On walking

Having Ben has taught me a lot about what not to say to other mothers.  So much of what people say to you as a new mom makes you want to kick them in the teeth (or maybe that's just me?).  Therefore, as a public service to anyone who ever comes in contact with a woman who has a baby, I want to offer two pieces of advice regarding what to say:


1. Tell her that her baby is absolutely perfect.  Then tell her that you can't believe she ever gave birth to a child because she looks so smokin' hot.


2. Rather than asking if the baby has reached a specific developmental milestone, ask, "What is he/she doing these days?"  Mom still gets to brag, but you spare her the awkwardness of admitting that her absolutely perfect child has not, in fact, reached that specific milestone.


In my own case, the current milestone is walking (I seem to be talking about this a lot here -- I'm really not as sensitive about it as I'm making myself out to be).  When your child turns one, that is all people ask you about.  "Oh, he's a year old!  Is he walking?"  Then when your child turns fourteen months old, it morphs into the question I got this week:  "He's still not walking?!" (This is where the teeth-kicking urge comes in.)

No, he is still not walking.  Not on his own, at least.  He's awfully fond of walking with a parental finger for support, but he drops to the ground (intentionally) if we try to let go.

Let me reiterate:  we really are not worried.  Lots and lots of perfectly fine kids with perfectly fine parents don't walk until later.  And it's obvious to anyone who has seen Ben walk that he could do it without support.  He is just scared or stubborn or trying to keep his mama humble.

He has also given us some glimmers of hope recently by taking a few independent steps.  He totally ignores our attempts to coax him into walking and just randomly decides to take steps on his own terms.  Then when he's done, he doesn't seem to realize that he accomplished a major feat.  He just moves on like nothing happened.  He is a mystery, that one.  For the grandparents, here is the little mystery in action (turn your volume down -- I'm talking reallllly loudly):

 

Last weekend

We have lived in Colorado Springs for two years, and this is the first time we've experienced a Fall here that lasted longer than five minutes.  I am loooooving it.  I'd forgotten how nice seventy-degree weather is.  This cutie is enjoying some extra time outside, too:

He had better enjoy it because next year he's responsible for raking all those leaves.

My Aunt Cheri sent Ben a super cute shirt for Halloween, and I made some valiant efforts to get a good picture of it last Saturday.  I failed.  This was as good as it got:

His arm is inside an empty puffs container.  He's been really fascinated by sticking his arm into things lately.  We call this move "RoboBen."

On Sunday, Ben finally got to wear his "Happy Reformation Day" shirt that we've been saving since before he was born.  Are we dorks?  Yes, we are.  But you knew that.  Again, I tried and failed to get a good picture of the shirt.  You can't deny that he looks awfully cute, though:

On Sunday night, we changed into our Halloween costumes to go to our church's Fall Festival.  I had the brilliant idea that we would dress up together as Andy Griffith, Aunt Bea, and Opie.  Unfortunately, my execution of this idea was a bit flawed (because I was lazy and cheap), and it was sort of a flop.  Only a few people knew who we were supposed to be.  And I know you'll be shocked by this, but we only got really terrible pictures of ourselves:

For real, these were the best ones.

Despite the stupid looks on our faces, we had fun at the Fall Festival.  Ben got to play in a ball pit, and he got a balloon.  In Ben's world, it really can't get any better than that unless Gogurt consumption is involved.

And finally, my favorite bizarro little man decided that the best place for his upper lip was inside his lower lip.  He spent several hours making this face. He is so. so. weird.  But man-oh-man do I love him.