We have a big baby. He gained three pounds the last four weeks, to hit 20 pounds at six months. He does not crawl. Or sit (except with some help)
But he wants to. Badly. So badly. His grandmother is visiting and calls him Mr. Wiggle. He is a squirming, smiling, laughing, crying bundle of life who grabs at anything and everything with a stronger grip than I have.
One’s arms get tired.
Now, though, he finally has a place to take the world in properly. He has his exersaucer, with stars to bend and globes to spin and a weird puppet and support to stand up and not be dependent on a father who tires oh so easily.
We were exersaucer snobs with the first kid. Not earthy enough, or something like that. Then we were loaned a used one, with toys missing, and a starfish that played this garbled static when she hit it, which she did often. And what relief.
You would think that we would be all over this with the second baby, but he is the second kid, so we think he is just a baby, and did not realize how big he got. So we finally got him in a jumper, and, pow, he loved that. We sat him up in a high chair with help. Oh my, what a miracle. And now his grandmother hauled an exersaucer across an ocean (everything here in Sweden is a jumper or a walker, which we did not want, for various reasons) and his satisfaction is complete.
For about five minutes. Then he starts wiggling …