How the Eleventh Month Went

With apologies to Jane Austen:

"Are any of your teeth out, Master Zachary?''

"Yes, Ma'am, eight.''

"Eight! -- What, all front teeth out at once? Very odd! -- And you only a baby. -- A baby eating meats and other solid food before the molars are out! Your parents' cooking must be very tasty."

"Yes, my parents are foodies. Perhaps I am full young to be much eating solids. But really, Ma'am, I think it would be very hard upon babies, that they should not have their share of food and amusement because the molars may not have the means or inclination to sprout early. -- The baby has as good a right to the pleasures of the dinner table as the toddler. And to be kept back on such a motive! -- I think it would not be very likely to promote love of mealtimes and family fellowship.'' 

"Upon my word,'' said her ladyship, "you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. -- Pray, what is your age?''

"With eight teeth out,'' replied Zachary smiling, "your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it.''

Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer; and Zachary suspected himself to be the first creature who had ever dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence!

"You cannot be more than one, I am sure, -- therefore you need not conceal your age.''

"I am not yet twelve months.''

Dear Zachary,

Oh, our friends warned us. They shook their fingers in our faces (actually they didn't) and made grim pronouncements about the day you would develop firm opinions and how it would throw a wrench in our grand plans. We thought we still had some time before that happened, but now we are facing the reality of a little boy with very decided opinions, despite your tender age.

We used to be able to just sing little songs to you and you'd be content to lie back and have your diaper changed, but now you insist on having a toy to hold onto or else it turns into an octopus wrestling match. And it can't be just any old toy! We must present you with eight choices in succession (dinosaur? shusher? dingly bell? vaseline jar? squishy book? non-squishy book? wooden block? Sophie?) and you will carefully examine each one before rejecting it, even if it was an acceptable choice yesterday. If it's a good day you will choose an actual toy, and if you're extra-opinionated you'll want a non-toy, like the TV remote. Once you find the right changing companion, you will contentedly lie back like when you were three months old.

We used to be able to give you whatever random low-sodium, no added sugar, no preservatives, organic food, and you would happily gobble it down, thrilled with the mere prospect of eating solids. Now, if we try to tempt you with expensive organic avocado or zucchini fresh from the backyard garden, you'll throw it overboard if you see that we are not eating the same thing. If Mommy and Daddy are eating spicy seafood ramen with tons of sodium because it's a work night and everyone is too tired to cook, you want some of that. How dare we eat junk and not share it with you! Alternately, sometimes you are perfectly willing to eat your healthy local produce, as long as we offer it in the correct order. Raspberries first? I SEE THROUGH YOUR MURDER PLOT. Raspberries after eating some toast? Why thank you very much, Mommy, I love raspberries! And then sometimes the mode of offering doesn't please you: yogurt on a baby spoon? ARE YOU TRYING TO POISON ME, WOMAN? Yogurt on a big metal spoon? Oooh, yogurt is the best, we should always have yogurt!

Poor benighted Walnut has suffered the most, now that you have opinions. We used to be able to just direct your attention elsewhere (look! a squeaky toy!), but now you will chase him all over the house, climb the couch, and tree him like Billy's hunting hounds with a raccoon in Where the Red Fern Grows. You want so badly to just squeeze the ever-loving heck out of him; you wonder why your over-enthusiastic petting (read: whacking and hair-pulling) isn't better received; even when he's safe from your grabby hands, thanks to the baby gates,  you can't tear your eyes away from him and will wait patiently (if delighted squeal-screaming can be termed patient) at the gate for him to finish eating and come play. And who can blame you? After all, if a giant fluffy thing as big as me were walking around just out of reach, I, too, would react like you. When we drag you away, we are treated with full-blown crumpled-face WHY DO YOU HATE ME melt-down tears. Thankfully, you are getting a *little* better about petting him gently, and he is generally pretty patient about it all.

But he's so fluffy, I wanna die!!!

Despite the inconveniences of you having so many opinions, I'm still thrilled and amused to see you developing your own mind, as it means you are becoming your own person. Of course, I may feel differently when you're a teenager and asserting yourself in more weighty matters than food-ordering and cat-loving (what if you *gasp* decide you want a dog one day???)... Still, if God can give Adam and Eve the choice between good and evil, I suppose I, too, need to let you make your own decisions, even when they lead to consequences. Right now the worst thing that can happen is getting scratched by Walnut, but one day there'll be more at stake. I hope I can do my part in helping you learn to make good choices.

love,
Mommy

New this month (besides having opinions):

