The Twelfth Month

A year already?

So our boy is one year old. Jas and I have succeeded in keeping a dependent human being alive for twelve months. We’re a bit chuffed, really, especially given that he is also a happy little person, that he can feed himself and that – very importantly! - he rarely disturbs us in our sleep. 

We’re not quite sure how he has turned out so well, but then Jas and I have both been jobless bums for most of his life and we’ve both constantly been on hand to supply him with food, entertainment and clean pants. And the fact that we quite like him probably helps too!

Little chapters

Looking back, the first year was just a rapid series of phases. Most of them are good; others you are incredibly grateful that they have been banished to eternity. The End of Vomit was a milestone I was particularly happy about. Personally, I can’t wait until he can wipe his own arse. There’ll also be much rejoicing in the household when he can eat breakfast without covering several square metres of floor and furniture with milk and mushy cereal.

There was the phase of Putting Everything On The Floor, closely followed by the Putting Everything Into Some Sort Of Container phase. During the latter, I had to fish a couple of his books out of the rubbish bin, and I spent an hour looking for keys that Zane had thoughtfully deposited into the washing basket.

And there are many more to look forward to, of course. The Walking And Falling On His Face phase, quickly followed by the stage of Running And Falling On His Face. Before we know it we’ll be in the realms of the Dad Can I Borrow The Car period. 

Every one of these steps will be a new chapter in his quest for independence – and no doubt a new challenge for Jas and I - until ultimately he’ll be able to do, and hopefully pay for, absolutely everything himself. Perhaps one day further down the line he’ll end up feeding me and be supplying me with clean pants. 

Giddyup

I’ve made a rod for my own back: I’ve introduced Zane to the Piggy Back. He loves tenuously hanging on to my shoulders as I jog and spin about the room, laughing as he bounces about on my back. The problem is, whenever I am sitting on the floor, Zane will cunningly manoeuvre himself behind me and tap me politely on the shoulder, the signal to bring me into service.

I generally act like a lazy old horse that I used to have and pretend he isn't there. As I ignore him, the tapping becomes more insistent, eventually becoming a hearty slap, as though he has a pressing engagement to be carried to and I am his full-time chauffeur. I usually relent and give him the ride.

Toddler tongue

He is very expressive. Zane speaks all the time, whether it’s murmuring quietly to himself or busily chattering to us. However: we have no idea what he is talking about. He has created his own language, one that heavily features ‘g’, ‘b’ and all the vowels, a language that he has developed in conjunction with the Welsh, speakers of Hindi and the Swedish Chef from the Muppets.

He gently mumbles to his toys: “goitha goitha goitha”. He looks at us seriously to ask us questions: “godoiba dubaiba goyawa??” He gets attention in the supermarket with loud expressions on “dolawia!” He makes important announcements to the nation from our living room, with his arms charismatically outstretched: “DUBBA DUBBA GOHOMANA”. I wish Google would find me a translator for it; it all sounds incredibly fascinating.

Smooth moves

Zane has a new food favourite. Well, after bananas that is: the banana is still the only food he has every single day, with relish. But smoothies are the new banana. Especially banana smoothies. We gave him an experimental sip of one, and he made it embarrassingly clear that a single sip would not suffice. Since then, he has no trouble downing a large cup of the stuff at a time. And it’s usually mine.

Actually, he has developed the incredible knack of taking a drink of mine and making it his own as though it was never meant for me. What’s more, he’ll offer me a little sip or two as though he is being an exceedingly charitable chap.

It's a disturbing trend. I need to start eating more when he is asleep so I have the energy to piggy-back a growing smoothie-stealing lad about the house.

All about cake: Being A Baby (being-a-baby.blogspot.com).

The Eleventh Month

He’ll take the hard road 

Why use a screw driver when you can use a power drill? We adults tend to find the easiest way of doing things. We know that putting your jeans on after your underpants is the most efficient way of getting dressed. And how often would you take the slow route from A to B? Zane would. And does. Little ones don’t know the best way of doing things; they’re too busy just working out how to achieve something in any way possible, let alone finding superior alternatives.  

