Aflac!

William is saying a lot more words, and pronouncing them quite clearly, too. His latest additions are "gabuud" with an adorably cute, slightly upward inflection at the end (for "kaputt") and "rrah-ra!" with an upward-downward inflection, which is his version of the Aflac duck's tagline.

The commercial with Yogi Berra in the barbershop comes on quite a bit during baseball games, and I tend to see a few of those in the summer. William ocassionally sits still enough for an inning or two before he's off again to inflict more destruction, so he inevitably has seen a few of the spots with the duck.

Yesterday, he saw my Scout bag with an embroidered head of a Common Loon on it, and without even looking up at me, he instinctively squawked, "rrah-ra!" and went along his business.

Aahhhuurrr

Evie started growling a few days ago. It's a sort of long, low, sustained grunt. She mostly does it when she's either sitting up or lying stomach-down, propped up on a pillow.

Last night she was leaning up against my chest as I lounged back on the couch, her face a mere inches from my nose. For a couple of minutes, she made the same growly, grunty noise. I laughed at her and sat her up straight, but she stopped, so I set her back on my stomach, trying to avoid her slobbermouth, and she started growling at me again.

Smiles

Evie is a very smiley baby. Every time I walk by her, she follows me around the room, and if I even look at her, her face lights up. Of course she can wail with the best of them when she's tired, but it never fails that when she wakes up from a nap, if she sees you, she'll be smiling.

She loves to be around people, and she's now old enough to know when she is not being admired. If I set her down for too long, she'll start complaining. I can return and look at her and she'll smile again, but if I walk away, it's not long before she's fussing again. I can pick her up and she quiets right down, gazing up with her blue eyes. Even if she's gnawing on a pacifier, I can see her cheeks twitch as she starts to grin at me again.

Ebbie

William absolutely loves his new little sister. He smothers her. Sometimes literally.

He steals her pink pacifer right out of her mouth *pop!* and starts sucking on it himself. Then a few seconds later, after walking around (tipping his head back and forth while rocking from one foot to the next) he shoves it back in her mouth.

If she's lying in her blue bouncer on the floor, he bounces her more. If she's in the swing, he swings her higher. If she's being bathed, he splashes around to make sure she's wet. If she's sleeping in her basinette, he peeks inside and says, "Hi, Ebbie!" I think he's just making sure she gets the most out of life.

William always helps change Evie's diapers. If she needs a blanket, William runs and gets it for her. If she's crying in the car, William will help sing to her. When she was born, he instinctively asked to hold her in his arms, on his lap, as he sat in the hospital's rocking chair.

He kisses her on the forehead and rubs his nose on hers. He is a good big brother, and he loves his little sister.

These aren't the locks you are looking for

You know those white, plastic, child-safety doorknob covers that you have to squeeze in on the sides to turn? William found a workaround.

It turns out, he walks right up to one of these pseudo-impediments, sticks his index finger into the big hole in the middle, grips the metal knob between his finger (on the inside of the contraption) and thumb (on the outside of the knob cover formerly known as functional), and turns. Voila!, he's in.

About a week ago on a Saturday morning, Mirjam and I were just waking up when we noticed that William was standing in our room. "Did you let him in?" "No, did you let him?" "William, how did you get in here?"

The darn things hardly even slow him down any more. We keep them on to try to distract him from trying to open the doors, but it's mostly to prove that we tried.

Who needs diapers?

Mirjam's working tonight, so I'm on William duty. We raked the yard and went on a walk. I fed him whatever I could find in the fridge and the cupboard. Then he plugged his nose, which is the sign we're trying to re-teach him when he needs to go to the bathroom.

I pulled off his sweatshirt, t-shirt, and pants, undid his onsie and diaper, and set him on the trainer seat. He hung out there for a while, flushed the toilet with nothing in it, said "bah bah" and grunted for me to help him down off the seat. Since he was already naked, I filled the bathtub with water and set him in it.

