrace a very natural, pee-on-the-one-you're-with kind of lifestyle, and he is growing increasingly indignant about the fact that he is usually not given the choice. Max's blanket ban on clothing does have one exception, however -- footwear. He loves socks, he loves shoes, and he will ask to have his feet clothed constantly, even if he is wearing nothing else. I have tried to speak to him about the absurd figure he presents wearing nothing but socks and shoes, with his dimpled legs flashing free in the breeze, but he is unswayed.

Yesterday, Max took this stylistic idiosyncrasy to the next level. I went into his room to see what he was doing, and found him playing with his toy trains. Perfectly respectable. When I sat down to join him, however (a feat worthy of admiration, by the way, as it is increasingly difficult to get up and down from the floor while carrying Giant Speck), I noticed something interesting. Not only had Max taken out all the socks, selected a pair, and put them on ALL BY HIMSELF, but he had apparently decided that two socks were just not enough for an enterprising young toddler on the go.

Max had four socks on his feet, and there were several more scattered around the room, where they had evidently been tried on and then rejected, for reasons known only to Max and his feet. He kept them on all day, grinning and saying, "sock on!" when I questioned him. I suppose that does really say it all.

Feel The Love

Max has been giving out kisses for awhile, sort of, with prompting. Recently, however, he has begun volunteering the sugar, and making elaborate smooching sounds to accompany his gestures of good will. Then, he leans his head on the object of his affection, puts an arm or two around the neck, and says "niiiicccce". (This is in imitation of Ian and I, who always say "oh, how nice", when we get hugs or kisses, and "let's be nice" when Max is approaching the cats.) How could anyone possibly resist him?

Houdini Lives

Well, it's finally happened. Max has learned to remove his own diaper. I thought that I had prepared myself for this day, but it turns out that you are never really ready. Max has de-diapered himself twice since Friday, and I have caught him fingering the Velcro fastenings on two or three other occasions, just waiting until my guard is down. Here is Max taunting his vanquished foe after his first successful booty liberation. If you look in the background, you can see Edgar Cat looking on disgustedly. After all, a diaper-free existence was all that Edgar had left to make himself feel superior to Max.

What I mind the most is not the nudity. It's not even the peeing on the floor that goes along with the nudity. What I mind the most is Max's total and unrepentant joy as he shows me the fruits of his labor. (Speaking of which, Ian censored this photo a bit, in the interests of Max's future modesty, which will hopefully kick in sometime before he starts high school.) Shortly after I took this photo, Max learned that approaching me with his freshly removed diaper in hand led to a swift and merciless repantsing. He has, therefore, since decided that it is in his best interests to run away from me immediately after nudifying himself, in order to prolong his pants-free moments. It's been one rollicking, naked-baby-butt-chasing adventure after another at the Tillman house ever since.

Bottoms Up

Max has been sleeping in his own bed for a couple of months now, and he does pretty well at solo slumber (with occasional steps backwards into the big bed after bad dreams or extra snuggle requirements). He was never a wiggly baby when he slept with Ian and I (part of the reason he got away with it for so long), but it turns out that he has a completely different style of sleep when we are not hemming him in on either side. He starts out on his back, but rolls over and thrashes around after an hour or two, and winds up in a new and exciting position every night. A couple of nights ago, Ian and I both saw him roll over on his tummy, thrust his booty skywards, stick one arm straight up in the air, fling the arm down dramatically, and then spank himself on the bum with it. He then settled back into deep sleep, hindquarters still raised to the heavens, with a self-satisfied expression, as seen in the included photograph. Years from now, when Max's future wife requests separate bedrooms and he is baffled as to why, I shall refer him to this blog post.

And, Once Again, Chelsa's Genes Lose The Dominance War

As far as looks go, Max got a little bit of everything, with the overall result of looking not a whole lot like either parent. You can see a smidgen of me here, Ian there, but mostly, Max looks like himself. In personality and in habits, however, I cannot help but notice that I am not exactly shining through, genetics-wise.

Lying on his stomach on the floor while tinkering with computer parts ...

Spending his post-breakfast hour reading Harper's Magazine in his underpants ...

And, most significantly, choosing to spend hours on end delving into a giant bag of Star Wars action figures ...

Who does all of this remind you of? Not Chelsa, that's for sure.

Back To Blogging

We are now the proud owners, once again, of a working computer. It isn't exactly the same computer, however, which means that I don't yet have new pictures to display. Many of you have expressed anxiety/rage about the long silence, however, so hopefully this offering of picture-less news will appease you in the short term.

First, of course, Max: Max is bigger and better with each day that passes. He has developed a Shrek obsession, and seems particularly fond of the dragon that Donkey has a disturbing romance with. (If you haven't seen the movie, this will be a weird and puzzling remark, but you will have to watch the movie if you are curious, because I am not wasting time and energy on a detailed account of the Donkey/Dragon love story in Shrek.) Max now says somewhere around 100 words, if you count animal noises. His favorite words remain "milk" and "more". He has names for my Dad (he tries to say 'Gramps', which comes out 'Beamps'), and for Ian's dad ('Bapa' for 'Grandpa'). He does not yet have labels for either grandmother. Sorry, guys.

Speck: We took Speck in for another check-up on Monday, and all continues to be well. Speck is happy, healthy, and very, very lively. You can feel her knees and elbows poking out, and even see them on occasion. I was very excited to discover that I still don't have gestational diabetes this time around, which means much less injection/blood testing/general anxiety. While I am grateful to Speck for not stealing all my blood sugar, I feel compelled to add that she is presently taking up far more space in my torso than I am, and there are still about ten weeks to go. I am apprehensive about how she will go about creating more space for herself as the days go by.

Ian and Chelsa: We are, of course, far less interesting than our offspring, but we are happy and healthy. I have been doing some nesting lately, and some swinging of the moods. Ian has been very tolerant and patient, and has never once indicated by word or deed that my insistence that the curtains have to be hung in the baby room immediately for the health and safety of fetal Speck is in any way irrational.

Sick Computer

Sorry about the lack of updates everyone. I just wanted to let everyone know that Chelsa is suffering at home without a pc. It appears to have a corrupted bios chip and no jumper to reset the bios. Anyway, I am working on fixing it and hope to have it back to it's formal glory in a short while.

I have computer access at work wich is where I am writing this from, but Chelsa is basically stuck at home with no connection to the blogging world.

Anyway, wish us luck.

Ian