Cormac is teething again, hard, so he's miserable, clingy, drooly, miserable, snotty, drooly, snotty, and clingy. Not necessarily in that order. He also sort of walks, and he crawls at zombie-fast speed. So being in his presence means dealing with his unidentifiable woes (WHY are you moaning and tugging at your ear? Oh. Your jaw is radiating pain. Re: the moaning - carry on).
We're also preventing him from trying to kill himself by opening cabinets containing medium-sized appliances, shutting himself in the bathroom, closing the magnetic-lock baby gate on his hand/foot/face, climbing the couch, taunting the mentally challenged dog, eating electrical cords (but only when they're plugged in), choking on bites of food larger than dust motes, and bodily inserting himself between the balusters of the basement staircase railing. He's a scientist.
Iris started dance class three weeks ago, and I've yet to take a single photo of the thing. I have literally spent every dance-class-Saturday saving Cormac's life (for all of the reasons listed above), and not photographing anything.
Dance class is tomorrow morning. Wish me luck.
I think he is just curious. Remember what I told you Craig's pediatrician told me about Craig being so strong headed and a challenge, those are the traits that you will admire in him when he gets older. So you just need to get through the next 20 years!! Hang in there. Love, Grandma K.
ReplyDeleteSounds like you're growing a football player there . . . running back? Or a drummer.
ReplyDelete