Husband (still groggy, as it was 8 a.m. on a Saturday): You said he threw up six ounces. I don’t understand. I don’t see anything.
Me: Dude, that’s because it’s in my shirt.
And then Baby proceeded to be somewhat cranky and particular, though he went about his usual throwing Tupperware on the kitchen floor, flinging clothes out of his bureau, eating paper, eating dirt from the potted plant, bursting through his clothing, etc. The span of his reach has grown, so that he can now tap (or bang) on my computer when not discouraged. I am thinking I’m going to have to think of more structured activities for the kid, otherwise, he will just keep destroying our apartment. I went to see a play this afternoon, courtesy of a babysitting team made up of my cousin’s husband and sister, who entertained Baby quite well while I was away. On my return, he burst into intense tears, making this face–head thrown back, eyes shut, mouth corners wrenching down. He doesn’t cry like that too often, and of course, I don’t want him to suffer, but I find it really cute. My cousin’s husband asked him, “Why are you crying now? You were fine before, and now your mom’s back!” But I totally get it, because that’s the point when I cry — he hadn’t realized he missed me till I showed up again.
None of this is particularly dramatic, but just noting that Husband and I realize that Baby is leaving his infant days behind and entering…Toddlerhood. Oh boy. I’m going to need to start drinking coffee again.