I don’t know what the deal is. Writing a post has just seemed really laborious to me lately. That, and I’ve been saving my best material for the blog I’m starting with my brothers sometime in the next 5 years. Let’s give it a shot though.
Oliver is as interesting and funny as ever. He makes me laugh everyday. Makes me a bit sad to see him growing and changing, though. I just don’t know how you’re ever going find anything better than a 2 year old. Just won’t happen.
Amelia is such a sweet little tub-a-love. I don’t know how else to say it. She’s such a chunky little tub, and she’s such a sweet little love. She is the best-natured, happiest, calmest baby. So happy. Just happy to be there. Happy to be eating and watching other people eat, assuming that they are gaining the same high satisfaction out of their eating that she gets from hers. If you’re eating some yummy chocolate or milk somewhere, that thought makes her smile. And it’s good she’s robust, because Oliver gets a bit aggressive with her. But she handles it like a champ. She gets so happy and excited when you put her down for a nap. Then when you get her up from her nap. Then when she sees mama coming toward her and she knows it’s time for second breakfast. There’s nothing more gratifying to me than getting her to smile or laugh, or watching her grab something and shovel it to her mouth with a Venus fly trap's focus. And it’s a wonder for us to watch her physically develop on her own, with no help. Oliver’s torticollus (one tight neck tendon) threw his entire balance off for a while and slowed his motor skill development. So we just got used to having to work with a baby and frowning a bit every time Reba got her babycenter.com email update on what your X month old should be doing. Shut UP babycenter! Take your preachy milestones somewhere else, you smug *$#%(^@#! But Amelia just gets it done. She could be raised by a pack of wolves or Greenlanders and she would still get it done. She’s such a serene little girl. A few years back, someone in heaven gave a big fat “No Confidence” vote on Reba’s and my abilities to raise regular babies. “Okay Boaz, who are we sending to Christian and Rebecca? How about little Clifford and Elvyra over there?” Pause. “What! Are you crazy, man? This is Christian and Rebeca BELL! Read their file, bro! Not a chance. That's what we call the blind leading the blind. Why don’t you go grab a couple of those cloud-raking angelbots we made last week and send them down as babies. Have them cry every few months to keep things believable.”
Sometimes when I’m out in the world and a little baby is crying I have to stop myself from yelling “What sort of a ratrace do you think we're running around here, anyway? What is wrong with that kid!” Oh, yeah. Right. Babies...cry.
I have a bad feeling about number 3… Could be the great equalizer.