One

Max is one. I still can’t believe it. He has come so far in the past month. At Christmas he was just getting proficient at the army crawl, and now he’s crawling, pulling up on everything, and even standing for a few seconds on his own. His newest is word is “block,” which sounds an awful lot like “glock,” but is still darn cute.

I keep thinking back to this time last year when we were clueless new parents with a sad, colicky baby. Boy am I glad to be where we are now. The little man is so much fun and has such a mellow, sweet personality. We thank our lucky stars each day.

Clockwork

StoryCorps on NPR makes me cry EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. It doesn’t matter if the story is happy, or sad, or funny. Same reaction. Every time.  I wonder what is going to be like for Max to grow up with a mom who is so easily moved to tears. Though I’m sure he’ll get to the point where he just rolls his eyes and thinks “There she goes again,” just like his dad does.

Proof

Apparently Banjo knows the word “dat” too.

Back

There have been many factors contributing to my radio silence as of late. We traveled to Florida for Thanksgiving and Albuquerque for Christmas, and there was a lot of hectic working, shopping, living, etc. in between. Oh, and sickness. Max brought a cold home to the family in early December, and while he and Jim managed to recover fairly quickly, I did not. Or rather, I DID recover to some degree, and then took a steep downward turn when the cold mutated into a sinus infection and bronchitis. I went to urgent care before Christmas after the coughing rendered me essentially voiceless, but the doctor thought I should wait things out for a while sans antibiotics. So I loaded up on cough syrup with codeine and night and tried to tough it out, but finally lost patience earlier this week and returned to my regular nurse practitioner to get a script for amoxicillin. So now in addition to all the unattractive hacking and snorting I’m sick to my stomach, but I’m hoping to take a turn for the better soon.

The good news is that while I’ve been whiling away the hours with tissues clutched firmly in hand, Max has been transforming by leaps and bounds. He finally mastered the army crawl shortly before we left for New Mexico, and has started pulling himself up and generally running amok with much glee. He has been saying “mama” and “dada” on a somewhat regular basis for a while, and had almost mastered “dog” and “cat” before he recently developed a fascination with the term “dat.” We’re not sure if it’s a dog/cat hybrid (since our pets are the objects that seem to inspire the most enthusiasm and insistent pointing), if he’s saying “that,” or if it’s just nonsensical babble.  Either way, we’re pretty amused. I overhead a conversation between Max and Jim yesterday that went something like this:

“Dat?”
“That’s a LIGHT.”
“Dat.”
“LIGHT. La-la-la-LIGHT”
“Dat.”
“LLLLLLLLLLLIIIIGGGHHT. It’s a LIGHT, little man.”
“Dat.”
“Well OK, then it’s a dat light.”

In other news, despite the faltering economy 2009 is shaping up to be a year of big purchases for us. It’s time to replace my car, and we’re in the market for a new television so we can retire our antiquated, monstrous beast of a TV. We’re also hoping to make our living room more child friendly and rethink the bookshelf situation in the office. This all means lots of comparison shopping and a lot of searching to find furniture that meets our aesthetic requirements AND budget. Not an easy task.

Sandwiched between all the “to do’s” I’m still trying to find time for creative pursuits and reading my way through a stack of books I have in the queue. There never seems to be enough time for everything I want to accomplish.

Anywho, here’s a montage of images from our recent travels, holiday celebrations, first haircut travails, and developmental milestones.

Confirmation

Max isn’t crawling yet. He can get up on his hands and knees, but there is no forward motion. For a while I’ve suspected that his noggin is part of the problem, as in it is so large that he has trouble holding it up. I mean really, the boy has a big head. And I feel OK saying that because I’ve always had a bit of a big head too. Physically, I mean. Ahem.

Anyway, Jim took the little man to his 9 month appointment yesterday. I wanted to accompany them, but thanks to the fact that I had to schedule two other doctor’s appointments this week (taking Max for his second flu shot earlier today and an ortho appointment for me tomorrow to determine if I’ll need to have surgery on my #*$&%’ing ankle) I had to stay at work. But I digress . . .

The doctor didn’t seemed concerned that Max isn’t crawling yet because he’s rolling everywhere and otherwise seems developmentally on track. The most interesting part of the appointment had to do with his measurements. They were as follows:

Weight: 42nd percentile
Height: 41st percentile
Head Circumference: 66th percentile

The results cracked me up because everyone is always saying what a “big boy” Max is, and weight-wise it turns out that he’s actually a bit below average. It’s his HEAD that’s throwing everyone off. I think the grand circumference coupled with his glorious mane makes him look quite a bit bigger/older than he really is.

I’m perfectly happy waiting for Max’s upper body strength to catch up with his impressive melon. It allows us to delay the inevitable baby-proofing, and at the moment he’s delightfully easy to manage. Of course, if he’s not crawling by Christmas I’m sure I’ll be a worrying fool. It’s my big-headed, painfully analytical, ridiculously predictable nature.

Gearing up

Grandma sent a box full of Halloween goodies the other day, so Max will be spending the next two weeks encased in orange. I love the way his minimally-toothed grin echoes the jack-o-lantern’s smile.

E-I-E-I oh REALLY?

One of the sessions at our recent company retreat was led by a psychologist who teaches firms how to improve their internal communications through Jungian typing. In the weeks leading up to the seminar we all had to take the Myers-Briggs assessment. I have been typed before and have always been an INFJ. The letters represent different personality aspects, but the pertinent letter to this discussion is the first one—the “I”. It stands for “introvert”. No surprise there.

