Mini Me

Micah will be 7 months old on Saturday. He is physically impressive with his thunder thighs, faux biceps, tubby little tummy, box feet, cherub hands and perfect face all capped with an ever-growing shock of curly, red hair. He looks larger than many year olds that I have seen, coming in at a little over 19 pounds. He's getting to be such a big boy, and every day seems to go by faster and faster. Time is running away from me at a break neck pace and I'm too slow, flabby and out of shape to keep up! As these sweet days pass before my eyes, I fall deeper into a melancholy state somewhere close to the midpoint of bitter and sweet. Bitter because I have put away almost all of the cute clothing that loved ones purchased just for him when he was little more than a clump of cells and a great plan that only the heavenly Father was privy to. And sweet because his personality is developing even faster than his body.

His many facial expressions are beginning to mean something to me. His cries carry greater nuances than they once did. I am beginning to decipher some of the meaning behind his sweet babbling. He is revealing preferences, fears and expectations I did not know he had. For instance, he clearly prefers his jumper to his swing and avocado to squash. He is horribly afraid of loud noises such as the vacuum cleaner, the blender and the coffee grinder. He expects me to react in some way to his cries. Like his mommy, he hates to be ignored worse than anything in the world. He hates it worse than being lonely or being in the same room while I'm vacuuming. When he hollers, I better get my behind in gear or he will let me know about it! If he cries from hunger, he better see me rearranging my clothing or preparing a bottle. If he cries from boredom, I better pick him up or lie down with him and start a game. If he cries from tiredness, he better be equipped with a paci and a pair of arms that will cradle, pat and gently tickle him until he falls asleep. Speaking of sleep, Micah still isn't much of a sleeper. If I'm lucky, he'll sleep a total of 10 hours or so at night, but not all at once. Two in the morning is party time! He'll nap a little during the day. If he's napping exceptionally, I may get a couple of hour naps out of him. But that's exceptional napping. Thankfully, the amount of sleep he gets shows no correlation with his mood. He smiles at everyone, and only fusses in displeasure. As so little in life displeases him, he's not much of a fusser. Last weekend, he was coming down with an ear infection. We were up all night Thursday trying to get him comfortable. Comfort just wasn't happening for him, so I started playing a game he seems to like in which I bounce him up and down in a steady rhythm, and say "boobidy, boobidy, boobidy boo!" He began laughing out loud! The child was sleepy, uncomfortable and very upset, but he began laughing out loud!(Granted, I used a form of the word "boob," and like any man, anything containing the word "boob" probably has the power to relieve his troubles.)But hey, learning to laugh in the midst of less than perfect circumstances is an advanced skill, AND it's a piece of advice I gave him in his six month letter posted on August 19th--

"7) Find humor in everything, especially the crappy parts of life. It’s there; I promise, and it will lighten your load when times get tough."

He not only has a great sense of humor, but he's a quick learner!

I've been telling my mother about Micah's attributes bit by bit, and all along she's been saying, "You have yourself made over." I didn't really believe her until three things happened.

1) He began suffering from allergies. If the child is a copy of myself, he will be allergic.

2) He screamed at me. I mentioned earlier that he doesn't enjoy loneliness, but hates to be ignored even more. Well, he occasionally has to suffer one or two of these states. I mean, I have to shower every now and then! One day, I set him in his walker in the bathroom, left the door open so he wouldn't get too hot, and left the shower curtain open as much as I could so he could see me. I started to shower, and he started to cry. Talking to him didn't work. Dancing didn't work. Singing didn't work. Nothing worked, so I just tried to complete the shower as quickly as I could. It wasn't quickly enough for him. He stopped crying for a brief moment. I looked at him, and smiled. I was about to say, "See, it's not so bad, Angel Face." Well, my little Angel Face didn't let me get it out. My little Angel Face, stormed over, turned beet red and furrowed at the brow. He raised his arms at me to make himself unquestioningly clear. Then, the shrillest sound to come out of my sweet child thus far--"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Then, more crying. That was the first time he had ever screamed at me. I was doing something other than what he wanted to do, and the little bugger SCREAMED at me. That was the moment of revelation--this child is mine; he will have a strong will; he will be stubborn; he will throw temper tantrums when he doesn't get his way; I'm bloody in for it. And oh. If he inherits my gift for debate, I'm really in for it.

3) This fit lasted for some time. I had to get a quick bite to eat before students began coming in, so I sat him in the big arm chair that he sinks into so deep, he can't do much but squirm until he's nearly upside down. I got a quick lunch together, then came to check on him. This is what I found--


It's hard to see on the page, but his hair is sticking STRAIGHT up.

Not so different from this--


Maybe anger, like humidity, poofs your hair . . .

Anyway, the world better watch out--there's another one of me coming its way soon.