If I’m sitting on the floor with my legs outstretched and Zane wants to get something on the other side of me, rather than crawling around me he’ll clumsily clamber over my legs with the speed, grace and agility of a walrus in a bouncy castle. His direct journey takes a great deal longer than if he had kept to the flat floor. Did he know there was another way? Perhaps. Perhaps he just wanted a challenge. Or perhaps he just took the path he found most enjoyable.

Shocking

My dad (Zane’s Pa) calls it his 240 Volt Trick. When all eyes are on Zane he has the urge to do something impressive, to show off what he can do with his body. The result is hilarious. He seems to do an impression of how someone would look when subject to a violent electric shock: his legs straighten and tense; his portly belly sucks in and his back becomes stiff as a board; all the muscles in his arms and fingers flex so his hands look like claws; the transformation that is most humorous is in his face – his eyes open wide, the whites of his eyes flashing, and his mouth stretches into a crazy grin; and all this he does while vibrating his whole person as a pretend alternating current surges through his comical little body.

Felinity

As you become a new parent you automatically activate a number of feline genes. There are three of them.

The first is reflex: you suddenly develop the ability to catch your falling child with cat-like speed. If our boy is lying on a bed across the room and he unexpectedly decides to roll quickly to its edge, I find myself there in an instant, ready to cushion his swift descent. I never quite know how I traverse the distance between us; it involves no conscious thought on my part and must engage a rather trivial quantum leap.

With Zane now crawling about at high speed, he seems to have a craving for moving towards the brink of stairs without any check in his velocity. Once or twice I have cleanly caught him just as he became airborne, despite the fact I was seated comfortably in a chair some distance away a second earlier, happily nursing a relaxing beverage. Zane probably thinks he is invincible, throwing himself off high places like a hang glider might, only to suspend in mid-air for a moment and then be comfortably relocated elsewhere...and then start it all again.

Secondly, cats have antibiotic properties in their saliva. Now we are parents, so do we! For many months after Zane’s birth Jas and I would diligently ensure that anything that went into his mouth was thoroughly disinfected with expensive chemical-embedded germ-nuking wipes: cups, spoons, dummies, even his fingers were constantly cleansed. Our immediate environment was always a bacteria-free zone.

We don’t bother with that now; why spend so much time fiddling about sterilising everything that enters our boy’s mouth when we have the ability to clean things with our own tongue? If his dummy hits the floor, we’ll quickly suck it before safely replacing it in his mouth. If he throws his spoon on the ground, a quick lick from mum or dad is guaranteed to remove all dangerous germs from it. A dirty face? Rubbing Zane’s cheeks with saliva-dabbed fingers is the perfect cleanser.

And three: our hearing is now brilliant. While Jas and I are still rather crap at hearing when the other has something useful to say when seated beside each other, we can hear Zane’s cry in a house full of noisy kids whilst at opposite ends of the building. More importantly, we can hear the silence: if Zane is awake and is making absolutely no noise at all, he is up to no good and probably eating a book or rubbing bodily fluids into the carpet.

Mini felinity

 
Zane also displays cat-like characteristics. He likes pouncing: he’ll pause in mid crawl, and suddenly rise up on his knees, his arms outstretched above his head, and hang there for a predatory second or two...and then he’ll fling himself forward onto his victim – often an unfortunate soft toy or Jas’ head – pouncing with the ferocity of a clumsy kitten mauling a tennis ball.

The Tenth Month

4D

I was sitting at a table, reading quietly, when the chair opposite me moved. I looked at it, wondering if I was seeing things. I wasn’t: it moved again, a little further along. Then it moved backwards. Then forwards. Then backwards again. The chair was doing a waltz. I looked under the table...Zane was sitting next to the chair, his arms grasping the legs, intently focussed on sliding it along the floor.

