He went to meet Santa and tell him what he wants for Christmas on Wednesday. It was not a complete disaster. He didn't cry or spit up on Santa or poop on him. He just sat there looking at us like we were crazy while we acted like idiots trying to get him to smile. Of course, he smiled 2 or 3 times at Santa...he just wouldn't smile for the camera. Oh well, we still got a cute picture and, again, no bodily fluids ended up on Santa's beard or suit. Trust me, that is a tally in the win column.
J-Dub has started to really enjoy his solid food menu, now complete with rice, oatmeal, peas, carrots, pears, sweet potatoes, and applesauce. Shelby has also, for some unrelated reason I'm sure, begun to show more interest in him, especially at feeding time.
As I said earlier, Jacob is very much a laugher. But funny faces, silly dances, and goofy noises are all pretty hit or miss, depending on his mood. There is only one thing that will get him to bust out in a full-on, shrieking belly laugh every time. You guessed it: Young M.C.'s Busta Move. Not the actual song playing, though. Just one of us singing (err...rapping) it. His favorite part is:
Your best friend Harry
Has a brother Larry
In five days from now, he's gonna marry
He's hopin' you can make it there if you can
Cause in the ceremony, you'll be the best man
It is our go-to strategy for any time we want him to smile. Picture time? Busta Move. He's getting a little grumpy? Busta Move. I have no earthly idea how this started, but that damn song is now stuck in my head so much that I wake up sometimes thinking it is 1982 and I am a young black rapper wearing parachute pants and gold chains. Fo Shizzle.
The kid spits up so much that he has to change clothes at least 16 times a day. Every photo we have of him requires at least thirty minutes of photoshopping to remove the green regurgitated pea stain from the front of his shirt before I can blog or post it on facebook. It comes without warning, and each spit-up contains 3x the volume that he just consumed. It is a wonder that the kid gains any weight at all, let alone is in the 90th percentile. His favorite place to spit up is down Nancy's shirt, aiming precisely for her cleavage. We are seriously about a week away from just saying screw it, and wearing panchos all the time. It really is a good thing he is so sweet and cute, because he always reeks of stale, regurgitated formula and partially digested carrots. We'll even find crusty little bits hidden between his chins hours later.
He went to the head specialist last week to see if he needs to wear a helmet, since he flat refuses to face his head to the right, so he is getting a flat spot on his left side. So far, though, he is helmet-less. Nancy does have to put him through some stretching exercises, however. Those are fun. That is, if you consider... watching a four month old baby scream bloody murder for 10 minutes, three times a day, like someone is tearing him limb from limb, while his mother forcibly holds his head to the right while he flails about...fun. Glad I miss most of those "stretching exercises".
We have the best baby in the world, and are so blessed that he is happy and healthy. Used stomach contents down your shirt notwithstanding.
A few more pics:
Happy in his bouncy chair...his happiest of happy places:
Wearing some Christmas gear his grandma made him:
Rockin a few of his bibs. He gets a lot of use out of them.
Chillin' on my couch at work:
1 comment:
Can't wait to see him at Christmas...err, New years!
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