Philosophizing and Updating and Loving

So yes, hello...

Turns out we're not fabulous parent-bloggers. Good intentions out the window when you have a sleepless, busy child, I guess.

Owen has, however, become a gem. He's such a happy, funny little boy these days.

He's walking, as we showed you in our hasty video post. He can't get up if he's in the middle of a room, but give him a wall or furniture or person to pull up on, and he's off to the races, padding his way down the hallway to see who's in the kitchen, carrying the contents of the kitchen (Tupperware, pot lids, tomato paste, whatever's handy) off to his toy box.

He's talking, maybe, or at least making sounds that sound a lot more like words. Mama, he says, often when he means me. Dada, likewise, for John. "Dog," he says when he's at his Mamgu's and hanging out with Bella the Jack Russel/Chihuahua, "Dog". Most other animals are "baa," especially the sheep kind. He's said cat, once or twice, when he's mislabelled Pumpkin as a baa or a dog. "Nam nam nam" means he's hungry, or enjoying his meal. There's a "baaaaw" sound for balls, and a "buuuhh" sound for books, but mostly everything is ba-ba-ba-ba-ba, so maybe we read too much into it. Was that a "banana" we just heard?

He started daycare in January, and has had a mild case of the plague ever since, a cold that turned into an ear infection that turned into a croupy sort of thing that turned into "that damn ear infection still hasn't gone away." We're finishing up our third course of antibiotics. We've retired the inhalers. He seems happy enough, but do his ears still itch? Do we have to make a hard decision about tubes? We'll know on Monday, I guess.

There are six pointy, sharp little teeth now, and a brand-new stream of drool that might indicate more are on the way. He sleeps five hours in a row, most nights, sometimes six, though not usually the same ones we like to sleep. He's getting better and we can see the light at the end of that tunnel.

He likes to make jokes, initiate peek-a-boo, feed us bites of whatever he's eating. He's in all the drawers and cupboards, testing, throwing, rearranging. Toys that make noise are the very best, and he shakes his head along with every rattle. He's starting to dance along with music, a little hand wavy bouncing thing. He understands more words than he lets on, I think, especially the kind that are "no."

He's ten and a half months old, already. In six weeks he'll have been around for a whole year. It's hard to imagine life before he was, but all the same, being back at work makes it hard to reconcile now with before. There's no more stopping on Barrington Street for a pint on the way home. No more spur of the moment decisions to see a movie on a Friday evening. Any evenings out take special orchestration. Is it worth it? Yes, oh, yes. Is it still weird? Again, yes.

The best thing of all, though, is the end of the working day, this little face full of love and smiles.