Once Zane became mobile, he had taken it upon himself to make everything else move about as well. His life had gone 4-dimensional. Not long ago he was a static body watching the world orbit him from a single perspective. Crawling has enabled him to move around and look at all planetary objects from other interesting angles, to see what they looked like from the back, the sides and from underneath. What’s more, he can now create his own angles, moving whatever furniture he can, enjoying the power to rearrange the world in his own way. The result is usually a big, but happy, mess.

Elvis 

Zane can now stand. When he is in the vicinity of any solid object that can support his weight, he uses it to hoist himself up and straighten his legs. He loves it: standing gives him some time away from ultra-ground level and let him be more “adult”. The interesting thing is, once he has attained his lofty height, he doesn’t immediately enjoy the new panoramic views available to him; the first thing he does is to look back down at his feet. Perhaps he gets a new perspective of his feet with them being a further away, or is impressed that something other than his little dimply butt is supporting his weight.

Once he is done enjoying the aerial views of his feet and legs, he likes to move them. However, he doesn’t indulge in any of that walking business. Oh, no. He does Elvis. Zane shifts his weight a little to one leg, pivots the other outwards, and rocks his hips and free legs about in a miniature impersonation of The King. A-huh-huh.

Setting boundaries 

Zane has begun to understand the meaning of “no”. When he is doing something he shouldn’t be, such as trying to eat a shoe or a small animal, a stern “NO!” checks his progress, making him look up in mild shock that such harsh words are being directed at him. And it generally works so far; he tends to stay away from things he knows he shouldn’t touch. I say generally: on occasion, he just thinks we’re not serious. Our firm warning will make him stop what he is doing, look at us for some seconds, and then he’ll laugh, a laugh that says: “Hehehe, you’re just kidding, right? I really can give this table cloth a good yank, can’t I?”

He is not yet a year old, yet sometimes his eyes betray the maturity of many years. At play Zane glows with childish joy, his face enraptured at throwing things about or making noise with clattering toys. But then, sometimes he doesn’t; during some childish diversions he just looks serious and unimpressed. For example, I was once playing a jolly fun game with him - bouncing a balloon on his head - and he was most unenthusiastic. He was unmoved, looking at me sideways, unflinchingly, as though I were a petulant child. The game was not quite so enjoyable to me after that.

A new storage concept 

We adults are far too organised. We all have numerous pieces of furniture - drawers, shelves, tables, cupboards – to orderly store all of our things. Zane has helped me see the light: put everything on the floor! Every time Zane finds a set of drawers, he opens the ones he can reach and pulls out each item in the drawer one-by-one and deposits them on the floor. Coffee tables? A waste of space. They are the perfect height for Zane to practice his standing and walking; he pulls himself up to methodically grab each article – whether it be a coaster, a magazine, or a plate – to unceremoniously drag it onto the floor, barely giving them a second glance once they’ve reached their new resting place. Why have cupboards when your saucepans can be accessed from the ground? And shelves: take all those books off them so you can view the walls in their entirety. Why have any furniture at all? Zane Minimalism: maximise the use of your floor space!

Zane's entry: Being A Baby (being-a-baby.blogspot.com).

The Ninth Month

Body awareness

Up until recently Zane really only recognised and consciously operated two prime parts of his body: his left hand and his mouth, the former being the lynchpin in the act of getting as much food into the latter as possible. Everything else seemed to be bodily attachments that were just “there”, doing their own thing, without him paying any real attention to them: his neck was something that held up his head and collected dribble; his right arm was an occasional assistant to the left when slippery pieces of food needed to be manipulated; his bum was something that provided cushioning when he sat, and which vibrated once in a while; and his feet were strange distant appendages that flashed into view whenever he got excited. But this month he made a number of discoveries...

Now, both of his hands can be used to make noise! With the correct timing and accurate aim, connecting two flat hands together at high velocity creates a clattering sound and provides immense enjoyment. And clapping does not require kitchen utensils to make a happy din. It’s even more fun when he can join in with others: when we are watching TV and there is applause on the show that is being broadcast, Zane claps along as though he is part of the television audience, producing surround sound for us. It’s better than Dolby.