As I was eating a bowl of frosted mini wheats, he looked up from the tub and plugged his nose again. I ran in the bathroom, plucked him right out of the water, and set him back on his throne. Nothing. I thought he was just toying with me, as he does occasionally (little stinker), so I put him back in the tub and started to wipe down the kitchen counter.

When I looked back in, I saw William making the subtle strained pushing face that we noticed he does when he's filling his diaper. But he wasn't wearing a diaper. I leapt toward the tub desperately pleading "wait, wait!" but it was too late.

As I grabbed him up out of the tub, I saw the little William poop floating there on the side. Crap. I missed it. Just barely. At least it was still in one piece. We've dealt with much worse tub-poop-hand situations, so this was actually a relief.

I put him back on the kiddie seat, guessing that there might be a little more on the way, grabbed a big wad of toilet paper off the roll and recovered the evidence from the scene. I flushed the toilet, set William standing up on the dark green towel next to the tub, and started draining the tub while confiscating the blue rubby ducky and bottle that were also floating in the water.

When I returned from putting the items on the dishwasher--no joke, two seconds later; ten feet away--I moved William off the green towel to find one last tiny little piece of brown poop-ball where he had been standing. I can't win.

He looked a little cold, so I quickly cleaned his bum with baby wipes, wrapped him in a big dark red towel, and set him on the couch. I went to find a diaper and his white "vroom" pajamas, and met him back at the couch. I unwrapped the towel and noticed a large dark spot on the towel between his legs. He peed on my couch!

I couldn't believe it. I wrapped up the freshly cleaned and newly soiled red towel, laid him on the altar, uh, I mean ottoman, and slapped the diaper on--as if it would have made a difference at that point. There is a minor consolation in that William's pee is usually quite clear and watered down. Still, I thoroughly wiped the couch with a wet towel as I recapped in my mind what had just happened:

1. Ignored warning signs--poop in tub
2. Turned away for two seconds--poop ball on green towel
3. No immediate diaper--pee on red towel and couch

I hugged him and kissed him and read him a book and put him to bed.

Duck!

William learned a new word today: "truck." Sometimes it's "duck" and sometimes it's "guck" but it's always exciting when he sees one rumbling alongside the car. "Guck!" he exclaims, pointing out the window behind him.

A while ago he started trying to say "bus," but it usually ended up "bui." Nowadays he lets out a really excited "biss!" every time he and Mirjam pick me up from the bus stop after work. As we drive off, he waves and yells "bah bah, biss!"

Zoo and soup

Yesterday we went to the zoo and we saw the polar bear jumping into his swimming tank over and over again, and the seals and penguins swimming laps in their tanks. (One of William's favorite things to say now is "Oh, wow!") We also saw the timberwolf trotting in the woods, the monkeys jumping around in the treetops, and the lions and tigers lounging around on their rocks.

The gorilla was fed right as we were walking toward its cage. The keeper dumped a bucket of veggies right next to the thick glass window, and when the huge black gorilla entered the area again, it lumbered on over to where the veggies were and plopped right down next to the glass. It was really cool to be that close to a live gorilla. As it approached, though, William took a couple steps back and grabbed onto me. It was cute. "Oh wow!" said William hesitantly, as the gorilla ate it's corn on the cob, oranges, carrots, lettuce head, etc.

When we went to see the big cats, the he-lion jumped on the she-lion and tried to do what lions do in the springtime. She didn't want much of that, but it was long enough to cause a few smirks and chuckles. William didn't get much of a look as the crowd (with cameras! hello?) was quite big around the lions' cage.

Afterward, we went to one of our favorite eateries and had two free bowls of soup, pop, and breadsticks, thanks to Mom's collection of frequent diner cards. Mirjam had the wild rice and I had the beef garden vegetable. Of course, we had lots of breadsticks, and smuggled out a few as we left. Yum.

A few more noises

I still get "Dahn" instead of "Baba" every once in a while. "Mama" is now an extremely regular utterance, whether he actually needs Mirjam or wants something in general or is just running from one room to the next: "Mah-mah-mah-mah-mah-mah-mah-mah!"

