"C" is for crib

My baby is growing up. Sigh. No, actually I rather love it, and each stage is more fun than the last. The more interactive he gets the more fun I have being his mom.

While on holiday, he perfected his standing up technique to an extent that we knew his crib at home would no longer be safe with the bottom raised, the way it used to be. It was a nice run, and great for my back to not have to beeeennndd down all the time, but all good things must end. When he was a tiny little bug I could just set him down, at aprox my waist level, but now that he weighs a freaking ton (8.something kilos, around 17lbs) I have to bend all the way to pick him up and set him down.


He's also getting way better about putting food in his mouth. He does it often enough to have changed his diaper output (I'll stop there, no need to be more explicit as the parents know what I mean and the non-parents don't understand why the hell I'm talking about poop), and gags in a most adorable way each time a chunk of something slides down his gullet. He makes this face, like "WTF was that?" but then he's all, "Give me more!" I'm not allowed to give him more by spoon though. Goran is, but I am not, which bugs the everlasting hell out of me.

Now that we're home and have bought a highchair for him,
I get to start a new routine of hosing down him, the chair and the floor after each "meal". Actually, not the floor. Jill is doing a rather good job of keeping that clear all on her own. Heh.