He has a belly! After a meal he resembles a bonsai Buddha, with a big round belly protruding from above his trousers and from under his top. Zane now appreciates his stomach, the Collector of Food, by happily looking down upon his magnificent protrusion and pats it heartily with both hands after a meal.

And Zane has found his willy. Admittedly, it is hidden from view by his nappy most of the time, but once when he was sitting on the floor naked, he looked down and noticed a curious new bodily accessory. Naturally, he had a bit of a fiddle with it to try and ascertain its purpose but once that minute had passed, he was just content to hang on to it and move his attention elsewhere.

Can you do this?

Try this: sit on the floor with your legs in front of you, and then fold your body over so your head is on the floor between your feet. Too easy? Now go to sleep for several hours in that position.

Or this: kneel in front of a wall, resting your hands against it slightly above your head, arms rigid, and then straighten your legs with only your toes on the floor, keeping your torso from sagging.

Another challenge: from a sitting position grab one foot and bring it to your mouth, while staying in an upright position...at the dinner table

Do you find any of these difficult? If you can do them, you are probably a black belt yoga master, or a baby. 

Sound effects

Zane creates some noises that don’t seem appropriate for a baby. It’s funny when we hear them, but then we think, “Where did he get that from?” One of these sound effects would be at home on an alien film, and our boy achieves with when his mouth is full of excess saliva, which is pretty much during his every waking hour. Essentially he sucks air in through a pool of dribble seated on his tongue, creating a bubbling noise; the first time I heard it I found it disturbing as it reminded me of the sound that Hannibal Lecter made in Silence of the Lambs, and caused me to look quickly at the source: my son innocently combining air and spit for his aural enjoyment. 

He also has a giggle that has a slightly evil aura to it, a snigger that he unleashes occasionally when he is a little hyperactive or over-excited. It’s a low pitched and slightly manic “herherherherher”, a wicked chuckle that says, “Give me that banana now, or the phone gets it”. 

In the boy's eyes: Being A Baby (being-a-baby.blogspot.com).

The Eighth Month

Going bananas 

As I ate a banana one day, Zane looked at it intently, tensed his arms and made a panicky groaning noise, actions we’ve come to associate with Zane wanting something (mostly food). We hadn’t given him any banana before so I gave him a nibble to see if he liked it. He more than liked it: I never actually got to have any more of that banana! He never relinquished it, and he hungrily devoured it as though he had never tasted anything so marvellous before and that it was the last one he would ever have. I fetched myself another, took a bite, and again Zane looked as though he might explode. I gave him more, which resulted in him simply eating the rest. This was repeated yet again, after which I gave up. From three bananas, I had managed four bites; Zane had eaten the rest. 

Since then he has been nuts about bananas, often impatiently gulping two in one sitting. We timed him once: he ate a banana in four minutes. I must check the Babies Banana Consumption section of Guinness Book of Records to see how he compares. And not only does he like to eat the bendy yellow fruit, he loves playing with the remnants. He’ll attempt rudimentary flight with the floppy banana skins, holding one in each hand and wildly flapping them up and down, looking at us joyfully, on a banana high, as though he fully expects lift-off at any moment. 

Zane’s banana-eating ability captures attention. The sight of a baby ably holding a banana and consuming it at speed surprises strangers who – I guess – expect someone his age being spoon-fed baby puree. We were on a busy ferry and Zane entertained an amazed audience of fellow passengers who simply could not take their eyes of him as he systematically demolished the fruit. People craned their necks to see the little man in action, and then nudged their friends to take a look. The eyebrows of our captive audience raised further when I took out a second banana, peeled it (perhaps a little theatrically) and gave it to Zane. 