I now practice going through everyone's names, in German, of course:
Jon: "Sag 'Papa!'"
William: "Baba!"
Jon: "Das bin ich! Sag 'Mama!'"
William: "Mama!"
Mirjam: "Das bin ich"
Jon: "Sag 'William!'"
William: "Ah-amm" (with just a hint of "y" and "l")
Jon: "Das bist du! Sag 'Baby'"
William: "Dee-dee!"

And just the other day, I tried asking him a couple of new names:
Jon: "Sag 'Oma!'"
William: "Ah-om"
Jon: "Sag 'Opa!'"
William: "Ah-omb"

Lobster hands

A few months ago, William found the green oven mitts lying around in the kitchen and put them onto his small hands and started walking around the condo--tottering slightly from one leg to the other--while opening and closing his little hands so that it looked like he had giant, insulated, fuzzy lobster claws attached to his little boy arms. As he strolled around from the kitchen to the living room, staring at his new monster pincers, he made the appropriate short grunts of lobster-claw hand-moving sounds: "Meh, meh, meh, meh."

I don't know where he got it from, because it's nothing we taught him to do, but he must have observed me making the lobster-hands grunting noise at some time while wearing the green oven mitts--which is not a far stretch of the imagination--because he's done it ever since he first stuck his hands in them.

He still does it, any time he gets hold of the oven mitts. Even if he's wearing his little black winter mittens, or Mirjam's big brown knit gloves, he's learned to make the same noises while pinching his little hands open and close. "Meh, meh, meh, meh."

What's in a name?

After all my efforts to get William to call me "Papa," he has recently taken to calling out "Dahn" from the other room, occasionally running up to the double French doors, slobbering all over the windows while he presses his face against the glass panels, and yelling out again, "Dahn," as if mocking me openly.

How did this happen, you ask? I'll be sitting here in front of the computer, minding my own business, and every now and then, Mirjam will call out my name from the kitchen. After having heard her call for me from across the house so many times, and having seen me appear from behind the doors on occasion, William caught on that I not only respond to "Baba," but also "Dahn."

I told Mirjam it's her fault he doesn't call me "Baba" anymore, and it's her responsibility to fix it.

Raisins for you

This morning as I was eating breakfast at the table, William pulled himself up onto the old, beige WILL-TV director's chair, and started picking up the little raisins that Mirjam gave him with his small, pincer-like fingers and plopped them in quick succession into his mouth. I gave him a couple of milked-down bites of the bran portion of my Raisin Bran, which he gladly accepted. Then he started to climb onto the table.

I thought he was going to come after my bowl of cereal with both fists, as he has done before. Instead, once he was perched just inches from me and my bowl, he stretched out his hand toward my mouth, and then I noticed something small and almost-black between his fingers. He gently pushed the raisin between my lips, and after I said "thank you" he picked up the last one from the table and pushed that into my mouth, too.

He carefully pushed his way backward off the table and back onto the canvas director's chair, and I gave him another bite of the bran. He is such a great little boy.

"You must unlearn what you have learned"

Mirjam noticed this week, that William has stopped saying "Mama" altogether, and is now exclusively proclaiming "Ba-ba" when he needs something. Triumph! Uh, I mean, I'm trying to get him to say "Mama" again. Ahem.

The Force is strong with this one

Tonight we had a big Halloween party at our house, with lots of friends and lots of food. Costumes were encouraged, and, of course, we had a family costume theme.

I was Obi-Wan Kenobi (yes, I grew a beard just for the costume) Mirjam was Padme Amidala, and William was Yoda. Mirjam made a light brown robe, and a green hat with Yoda ears for William to wear (he was incredibly adorable, of course). She also made a light cape to go with her white outfit for herself. I sewed my own dark brown Jedi robe, and Mirjam helped with the hood and a couple of strips of fabric that ended up looking like a tunic under my robe.

Next year we'll have to construct a blaster for Mirjam and a light saber for me. We got a couple pictures tonight, but I want to get a some more good ones during the day with more light--maybe this Saturday.

