I exercised every day this week. (Monday - Friday.) It's weird. My goal is to exercise more-or-less every day until my next chiro appointment on July 7. I don't actually expect her to notice a difference or anything, but I have the attention span of a mayfly when it comes to things like exercise, so I can't think any farther ahead than that.
Tad thinks exercise is hilarious and likes to crawl all over me while I'm doing it.
When we were at Scott's parents' on Sunday (for Scott's birthday), his mother was admiring Tad's eyes. (They have been dark gray with golden brown centers since he was 2 months old.) She said that her father had gray eyes. Since he died in the early '60s, I doubt there are color photos lying around for us to compare, but it tickles me to think that maybe a particular shade of gray lurked through two generations of brown eyes just waiting for my recessive genes to come along.
Scott's family has a tradition regarding birthdays: When it is someone's birthday, you have to say one nice thing you noticed about them in the last year. (And it has to be an actual positive and not something like, "I noticed he annoyed me less often than last year.")
Anyway, I said that I noticed he is a very good childbirth coach, which is particularly impressive given that he only took half a class; he didn't read books or blogs or anything.
So then Scott's mom reminded us all of The Racecar Tent Story, which goes like this: When Eldest Younger Brother was being born (at home), toddler Scott was just hanging out in the corner of the bedroom in his racecar tent. Every now and then he would say, "Ready, set, GOOOOOOO." Because racecars. But his mother found it funny/encouraging while she was laboring and she was getting all schmoopy remembering that now that toddler Scott is all grown up and being an actual childbirth coach.
On Wednesday Tad and I interrupted our busy day of sitting around crying about teeth to go to a meetup of my babywearing group. I returned an Ergo to the lady I borrowed it from, tested a mei tai from the lending library but didn't borrow it, and overall had a great time sitting around and talking. Tad, meanwhile, crawled over to another baby and made friends with him (they were pawing amicably at each other's faces), so I guess he liked it too.
At one point, I was switching the MT from front carry to back carry by sticking Tad in it as if I was going to front carry and then just holding the upper straps in my hand and using my free arm to scoot him around to my back. (It sounds more complicated than it is.) Anyway, once I've fumbled my way through that maneuver, the lady from whom I borrowed the Ergo said admiringly, "You're really good at that!" I just said thank you, instead of insisting that I really wasn't that good and only knew what to do because I'd backcarried twice in the Ergo. I have these moments a lot, where I think I'm bad at something because I am not 100% perfect, and everybody else is all, "Wow, I didn't figure out how to do that until my third child!"
Speaking of, since we didn't take the MT home, Tad and I tried out backcarries in the woven wrap again and actually had some success. Terrible Bathroom Selfie demonstrates:
I figured out shortly after taking this picture that I really need to do the waist tie more at bra-strap level if I want Tad to be high enough to be really secure. We'll see if that revelation helps with positioning him/tightening the wrap appropriately. Also we'll see if I have any hair left by the time we figure it out. He loves to YANK while he's on my back, and getting him higher certainly won't reduce the incidence of that.
Speaking of improbable compliments, I was meeting with my friendly neighborhood lactation consultant the other day and we somehow got to talking about math. I said that I'm not really bad at math, but that's only because I'm smart enough to compensate for the fact that my brain simply does not think in mathematical ways.
She said that this made perfect sense to her since I've always struck her as much more of a people person, not a numbers person.
That's quite possibly the most unexpected compliment I've ever received.
Tad got his fourth tooth in honor of his father's birthday. (And now seems to be working on a fifth HALP SEND CHOCOLATE.) Apparently he's excited by the possibilities of solid foods or something.
He certainly has seemed to take more of an interest in actually consuming what we give him. First there was last week's oatmeal adventures, and then this week he ate two peas and a few crumbs of ground beef.
The peas were hard for him to manage since he doesn't have pincer grasp yet...he eagerly grabbed a fistful and then sat there staring at his closed fist in confusion. I circumvented this by smooshing a pea on the tip of my finger and offering it to him. He pulled it right into his mouth and worked on that pea for probably 5 minutes. Then Scott offered him another one. Then we went to fish his mouth out before we got him down from the highchair and couldn't find anything. The missing peas were located in his diaper the next morning.
The ground beef was easy for him to get into his mouth (we gave him little sticks taken from a cooked hamburger patty) but a little harder for him to manage afterwards. When we'd gotten everything we could find out of his mouth and taken him down from the high chair, I offered to nurse him and he kept taking a few sucks and then making throat-clearing noises and looking concerned. So I went fishing in his mouth again and came up with a piece of gristle about the size of a gnat. After that he nursed just fine. I guess we don't need to worry about his gag reflex not being sensitive enough.
I'm tired of typing and the baby needs a diaper change, so here's a picture of him looking adorable. (He was carefully supervised and we don't normally let him sleep with blankets.)
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