Talented and nosey 

Zane is getting clever. Handling food is becoming easy for him, so much so that he can multi-task. For example, he can hold food in each hand with his left steadily pushing it into his mouth, while the right gently rotates back and forth as he studies the food item from all angles. At one point he exceeded himself and managed to do three things at once as Jas held him: while he was (1) eating a grape, he had the additional coordination capacity to (2) give her a hug, pulling her face close to his. Unfortunately for Jas, whilst hugging and munching on a grape, he (3) sneezed heavily in Jas’ face. I wish I had videoed the spectacle – it would have provided me with hours of entertainment. Jas didn’t quite agree. 

Our boy has a strong need to know what is going on about him. During his morning breastfeed I really have to sit down and do absolutely nothing. If I am busying about doing anything vaguely interesting like putting the kettle on, putting some dishes away or – most importantly of all – preparing his next breakfast course, he’ll de-latch from the boob and watch me. And he won’t bother sitting up to review my actions: he’ll simply stop feeding, throw his head back so his body is arched and he is looking at me upside-down, with one hand on the breast to prevent it from going anywhere. He’ll stay in that position until he is happy with what I am doing, or until I look at him to acknowledge that my every move is being studied. Then he’ll pull himself up and resume his feed. 

Packing 

We try to get out and about with Zane as much as we can: he loves seeing new scenes and new people. In much the same way as a dog might get madly excited at the sound of its leash being taken off the hook by the door in readiness for a walk in the park, Zane literally vibrates with excitement when he sees me donning the baby carrier, and he makes it difficult to secure him in it as his legs thrash about like a fish out of water. Once he is installed in the carrier (facing outwards), and once we are outside, his eyes hungrily take in everything about him as though he’ll be given an observation test upon our return. And the legs keep kicking. 

Any outdoor sojourn longer than a five minutes, however, requires extensive planning and packing. Preparing for an afternoon hike is equivalent to embarking on an ascent on Everest, packing enough supplies and equipment that will meet every potential eventuality, every change in weather, every pang of hunger, and requiring a Sherpa and a couple of mules to lug our luggage for us. One day we went out for an afternoon hike, and our packed food consisted of two sandwiches, two bananas, an apple, a bunch of grapes, an egg, some chicken, some cheese and a few rusks. The sandwiches were for Jas and I; the rest was for Zane. 

Little habits 

As Zane cannot communicate with words, it is interesting to see how he gets his message across, or expresses his emotions, using his body. 

Ever since he was tiny Zane rotated his feet, occasionally rolling his ankles in a relaxed fashion to – I guess – exercise the lower extremities of his body. He now does it when he gets excited about something (normally the prospect of a meal being served) and his hands also join in. When he spies the approach of a plate of food his body tenses, the eyes bulge, his arms and legs extend out straight in front of him and his hands and feet spin at high speed; it’s as though each of his limbs turned into a propeller and the motor has fired into life creating a whirling blur. 

As much as Zane likes to eat, we know when he has enough. Most humans merely stop eating when they are done. If Zane were to simply cease imitating a front-end loader when he has a bowl of food in front of him, it would be enough to indicate to us that he is full. But no: he likes to pick up his bowl (normally still containing food remnants), hold it aloft like a champion’s trophy and then turn it upside down, emptying it of all its contents. If he is sitting on a table-top, the scattering of food on the table all around him prompts him to kick his legs about like a pair of possessed windscreen wipers. Unlike windscreen wipers, however, he makes the situation worse and he squashes and spreads the food around even more, creating angel-wing shapes with it. Most of his actions are learned from copying me or Jas, but these dinner distribution actions must have come to him in some food-filled dream. 

When adults tire they generally slow down, their energy depleting until it is time to recharge and go to sleep. Why do little ones go crazy and act drunk when they are exhausted? If Zane could walk he would be dangerous when he is fatigued. As Zane becomes overtired he becomes hyperactive and starts flapping his arms and legs frantically as though he is trying to propel himself along the bed on his back. The kicking and flapping speeds up until his limbs become a blur; any toy that is in his hand at the time shakes so much that it starts to fall apart. Faster and faster he’ll flap, his bed shaking and the walls vibrating, and just at the point where the sheets start to smoke from the friction, he’ll suddenly stop, as if he’d just blown a fuse, and he’ll be instantly and peacefully asleep. 