Sharing with Papa

Last week I fell asleep on the couch, and in the morning, after William woke up, he came over to the couch, greeted me excitedly ("Baba!"), and saw that I had left a cup on the table from the night before. He carefully picked up the big blue plastic tumbler, still half full, with both hands, lifted it to his mouth, and either tried to drink something or pretended to take a sip of whatever was inside, not sure if he wanted to tip it all the way back.

Then, because he's such a nice person and he likes to share, he gently put the edge of the cup to my mouth--I was still lying on the couch, half asleep--and lifted it to make sure I got some water. Splash! The cup emptied onto my face and dripped down my cheek onto the cushion, then onto the floor.

I just lay there, my face dripping with last night's water, for a couple minutes. William didn't laugh (he didn't think he'd done anything funny) and he didn't run away (he didn't think he'd done anything wrong) he just went along his business and kept playing with other things in the living room as I lay there, still stunned by the face full of water.

Mmm-hmm?

William has gotten the hang of saying "Mama" (or sometimes "Baba," when I remind him) when he needs help, and now he's starting to grasp the association a little better.

Mirjam told me that when she drives by the Park and Ride lot, William will look out the window and say "Baba!" He also squeaks and says "Baba" when he sees me step off the bus. I could eat him up, and as you know, I sometimes take a little nibble here or there out of his neck or ear if he gets to close.

Well, last week, he started doing something a little different. When Mirjam asks him a question, any question, he answers with a simple, upward-inflected, "Mmm-hmm." For example:

Mirjam: William, do you like to eat your apple?

William: Mmm-hmm. (Not bothering to look up, as if this is all quite normal, and nothing new.)

Mirjam: Do you also like applesauce?

William: Mmm-hmm. (Slightly glancing up.)

Mirjam: Do you want to go to bed?

William: Mmm-hmm. (Smirking now, as if he understands the question.)

Mirjam: Do you know how to drive the car?

William: Nnn-hnn. (Smiling more, with each successive question.)

Jon: William, are you ten feet tall?

William: *blank stare*

Mirjam: William, do you like to read your Corduroy book?

William: Uhh-huh. (Now almost laughing at this silly game.)

Mirjam: Are you ready for bath time, William?

William: Aah-haa! (Now laughing with each answer.)

He doesn't understand the questions yet, but it's too much fun to play with him to care about little details like that. He must have picked up the habit listening to us answering each other, or him when he babbles to us:

William: Glaldegledabelgdiggledigel. (Sometimes nodding, always very certain of his important statement.)

Jon and Mirjam: Mmm-hmm! (In the same encouraging, upward-inflected tone he has now adopted.)

I tried to get some of this on video, because it's just so hilarious that he answers questions like this now. Of course, the moment I turn the video camera on, he becomes fascinated with it and stops answering questions. I'll have to keep trying some hidden camera moments.

Mba-ba

Earlier this week, William started saying "Mama" for the first time. He babbles a *lot* all day long, but doesn't have any complete words yet. He whines and grunts when he needs something, which isn't as adorable as he usually is, so Mirjam taught him to say "Mama" instead. It goes something like this:

William: Nnnh...nnnh...aaaaahhh!

Mirjam: Say "Mama!"

William: Mma-ma.

Mirjam: Good!

He picked up on it quickly. Of course, after a few days of him saying "Mama" I started to get a little jealous, especially since he said "Mama" to me, too, when he wanted something. So I taught him to say "Papa." The first time, it went something like this:

William: Nnnh...nnnh...aaahhh!

Jon: Say "Papa"

William: *blank stare*

Jon: Pah-pah.

William: *kind of put his lips together*

Jon: Pah-pah... Pah-pah...

William, concentrating hard: Mba-ba.

Jon: Good! Mirjam, he said "Papa!"

William: Mama!


It's a start.


Edit: I forgot to mention that when he first started saying "Mba-ba" he had to concentrate so hard to make his mouth move the way he needed it to, that he blinked every time he did it. It was so adorable, of course, that we laughed at him/with him every time he said it.

