Male Bonding

Max learned a new manly ritual last night -- watching the basketball game with his dad. He wore the traditional outfit -- underwear and a stretched-out tee shirt -- and while he could not have a cold beer, he did have some warm breastmilk during a commercial break. Sadly, he also learned that basketball is a cruel mistress . . . if you look closely, you can see a salty tear trickling down Ian's face while Max attempts to comfort him. Sorry, Kings.

The Doublemint Twins

Max had another encounter with his cousin Joseph yesterday. He and I spent the day with Joey and his mom (Ian's sister Jean). Unlike their last meeting, when their interest in each other was limited to half-hearted glances and the occasional face-poke, the cousins got very excited upon catching each others' eye. They both smiled, giggled, and reached out to touch one another's hair, which raised the cuteness levels dangerously high. When Grandma Tillman got home from work and found both her grandsons at home, she narrowly escaped bursting with the excitement of it all.



While Joey and Max seem to like each other a lot, we did catch a glimpse of what their two-year old interactions might be like. Max brought some of his toys to 'share' with Joseph. Notice that Max has all the toys in his lap.

Now look! Joseph appears to have commandeered the stash of toys. Max is becoming less and less sure about this sharing thing.

Max attempts to hoard some of the toys behind his back, to be played with later, when Joseph isn't looking.

Already An Addict

Young Master Tillman is proving to be an extremely visual child. The mere sight of his dad sends him into fits of foot-kicking, whole-body-wriggling glee. The vision of his pureed food being mixed in a bowl makes him squeal in open-mouthed anticipation. Shadows on the wall are a ready excuse to keep the eyes open at naptime. And then, of course, there is the television. Ian and I, who both watched more television than was probably good for us in a past life, have both made heroic efforts to cut back to almost no TV at all. We instituted this change after becoming fearful that his first word might come from 'The Sopranos'. It turns out, however, that Max's love for the television transcends its on/off status. We were playing on the floor the other day ( a lot of our lives now take place within a foot of the ground), and Max kept turning around to look at the screen, which was a) inconveniently located behind him and b) NOT EVEN ON! Here he is holding out one of his rings as a sacrificial offering to the HBO gods. We may have to become Amish.

P.S. I know that this hat screams 'Davis Parent' really loudly, and I never pegged myself as one of those parents who would become overly obsessed with UV rays or organic cotton fibers, but I have come to terms with the Davis Parent that dwells within me. And if you're honest with yourself, you'll admit his cuteness while wearing it. Go ahead. It's okay. Admit the cuteness. You'll feel a lot better.

Feel The Burn

Max is starting to do that rocking on hands and knees that precedes crawling. It is hard to watch him work on it, because he gets so frustrated. He has such a clear vision of himself crawling freely, wrecking havoc on so many parts of the world, and it is so close to being in his grasp. Keep the faith, Max!

Max Seizes The Day (And The Grass)

Max and I took a trip to the park yesterday to have a picnic and soak in the great outdoors. Max liked being outside, although my idea that he might sleep in the shade was scoffed at by him -- there was just too much to look at and touch. The grass was a new and intriguing texture for him. I tried valiantly to limit his contact to hand and foot only, but I suspect that a few blades of grass escaped down the gaping maw. Maybe we could set him loose in our backyard, and let him graze the weeds down!

Young, strong, proud, looking forward to a bright future. Max Tillman for President 2040.










One thing that Max and I share is a deep hatred of being too hot. Max got a little overheated in the park, even in the shade, and took his nap in his car seat in front of the air conditioner when we got home. I wish I had a car seat in front of the air conditioner ... I would totally do the same thing!