• You were just starting to work on climbing on and off of things at the end of last month, and now you are totally pro at it. This ability makes me less worried that you'll dive headfirst off the couch, but it also means that you can climb up to lick the router whenever you want. 
• You can now sign "milk." As with climbing, this is an achievement not without dangers. You can more effectively communicate when you want to nurse, but that means you sign it every ten minutes, then nurse for thirty seconds. You're a snacker, you are. You also make the sign for milk whenever you want something, you like something, you're anxious about something, or you don't want to wait for something.  -___-
• Standing in short bursts. You've been known to stand for up to thirty seconds at a time, unassisted. Unfortunately, you're a little like Wile E. Coyote running off a cliff in that you stand just fine until you realize you're standing, at which point you get so shocked that you promptly plop back down.
• Deliberately imitating me. When I use the plush IKEA leek to beat the pie pan, you immediately crawl over and try to mimic my actions. When I pat Walnut gently, you giggle madly first, then come over and try to pat him too. Having spent several years teaching my AP Psych students about Albert Bandura and the Bobo doll, I realize I need to be very, very careful from here on out. 
• Blowing raspberries. You learned to do this by imitating Daddy, but sometimes you can't quite get the lip vibration right so you just go "Buh! Buh! Mmmmm-buh!" It's super cute. 
• "Reading" books. Oh, be still my thrilling heart! It's been so gratifying for me to see you spend up to fifteen minutes at a time quietly flipping through your books (instead of just trying to chew on them), looking at the pages and occasionally patting the textured books. I hope you love reading one day for real! 

And it's a book about cats to boot! There's a dog version of this book too, but we refuse to get it. 

Likes:

• Games only Daddy plays. There are some things that only daddies do, whether because they're the only ones willing or able to. You love riding on Daddy's shoulders (and pulling his hair) and being held upside-down!
• Meat, carbs, and cheese. Despite my best efforts to get you to love fruit and veggies, it seems that I have birthed a Midwestern boy. Once the meat, bread, pasta, or cheese make an appearance, all fruit and veggies go overboard. I guess I can't really blame you, seeing as how I love them too. Of course, I also love fruit and veggies, so maybe you will one day, too. 
• Walnut. I know I've said in previous months that you love your brother, but this month that's become even more evident. You squeal and throw your arms up when you see him, and if he doesn't run away after that overenthusiastic greeting, then you will. Not. Leave. Him. Alone. As long as he's in a room, you will try to smother him (sometimes literally) with your affections. Usually you start out patting gently, but as you get more excited this inevitably progresses to whacking, body-slamming, and tail-grabbing if we don't stop you.
• Secure bases. Like reading, this warms my heart. Teaching psych has made me afraid that you would not develop a secure attachment style, but it looks like you're okay! You are happy to explore new places as long as you can come back for a reassuring hug every so often, then you're off again. And lest I feel too special, your babysitter at school reports the same thing, so I guess I'm not the only one who's an acceptable home base.  

Dislikes:

• Being separated from Mommy. Alas, separation anxiety is well and truly here. You cried for the first time last Sunday when I left you at the church nursery, you cried when I walked by on the way to my next class and didn't pick you up, you cry when I leave you on the other side of the baby gate in order to prep dinner.
• Being denied. Now that you have so many opinions, you do not hesitate to let us know when you're angry about not getting your way. Your crumpled up cry-yelling face is equal parts heart-wrenching, guilt-inducing, and amusing in its extremity over something relatively minor. I now understand why there are so many submissions for the "Reasons Why My Child Is Crying" tumblr.
• Hygiene. Washing your hands, cutting your nails, changing your diaper, and brushing your teeth are all still trials. The only acceptable hygiene ritual is cleaning out your ears with q-tips. 

"Mom. I am having a private moment with my friend here. Please stop taking pictures."

Unlikely objects you're friends/obsessed with:

• The vacuum cleaner. Every time I take it out, you have to feel it up and try to lick it all over. You sit mesmerized the whole time I vacuum, watching as two of your favorite beings suck up the hair shed by another favorite being.
• The printer. If we let you into Daddy's office, you make a beeline for the printer and try to press all the buttons. One time you managed to make it scan and copy a blank page; I'm pretty sure that was the highlight of your week.
• The wall furnace. It's got so many nice little dusty holes in the grate for you to stick your fingers in, and every attempt to lick it elicits a lovely reaction from Mommy that results in your being swept up and away.
• The portable air filter at home in SF. Somehow you always manage to zero in on the dirtiest/most dangerous/most inconvenient item to play with...like the super-light air filter that inevitably tips over when you pull up on it. 
• The elephant humidifier. I used to love playing with humidifiers too, so you definitely take after me in this matter. You love poking the nose where the vapor comes out, but nothing beats turning the dial to max. We've had the water tank run out halfway through the night more than once because you turned it all the way up. Don't you know we're in a drought?!

"I do what I want 'cause a pirate is free! I am a pirate! Yar har fiddle dee fee, being a pirate is all that I need!"