Immobilized

Tonight before bedtime, I took Emme's mobile off her crib.  Even after moving the mattress down to the next level, she can still reach the animals on it.  She gets on her knees, then reaches up with one hand for the top of the side of the crib and uses her free hand to grab the animals and drag then down in her dominion.  I'm basically worried she's going to break the thing.  So off it came. 

The changing station (which affixes to the top of the crib) is probably next.  Not only is she likely to bang her head against it at some point, but she -- more importantly, won't stay on the thing.  She is so active that she won't lie on her back unless I dangle something above her while I change her diaper.  It's like trying to rope a calf or something.  When I lay her down to take off her diaper or get her dressed after a bath, it takes her about ten seconds to flip over and take off for the closest toy.  Usually there are multiple starts and stops -- to get the diaper off or put the diaper cream on, to get the new diaper on, another round for putting a onesie over head.  And then I usually snap it from behind while she crawls away.  

All this developing new skills and storing away of newborn baby things would normally have me wondering about the next kid.  But Oliver was enough of a nuisance today to remind me that sweet, adorable little babies eventually become ornery toddlers who -- when not charming me -- make me want to pull my hair out.  So I'll enjoy the sitting/crawling/general adorableness of Emme's current phase without thinking about who might enjoy the mobile next.

When's Aunt Laura coming?

Just under 3 weeks -- and counting (if he could...).

Oliver at large

Ollie is a full 7 1/2 months now and has really started to reveal his personality. The kid is an absolute riot. He smiles and laughs. He's curious as anything and just loves to watch and touch and interact with everything around him. He likes to handle the brightly-colored afghan my mother made for him, looping his fingers through the holes, and run his fingers through my hair (only occassionally pulling on it). He has a strange penchant for strings and loves to put them in his mouth -- the pull strings on the toy bag, the ties on the camo liner we use a blanket on the couch, strings from my hood on sweatshirts or blouses, the straps in the high chair and stroller, and -- my favorite -- shoelaces. Without fail now, Oliver will find his way under the kitchen table to chew on our shoelaces if he's loose on the floor while we're at the table. And when you take them away and run to hide your shoes in the closet, he lets out a little wail of protest. He's sleeping better at night though still not "through the night." When he's falling asleep in my lap or the stroller on a walk or in the car or when wakes at night and is soothing himself back to sleep, he makes these long, monotone noises (his "whale mating noises," I call them). He's "crawling," dragging himself across the hardwood floor, ever faster these days. He can sit for long periods, leaning over and the righting himself. He's not figured out a good way to get from sitting to on his belly, and there have been some head vs. hardwoods incidents. He likes the dog and the window, which has been open the past few days in the warmer weather.

I know I've said it before, but it's a little sad to realize that Ollie won't remember any of this time of his life. I guess there's plenty of theorists who say what happens to a child even at this stage can affect him long term, shape his personality and such, but obviously he won't remember being this happy. I suppose it's enough that we will.