William's first words...kind of

We've been teaching William a few basic signs so he can communicate with us more easily, since he won't be able to say words for at least a few months, and sentences a few months after that.

He's been able to clap for a while now, and he can stretch out his arms above his head for "yeah!" He can also wave goodbye and sometimes he'll blow kisses. But now, he puts his fingertips to his mouth for "hungry," he interlocks his fingers for prayer, he puts his fists together for "shoes," and he puts his hand on the side of his face for "bedtime."

A couple of days ago he had a major breakthrough. Without gesturing at all with my hands, I simply asked him if he was hungry. He responded by putting his fingertips to his mouth. It was incredible! He had recognized what I said and was able to answer the question with the appropriate sign! Then today, Mirjam wanted to take him outside before it got too hot, and we were looking for his blue leather giraffe shoes. I asked William if he knew where his shoes were, and he made the sign for shoes! Incredible.

He's learning so many things every day, it's hard to keep up with them all.

Feeding frenzy

I just got done feeding William. I need to shower again.

Since when do children believe their feeding technique is more efficient than mine? I insert the little spoon into the mush, scoop some mush, scrape the spoon on the side of the mush container, insert the spoon with mush into a gaping wide baby mouth, and scoop upwards as I pull the spoon out. Repeat until mush is gone.

William seems to think that his motor skills are better than mine. Once the spoon is in his mouth, he clamps down with his terrible teeth of terror, and he won't let go unless the spoon is in his own hands. He inspects the spoon with his eyes and fingers, taps on his plastic high-chair table like a drum, and points and grunts to the mush container as if to say, "Come on, let me try." "Sure, why not?" I think, not remembering that he tricked me like this the last time I tried to feed him.

So I helped William guide the spoon into the mush, scooped out a small amount, and helped him guide the spoon back towards his mouth. Again he wanted to inspect the spoon, this time with mush on it. Of course if he's not happy with my assistance, he flaps his arms, grabs my shirt, and wails for a second or two. Mush everywhere.

I quickly finished off the last of the mush and gave him some Cheerios, a piece of toast, and a bottle with diluted apple juice. Amazingly, in the process of snarfing down the Cheerios like there's a war on, and sloshing the juice around like a bum, his face and fingers ended up relatively clean. I don't know how he does it. Maybe his method is better.

What's that noise?

A few ways we manage to communicate with William:

He started when he was very young with a simple "nnn-G" or "mmm-MA!" He gradually added the traditional "da-da-da-da" and "ma-ma-ma-ma" to his repertoire, and occasionally the "ba-ba-ba-ba." But he's added a little complexity in the last few months.

One day I noticed William copy me as I inhaled quickly through my nose. So I started rapidly sniffing in and out like a dog panting through his nose. William looked up at me, squinted his nose, and did the same quick in-out "sniffsniffsniffsniff." I showed Mirjam when she got home. She loved it.

William can also click his tongue now, and if you start, he'll smile at you and join right in with his slow "click...click...click." He used to make a "brrrbrrr" noise with his lips. Now he stick his tongue out slightly between his teeth and blows a sort of slobbery, smiley "thhhbthhh."

Of course we encourage all of this. We're terrible.

Our favorite is in church when he sings along during the hymns. I set him on my lap, open the book and let him hold the sides, making sure he doesn't rip the pages out while he watches Mirjam conducting the music. I doesn't do words yet, just a simple "aaaah-ahhh." It seems as if he's unaware that he's even singing. He just does it to join in with everyone else.

On Easter Sunday we sang "All Creatures of Our God and King," and after each verse, I could hear William carry over for a second after the organ had stopped playing and everyone had stopped singing. Mirjam has to really control herself, standing in front of the entire congregation. I can't help but laugh, knowing that the rest of the congregation can hear him, too.

Sometimes I sing to him at home, and I catch him quietly moving his lower jaw up and down as if he were mouthing the words without making a sound. He's so adorable I could eat him up.