So imagine my shock when I opened the sealed envelope (our test results were kept secret until a pivotal point in the seminar) and discovered that I tested as an ENFJ. The results were presented on a continuum, so I could see that I was just barely in “E” territory. But still, an “E”? Ridiculous! How dare some stupid test try and tell me that I’m extroverted, even a little bit!

I was outraged.

My coworker (who scored solidly in the “I” range) started giving me a hard time because I was so annoyed. And it was kind of funny, that such a dumb thing like that would set me off. I guess I have always always imagined myself as the brooding, observant, artistic type who always has her nose in a book. And while that is true to some extent, if I’m willing to be open-minded about things I suppose I have become more social in the last few years. More open, less internal. Don’t get me wrong—you will never find me chatting up strangers at a party. But I do manage to put myself out there more than I used to.

Still. An “E”? I happen to love people who are extroverted because it’s less work to be around them. They tend to be of the energetic, get-things-done variety, and I appreciate that. But I just don’t see myself in that category.

It felt like a good time to take advantage of the fact that Jim and I work together. During a break I stalked over to him and yelled “I’m an ‘E’!” pointing furiously at the manilla envelope. He was amused. It turns out that he is an INTP. So . . . pretty much my polar opposite. I grabbed his report and he started to read mine. The descriptions were very thorough, and I have to admit it felt a bit like we were getting away with something: free marriage counseling. “So THAT’S why you drive me crazy sometimes,” I muttered, reviewing our “P” vs. “J” scores.

I’m still coming to terms with my E-ness. I have to believe I will never venture into deep “E” territory, but I guess I’m willing to admit—if not embrace—the fact that I have more social skills than I’ve given myself credit for in the past.

And now I’m extra curious to see how Max’s personality develops. I’ve always assumed that any child of ours would have be introverted, but who knows? I also thought he’d end up with brown eyes and I was wrong about that. Is it possible for an “I” and an “I”-leaning “E” to have an “E”? At the moment the little man is pretty quiet and dreamy. He’s quick to laugh, but will also spend a good chunk of time concentrating on a single toy or intently studying a book. So I think “I” is a safe bet. Not that I’m biased. Ahem.

Fang Boy

I bet we’ve taken about a thousand pictures of Max since he was born. If nothing else, the child is well documented. And now I have a new favorite. Max went on his first gondola ride up in Steamboat this past weekend, and I managed to capture this beautiful moment:

I love the way he looks like a spunky pirate. Or a pro wrestler.

As a special bonus, I now have a photo for his baby book, which calls for a “first tooth” picture. That pearly white (which Jim refers to reverently as “the fang”) is conveniently peeking out like a tiny jewel.

There and Back

I am pleased to report we survived our first round-trip visit to the east coast with Max in tow. We were THOSE PEOPLE with the baby on the plane 4 times, (both legs of our trip had layovers) but it could have been far, far worse. As it was Max and I both woke up with colds on the morning of departure, so I was terrified that his ears would be killing him. And though he definitely had some uncomfortable moments (which were mitigated a bit with bottles and food), he did really well considering.

We spent the first two days of our trip at Camp Hi-Rock in Massachusetts. It was the camp’s 60th anniversary and Jim was able to meet up with friends he hadn’t seen since his camp counselor days. We were lucky enough to get an enclosed room in the infirmary with a private bath. Pretty rustic by most estimations, but luxurious by camp standards. There were probably only 5 daddy longlegs per square foot instead of 10. Luckily we brought a PeaPod for Max, so at least his sleep was happily bug-free. I was a little worried that the enclosed space would freak him out, but we gave the tent a trial run a couple of nights before we left and he wasn’t bothered at all. He’s a pretty adaptable guy and like his mom, loves to sleep regardless of the venue.

There was obviously a lot of feeding and napping to negotiate, but we did manage to take a few walks and a nice hike to Bear Rock, which overlooks a beautiful valley. We saw lots of interesting moss. Yeah, moss. I had to take a picture because it was so cool. It looked like astroturf, but it was velvety to the touch.

Here’s a shot of Jim and the happy camper. The sunglasses lasted almost a half an hour, which was a half an hour longer than expected.

On Sunday we headed to New Hampshire to visit Jim’s parents, brother, sister-in-law, and nephews. A few of his cousins joined us Sunday and Monday, so there was a lot of activity with kids running pell-mell and plenty of food to be had.

On a random note, I continue to marvel at the vast quantity of Dunkin’ Donuts establishments in the greater New England area. I like donuts as much as the next guy, but the abundance in the city of Keene, NH alone is staggering. There are FIVE Dunkin’ Donuts in a city of approx. 22,500. In contrast, the city of Boulder, CO, (population approx. 83,500) has not a single Dunkin’ Donuts, and only 2 other donut vendors that I could locate. So if you do the math, in Keene there is one donut shop for every 4,500 citizens, and in Boulder there is one donut shop for every 41,750 citizens. Insanity! It’s probably a good thing that donuts are in short supply out here because I could still stand to lose a few pounds, but I guess I’m curious as to why people in New England are so happy for the fried, frosted dough. Must investigate.

Anyway, we made the journey back to Colorado Wednesday night, and I’m still in recovery mode to some degree. I have to say I’m very relieved that our next big trip (to Florida for Thanksgiving) will involve a direct flight and only one destination instead of two. Max is pretty adaptable, but it’s probably best not to push our luck.

6 months

I can’t quite figure out where the time has gone; Max will be 6 months old on Tuesday. He’s such a funny little man—somewhat serious and contemplative, but quick to giggle when Daddy is being silly.

Sometimes it’s still hard to believe he’s ours. I ask him “Are you real?” and he looks at me as if to say, “Well, of course!”

We are so lucky.