The Invisible Parent 

Zane is incredibly popular. Wherever we go, people stop and smile and say how cute he is, and maybe tickle his feet. Strangers even ask to take photos of him! Many have the interesting habit of talking to him without even acknowledging Jas or I - the parent who happens to be attached to him at the time of the meeting. They’ll smile at Zane as though he is the only person within eyesight and the first question is nearly always “How old are you, then?” to which Jas or I will say “Seven months”. Still they ogle at our boy: to them, Zane is a skilled ventriloquist operating a large and uninteresting puppet (Jas/me), as they continue to ask Zane his name, where he is from and where he has been. 

Zane's perspective: Being A Baby (being-a-baby.blogspot.com).

The Seventh Month

Time flies, eh?

Zane is six months already! So much change in such a little space of time. I recall – what seems like an eon ago – always having to cradle a little baby to sleep, a little baby with an upset tummy who would only welcome sleep when in a very specific position in the crook of my arm. That position was “The Sleeping Leopard”: he would lay face down on my forearm, his head on the inside of my elbow, limbs dangling and he would whimper. Not only was a particular position required, I had also to be gently moving, swaying like a metronome, walking about the house at a slow and rhythmic pace. Anything else would result in incessant crying. Sitting down to rest to support my aching arm was out of the question, regardless of how slow and careful I was; he would always know when I would try to gently lower myself into our infinitely inviting couch and he would bawl his disapproval, as though he could detect when my arse came within close proximity to a comfortable surface.

It’s completely different now. Then, sleep was hard to come by when he had stomach pains, and he would only cry when in pain or hungry. Now, he just doesn’t want to sleep at all! There is far too much going on for him to sleep and miss out on ultra-important developments in the day, like what I’m having on my sandwich, or what colour socks Jas will put on. Not only that, he has learnt to cry not just to satisfy a primal need, but to get our attention, to be picked up and being given an adult view of what is happening in his little world. And he also now has hair. Not just a downy sheen, a trace of fine follicles that barely look like they are there, but the start of a blonde mane that makes him look like a little boy, no longer a baby, that makes it much more difficult to remove porridge from his head.

It’s all about food

A baby’s learning curve is steep when you think about the skills we humans have, such as being able to pick things up of various size, shape, texture and weight, but Zane is climbing that curve as though it has an escalator installed in it. Like any learning, however, there are mistakes to be made. He is getting very good at holding bottles, and we recently let him pick up his milk bottle rather than hand it to him. We put it on the table in front of him, and he launched his body forward, clumsily grabbed the bottle by the teat and gripped it tightly. The bottle comically shot a fine white stream of liquid at his head, which made Zane pause and look at us with a single milky eye, wondering what had gone wrong in his valiant and impatient effort to feed himself. 

Zane seems to want to completely skip learning steps at times. I cut a piece of apple for him, a nice sized piece that he would find easy to grasp in his little fist. I put it on the table in front of him, with the rest of the apple just beyond it. He looked at me, and then leant forward and over the piece I had cut especially for him and grabbed the rest of the apple. He dragged it towards him so he could stab his fangs hungrily into it. Clearly I was taking things too slow for him.

Zane’s enjoyment of food normally equates to a great deal of mess. Unfortunately he doesn’t understand what mess is yet, only that food is fun. If he really gets into a little bowl of porridge, for example, it normally results in Zane looking as though he has bathed in a large bucket of the stuff. He gets food everywhere: we’ve cleaned bits of carrot from behind his ear, yoghurt from his eyes, cucumber that was stuck to his back, pasta from between his toes and rice from within his nappy. Not only does he get food all over himself, he’ll spread it on any clean surface within reach. If I’m holding Zane as he eats a bowl of yoghurt, he will typically pause, look at me, smile a satisfying look-what-I’m-doing kind of smile, and then casually and absent-mindedly rest his yoghurt-dripping hand on my arm, affectionately rubbing it a bit, perhaps to thank me for his meal, or perhaps just to ensure that the yoghurt gets deeply into my pores.

