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• The Baby King of Rolling

  Axel rolled over again!  This confirms that the first time (more than a week before the recent second occurences) was not a fluke.  Both times were fuelled by tummy-time induced rage. The anger inspired lots of thrashing, which combined with arm pushing to cause Axel to roll from belly to back - three times in a row!     Axel believes tummy time was created to torture babies - or he did, until he discovered that, while splayed on his belly, he can sample many delicacies, like his fist, sleeve, or blanket.        Yum, red fleece.   Since making this discovery, Axel seems less inclined to exert the herculean effort required to roll over.   Even so, this rolling over has made me both incredibly proud (even though it's not exactly uncommon for babies to roll over), and filled me with fear - first rolling, then sitting, then crawling, then walking, and all of this interspersed with pulling vases off of tables and on to his head and sticking metal objects in to light sockets.  Rolling means I can no longer leave him alone on the changing table; I know I never should have done that but, sometimes, when your hands are covered in poop, you really want to wash them good before picking up the baby that created the gross yellow stuff.  It means the time that he will lay on his back on a blanket, without wiggling off to less comfortable parts of the floor, is limited.  It means that we really should get with it and start baby proofing.    Even though I know all babies roll over, it's still shocking when it's your own kid, moving at light speed from newborn bundle of grunts and poop to small person with moderate control of his hands and body.   Here he is, dressed up in a hoodie with ears - ears being the clothing industry's device of choice to suck mamas and grandmamas into purchasing unnecessary but teeth-achingly adorable hooded towels and sweaters for the babies in their lives - happily flailing about his newly-discovered hands.        Slow down, baby boy, and give us a minute to get the knives off of the counter and the outlet covers in place!   Posted Jan 16 2008, 03:05 PM by knockedup with | with 5 comment(s) Filed under: tummy time sucks, eleven weeks, rolling over, babies in hooded sweaters

• That Parrot Was Asking For It

  Today, I carted my boy to the doctor for his two month check up.  Here's a run down of his vital stats, as recorded during the brief moments when Axel sleeps to build up his energy for more shot-induced fussing.     Names: Axel William, McGee, Peanut Butter Cup, Baby Boy   Height: 22 inches.  Okay, he's 21 and 3/4, but, since I give myself the extra 1/4 inch and call myself 5'2", I'll give him an extra smidge, too.   Weight: 10 lbs naked.      Head: Fat.  It's 15 1/2 inches - in the 40th percentile.  His height and weight are in the 20th.  My high school probability and statistics teacher would give me an F for  thinking for even a minute that means his head is twice as big as his body, but it sure looks pretty huge to me.   Favorite Things: Bouncy chairs, being worn in a sling, thrashing about on blankets, staring at the dog.   Least Favorite Thing: Tummy time.  Oh, how he hates tummy time.    Tricks: Clutching on to shirts and hair, wooing women (especially supermarket checkers from the Ukraine) with his cuteness, angellically sleeping or smiling and cooing whenever guests are present or he's in public, holding up his head for minutes at a time, sleeping at night for five hours in a row (and once, when the, rolling over.  I'm not sure if rolling over counts, since it only happened once a few days ago, when Axel was screaming mad about being on his tummy and his arms happened to be in the perfect position under his shoulders to heave himself onto his back.  That was more of a fluke than a trick.  It has not been repeated, despite all the promises of rewards - extra delicious milk, even more cuddly blankets, multi-colored sparkling lights - that I've made.   Diaper Rash: Yes.  Of course it came out right before I headed to the doctor, making me worry, "Oh, lord, he's going to think I'm such a horrible mother and that I let Axel sit for days in his poop."  I guess, since I take slightly unreasonable pride in Axel's growth, it's only fitting that I flog myself over his diaper rash.  It's one of those nasty, white-speckled yeast rashes.  And it's in the fold between his leg and his junk, poor kid.  We were able to do a sneak attack and quickly eradicate the diaper rash on his bum a few weeks ago, but this rash came out of nowhere and struck with brutal force.  At least it looks brutal to me - Axel, thankfully, doesn't seem to give two figs about it.   Our doctor recommended regimen: wipe all traces of pooh off butt, dunk butt in a sink full of warm water (and try to keep baby from knocking head against the faucet, so that baby doesn't have bruises that will really make the doctor worry), pat dry, apply anti-fungal athlete's foot creme, apply Weleda diaper creme, wag purple crab toy in the air to keep baby smiling, put on new diaper.  Repeat every diaper change until rash-free.    Evil nemesis: Yeast, gas bubbles, and the smack-talking little blue parrot on the bouncy chair that Axel punches in the gut every chance he gets, while his mama cheers him on.      I should probably cut out the "Good job, baby boy!  Kick that parrot's ass!" stuff before Axel learns to speak, so that he won't be the kid in preschool who shoves down the other kids and, when scolded, says his mama is pro ass-kicking.        Posted Jan 07 2008, 02:22 PM by knockedup with | with 8 comment(s) Filed under: two month old baby, trash talking parrot, peanut butter cup, diaper rash, tummy time sucks