Enough About Me

It was my beloved Bit who pointed out how self-absorbed my blog can be. So, for now, enough about me.

Abby is so adorable and fun. She is 5 months old now, and she just learned to roll over about a week ago. And she is a little rolling stone, let me tell you. She rolls back and forth and forth and back, wobbling to a stop in each direction like a little Weeble. She also grunts with the exertion of everything -- stuffing Mommy's hair in her mouth, leaning forward to crumple Mommy's shirt or smudge Mommy's glasses, reaching for her new talking caterpillar toy. She sounds like a cable repairman I had once in PG County, who grunted and sighed so much, even just climbing the stairs, that I almost asked him if he wanted me to call the paramedics. Abby smiles all the time, often with her mouth wide open, delight in her crinkled eyes, and when you stumble upon the treasure of a trick that makes her laugh -- oh, Lord! She laughs with a reserved little chuckle, but a huge grin, almost as if she's trying not to laugh but can't help it. Then suddenly it bubbles up and she laughs harder, her little eyes disappearing in her rosy apple cheeks. It kills me. I would do anything to make her laugh.

Right now Abby is very into the caterpillar, very into chewing anything crinkly, grabbing all kinds of different fabric. She loves examining and touching textures and patterns --I'm hoping she'll be into chaos theory, rather than fashion design-- and she likes 'reading' books. She loves other babies, including that mysterious, smiley one in the mirror, and she especially likes little girls, like her sister. The feeling is mutual, there: S sings at Abby, plays with her, gets right in her face and babbles sing-songy at her-- just like I do, actually. Abby adores holding her own bottle, although in her fierce determination to chow down she often pokes herself in the eye with the wet nipple; undeterred, she usually smears formula all over her face before she manages to find the right orifice. And she's ready to eat some food. She chews her toys, her books, her hands, her toes, her clothes, her blankets, her daddy, me . . . . and she grunts with the effort of it. She is adorable, lovable, gorgeous, hilarious. What an amazing blessing. No wonder women let men rule the world -- who can be bothered, when you have these entrancing creatures at home?

For their parts, my other kids are fascinating, too. My boy R loves jokes and tricks, holding his tummy and laughing himself off of chairs when he thinks he's said something funny; he never wants to go to T-ball but seems to enjoy it once he's there; he loves Little Gym classes, he loves learning the names of everything and how each thing works (he sprayed himself in the eyes with sunscreen the other day -- classic), and he loves to help in the kitchen. His face is starting to look older -- less like a baby, more like the older boy he'll be soon. He gets mad if you only read a story and don't stick around to cuddle (which is "laying next to you and talking"). Hmm . . . maybe he gets that from me.

S is a complex girl -- she raids my makeup, loves to dance and plays dress-up any time another girl is around, but she eats with her fingers, burps like a Teamster, and is so klutzy she seems to be trying out for the pratfall olympics. She loves that her dad is coaching her soccer team, loves to draw coupons, menus and pretend money, can be quite rude and ungovernable, but is also sweet and truly funny with a great sense of humor and generosity of spirit. She watches over her little brother almost as often as she antagonizes him; she can be a bit rigid in her sense of fairness and she is heartbroken and furious when unfairness prevails (as it often does when parents are around). She couldn't care less what she looks like as long as you listen to her, and, ideally, do what she says.

My husband is a wonderful character, but he wouldn't want me to write about him here, so I won't.