We try to give him as big a range of food as we can, but admittedly I shy away from feeding him some foods whenever I can (and let Jas do it). The main culprits are from the food group I call Adhesive Foods, primarily yoghurt, porridge and Weetabix, those that stick to Zane’s hair, his skin, his eyelashes and between his fingers and toes, often requiring a bath and special tools to remove all traces of it from his person. As Zane takes a while to eat a bowl of food, anything that hasn’t made it into his mouth has dried up by the time he is done. Once dried, yoghurt requires a mild paint-stripper to remove; porridge needs heavy duty sandpaper; and Weetabix – the most powerful Adhesive Food - requires a diamond cutter to remove from surfaces it has been applied to.

Then there are the Migrating Foods, those that seem to find themselves in places far flung from whence it was first given to Zane – in shoes, behind cushions, on the ceiling or on the neighbour’s dog. Prime candidates for this group are rice and couscous. We have only fed couscous to Zane once as we were still finding the little balls about the place weeks after feeding them to him. I’ll be prepared to try giving it to him again once we have a house that contains a specially built clean-room complete with special protective suits, a room secure enough that would permit radioactive materials to be handled inside it.

Night classes

Zane normally lets us know what his developmental needs are: he was very clear in telling us when he was ready to eat food by launching himself at an apple I was enjoying; he simply bawled out when he was laying on his back and wanted to practice sitting up. We discovered one night – at around 3am – that he is practicing other things by stealth. We awoke to gentle grunting, a noise that sounded a bit like a thieving squirrel trying to prise open our window. We peeked down on the little man and found him on his belly. This was unusual in itself as he typically slept on his back, and occasionally on his side. It seemed that he was practicing crawling! He was spending a lot of time getting his butt in the air and then resting, with his face in his hands. He’d then lower his butt and then raise it again, grunting with effort with each elevation, and maybe attempting to propel himself forward a little when he had strength in his arms. We have no idea why he feels the need to improve his crawling as we slept, although he does have a habit of surprising us with the speed with which he advances with certain skills. It certainly explains why he always sleeps in.

Smiling rivalry

Zane and I had a smiling competition. Zane smiled at me, as he often does. Yes, it is nice. I smiled back, as I do. He did it again, a little more cheesily, with both of his lower fangs visible. I did the same. He then cut loose in response, and gave a smile so big that his eyes were almost closed with the effort of pulling the corners of his mouth as high and as far apart as possible. Well, I couldn’t leave it there, and produced a sterling smile that I would have thought would have Zane reeling. But no: he pulled out his big guns. He reproduced his squinting-cheesy-toothy grin, AND tensed his arms in front of him, like a body builder showing off his pectorals, AND groaned happily at the same time. Well, I couldn’t compete with that. My sides had split in laughter.

The boy's words: Being A Baby (being-a-baby.blogspot.com).

The Sixth Month

Entrapment

I can no longer relax. I’ve suddenly noticed that – whenever I am eating – I am being watched. And not just with a passing interest; Zane was intensely following every fork-load of food that I consumed, closely observing the content and progression of my meal, chewing air and drooling every time I put something in my mouth. My every meal-time move was being monitored. 

Then one day, as he sat on my lap, watching an apple repeatedly pass over his head as I took a bite out of it, he attacked the core with such vigour that I was caught by surprise: he grabbed it with both hands, pulled it to his mouth, planted his two teeth into it and sucked, covering it in dribble as he did so (rendering it inedible for anyone but Zane). It was like something off a wildlife documentary: a lizard waiting for prey to come within reach before ensnaring it with lightning reflexes, although a lizard doesn’t possess a saliva tsunami weapon with which to drown its prey.