The Pureed Banana That Time Forgot

I was the victim of a mysterious phenomenon this morning. I was feeding Max his breakfast (mushed banana and oatmeal -- hooray!) which he ate with enthusiasm. After he finished eating, I gave him some cereal on his tray and went to get a washcloth for his banana-covered self. I returned, washcloth in hand, wiped Max thoroughly, and gave him a few more cereal bits. After playing with the cereal for awhile, Max reached his arms up to be picked up. To my bafflement, I noticed that his hands and arms were once again covered in banana. I rinsed out the washcloth and wiped him down again. I turned to put down the washcloth, and when I turned back to pick up Max, he was covered in goo again. Had I been trapped in some sort of sci-fi style time-loop? Frankly, this is not the moment that I would choose to live over and over again. I finally discovered that Max had placed a hidden reservoir of banana in the crack between his tray and his chair, and was dipping into it every time my back was turned. Not good. Not good at all.

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!)

Max Goes Bananas

Contrary to the sadness Max displayed when first presented with solid food (see video, below), he has taken quite a shine to the whole eating phenomenon. He is fond of mashed fruit, which grosses out his dad something fierce. Ian videotaped the first food eating, but has since found reasons to be elsewhere when the mashed bananas come out to play. Max has learned to anticipate impending finger-fulls of food, and will open his mouth like a baby bird in expectation.

Max hasn't had a bottle since he was about three months old (he decided he liked breast-milk better), but he has started trying to steal cups or glasses from people who foolishly try to drink things while holding him. In an effort to protect my drink, I put a bit of water in a bottle for Max to mess around with while I hastily guzzled my glassful. While Max was not exactly successful at consuming anything from the bottle, he definitely had the idea that it belonged in the mouth. He's such a genius. (Okay, he also has the idea that the couch cushions, my shirt, anyone's fingers, and the cats' tails also belong in the mouth, but he is still a genius, so pipe down.)

Max Represents the Lollipop Guild

Max, from the moment of his birth, has been blessed with an abundance of charm, sass, and smarts. He was not, however, blessed with an abundance of hair. He has been growing it slowly and with great deliberation for the past six months, and finally has what can, in all honesty, be called a full-fledged tuft. Rather than growing evenly across the head, most of the growth seems to be occurring in the front and center, which has left me longing to gel it up into a cockatoo-like brock. Today, after his bath, Max's hair was all standing on end, and I could no longer resist temptation. I petted it up into a baby mohawk, and before you is the result. I regret nothing.

A Tormented Soul

Max has been displaying a deep aversion recently to being put down to sleep, to play, to give his mom time to pee, etc. At first I thought that the past week of constant visitors, constantly holding him, might have given him the idea that independent play was beneath him. I was reading today, however, about separation anxiety, and I think this psychological phenomenon might be coming into play. Max is especially perturbed when he can't see where I am, and is becoming very skilled (as demonstrated in photo) at making me feel horrible when I have to put him down or leave the room. Oh, well. My hygiene, sleep, and eating aren't that important.

Naked Little Max

So Max was so completely coated in slime after today's banana rations that I could not even bear to carry him into the bedroom to remove his clothing and wipe him down. I nudified him in the living room, and the combination of sweet banana goo and public nakedness proved an elixer of joy that just had to be photographed. I know that he is going to disown me as his mother in about fifteen years for taking this, but it'll be totally worth it.

Max Eats Solid Food

So this event happened about two days ago. In the past few weeks, Chelsa and I have noticed Max has had more and more interest in solid food. Example: Max tried to eat my burger the other night, and almost succeeded in getting away with my Pelegrino. Whenever I am eating really anything, he gives me the big cute eyes that seem to say, "hey, that looks pretty good...got any for Max?". Anyway, Homeboy is ready for solid foods. This is a little video of his first non-breast-milk-based meal: smooth blended banana. I could barely stand to be in the room, it was just that gross. It's just one of the many milestones to fly by right now. More to come...

Our Little Alarm Clock

Back in his carefree youth, Max was a boy who enjoyed sleeping in. He would generally start stirring at around eight or eight thirty, grumble quietly to himself until someone tended to him, and then slowly display readiness to get up and face the day around nine. This coincided beautifully with his parents' schedules, as neither one of us is an early riser. We were, in fact, congratulating ourselves on the unique bond of laziness we all shared. Recently, however, Max has displayed unnatural tendencies to not only wake increasingly early, but to be ready to party immediately when he does. I have tried convincing him to nurse back to sleep, to snuggle back to sleep, anything and everything other than simply resigning myself to getting up. Max has countered with high-pitched singing, peeing the bed, and pulling on his dad's chest or armpit hairs. The other morning, I put him in his little bed to play for a while and tried to doze back to sleep. Through my stupor, I kept hearing this grunting noise, which I tried for a while to ignore. Finally, curiosity made me open my eyes, whereupon I beheld Max, freshly rolled over on his tummy, grinning at me. Look at the gleam in his eye as he learns that, once again, he is too cute to resist, no matter how early the hour.

Max has company

Max had a very busy weekend! We had a blessing ceremony for him on Saturday, and an army of friends and relations came to be with him. Here is Max getting to know his Grandpa Al (my dad from Canada). I think they like each other.


On Sunday, we finally got to meet Max's cousin Joseph, and Max got to spend time with the Tillmans. We all went for a walk to the duck pond by Ian's parents' house, and it was a nice break from the chaos of the week.


Max and his godfather share a deep love of shiny objects, and they are teaching Merritt (seen here with his mom Samantha in fetal form) to join in their appreciation.


Okay, Alyson, I'm very sorry that I a)took your picture and b) posted it on the internet, but you must admit that you are awfully cute!


Max and his cousin Joseph getting aquainted. Max seemed to enjoy Joseph in an eye-poking, head-grabbing sort of way. Joseph kept smiling at Max, which was extremely cute.

Play it again, Max

Well, Max is six months old now, and we figured it was high time we educate him in the arts. We expect him to be a true prodigy in music, literature, and sculpture by the time he starts school. He is already well versed in splatter painting with his own drool, and in singing in a high-pitched, scrabbly voice, so we do not think this an unrealistic goal.

Max got this swing for Christmas, but it needed batteries until about a week and a half ago. I included this picture because 1) it's really cute and 2)so Granny and Gramps, from whom the swing came, could see it in action. I know Max looks dubious here, but he does actually enjoy this contraption.

We are trying to teach Max that it is okay to nap by himself, and he seems to be agreeable, as long as he is put to bed in his mom and dad's bed. Edgar, who claimed this territory as his own long before Max entered the picture, sometimes feels a bit displaced. Generally, he is banned from the room if Max is sleeping, but he has gotten really bad about hiding under the bed and then appearing later, when our guard is down. I came in to check on Max and found, much to my surprise, that he had a nap buddy. They are even lying in the same position, for goodness sake! I let Edgar stay, and found things to do in the bedroom until Max got up. I felt too mean kicking him out when he looked so peaceful.

I know this is the second piano shot, but come on. Who could possibly resist these boys?

Teething and Hats

Max has begun the fine art of teething this month, and is chewing on any number of objects in order to get relief. His favorite things to gnaw/gum thoughtfully/moisten with baby drool include his own hands, various toys,and any part of his mom or dad that brushes past his mouth area.





Max is also becoming daily more mobile and alert. He is at a really charming phase where his brain has taught him that he is closer to the center of the action if he sits or stands up, but his body cannot yet do those things without assistance. He expresses his dissatisfaction with this discrepency by squawking loudly if placed in a lying down position to play. While we try to be there for him, and prop him up whenever possible, we have had to resort to artificial props (like the excersaucer, seen here in use).

When Max goes out on the town, he likes to be as unencumbered as possible (and hey, who can blame him?). When he goes out with his granny, however, she fears he will be too cold, and so we have to layer a bit more heavily than we might otherwise. I suspect that Max, like his mother, runs on the warm side, and he hates and fears hats of any kind. I sympathize, Max, but what can I do?


Okay, okay. I know I just put all the blame on Granny for hat-wearing, but this time it was me forcing the headgear on my helpless child. He is just too cute in this hat to resist a small amount of torture. (Of course, this hat was a present from Granny, so she isn't totally blameless.)






And yet another stuff on the head picture. Max is going to move to upper Yemen as soon as he is eighteen if we can't get our photographing embarassing moments thing worked out.