It didn’t stop at the apple. Zane has attacked other foods with a zeal that is rather frightening in a person who can’t even sit up without support. We gave Zane an egg: a whole, peeled boiled egg to see what he would do with it. He tore it apart and ate it all, as though he had done it many times before. That, we were impressed with. We began giving him all types of food. Couscous we weren’t so impressed with: little of it made it into his mouth, and he seemed intent on spreading it as far and as wide as he could. I think I spent the following hour cleaning couscous from Zane, his clothes and from all the furniture in view.

Poser

Zane will now smile in front of the camera. It seems to be one of the first things he has copied from us, and obviously finds it important to look good in all photos. However, he will smile whenever I have a camera in my hand, regardless of whether I am pointing it at him, or even if I am not actually taking a photo. Actually, he will smile for any small electronic device I have in my hand. I’ll pick up my phone to make a call, and Zane will look at it with a manic grin on his face, his eyes squinting with the effort of producing the most dazzling smile he can. I could probably hold a can opener up and he would grin at it. And that’s not all: he will smile at a camera irrespective of his mood. I had Zane in the baby carrier on my chest with him facing outward as we were on a hike, and he was very unhappy. He’d been bawling incessantly for 15 minutes, and I’d tried everything to settle him, without luck. I gave up and just kept walking, and at one point I took out the camera to take a picture of some lovely vista. Zane stopped crying. I thought, “What the...?” I couldn’t see his face, and I suspected the camera to be the cause. I turned the camera around, took a picture of his face and looked at the result: it was a big cheesy smile in a face soaked with tears. I put the camera away and the crying resumed.

He Does Like Us!

Zane has learnt how to be affectionate. He always receives kisses and hugs from us, but now he has learnt how to return them, to give us some reassurance that he really does like us. Or maybe it’s a ploy to get food, we’re not sure. Anyhow, it’s beautiful to see: when Jas picks him up, he’ll wrap his arms around her neck (well, about a third the way around), and kiss her on the cheek. I use the term “kiss” very loosely, as it involves Zane opening his mouth wide and sucking Jas’ cheek whilst dribbling copiously. I’ve never seen something so touching that requires a mop to clean up afterwards.

With me, he is a little more aggressive. When my head is close, he’ll grab a handful of hair from each side of my head, firmly pull me close and then cheerfully bite my nose. The meaning in this action is indeed questionable, but I like to think it’s an act of fondness.   

Pride

When you become a dad, you start to become proud of simpler things than you might previously have done. As well as getting satisfaction at, say, your own sporting achievements or a promotion at work, you well up at milestones that might seem innocuous to others, but are significant in your child’s development. One such event occurred when Zane woke up recently: he had his very first bed hair! His little blonde fronds had grown long enough to get messed up in his sleep. He woke up and as he looked at me, he had clearly looked like he had been in dreamland for some time, with a clump of hair askew on top of his head. It was a beautiful sight.

Zane recently discovered his hands, and spent a lot of time holding them out in front of him, waving them about, doing little royal waves, seeing the shapes he could create with his wrist and fingers and trying to use them to pick things up. He has now found his feet! They are considerably further away, however that doesn’t stop him grabbing them, shaking them about and pulling them up to his head, just to show off. And it doesn’t stop there: he likes to suck on his toes. I’m very happy that he can’t walk yet, as I’m sure I’d be forever pulling his grubby feet from between his lips.

 
An ability that I’m not particularly overjoyed about is that Zane seems to be able to project his puke into rather unfortunate locations on demand. The most memorable, yet forgettable, of these was when we were in a rather nice hotel bar overlooking a lake with well-to-do patrons all about. I had Zane sitting on my lap, with one of my legs crossed over the other, so the “cuff” of my shorts was angled slightly upwards. Zane had the apparent need to vomit a copious amount of warm fluid up the leg of my shorts. Barely a drop hit the floor or the chair; pretty much all of it made its way to the top of my shorts – on the inside. It generated a large and unfortunately obvious wet patch from my right buttock all the way down the inside leg. I had to leave immediately, as inconspicuously as I could, though it is difficult to walk normally in those conditions.

From Zane: Being A Baby (being-a-baby.blogspot.com).