What I'm thankful for...

I could not be more thrilled that today is Thanksgiving.

Practicing what I'm going to do later today with a big 'ol turkey leg.

Sharpening my tooth. Ready!

My Thanksgiving day attire. Yes, my mom dresses me in sweater vests. We both happen to think I look very handsome. I dare you to tell her otherwise.

Let the feast begin! (Okay, so yeah, his bib is dirty. Didn't realize that when I packed it. Whoops.)

Um, mom? Pretty sure this is not turkey. Or gravy. Or anything rich and delicious.

Isaac's Thanksgiving meal and momma's Thanksgiving meal. One of us felt a little cheated.

Not so sure about these peas.

Ready for my Thanksgiving Day nap. Good thing Grandpa's here.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Tidbits

Yesterday, Isaac turned 7 months. Today, he officially found his wee wee. He's grabbed it before when I've changed his diaper, but I think it was mostly an accident and he didn't really realize what he was grabbing. Tonight, he spent his entire bath playing with it. With both hands. And staring intently. He'll probably never forgive me for announcing this to the world.

Sometimes I think Isaac looks like a little old man. I think it has something to do with his bald head, toothless grin and the way I sometimes dress him (again, sorry Little Man). I've thought this a couple of times when he's been asleep next to me or nursing, but I really thought it tonight. I saw him from afar for the first time in a long time. My parents beat me to my apartment, and my mom was standing outside their car holding him, and he just reminded me so much of a little, tiny old man in her arms. I don't know why. That's probably pretty weird.

This morning I woke up with Isaac next to me and saw that he had kicked off, not only his socks, but also his pajama pants. The socks weren't a surprise, but it was pretty funny to see his skinny little legs and diapered bottom without any pants on when I woke up. Luckily, our apartment stays pretty warm.

John and Isaac and I participated in StoryCorps on Sunday. It was fun to relive Isaac's birth day and to share it with John. I definitely felt, the entire time, we were doing it for Isaac. It didn't really make me feel any closer to John. I didn't expect it to. I actually didn't have any expectations about how it would or would not affect my relationship with John or the way we see one another. I guess that's why it stood out to me that it did not make me want to be with John or rekindle our relationship. I don't feel close to him. And, in a way, talking about that day and the days and weeks following Isaac's birth just reminded me of how distant we were, even then.

What was really nice about the 40 minutes we spent talking, though, was that they were 40 totally honest minutes. I asked John questions about that day, how he felt, what he was thinking, and he answered more honestly and more thoughtfully, I think, than he would have had we not been locked inside that Airstream trailer. In turn, I shared with him my recollections of the day. At about 30 minutes, we started to run out of steam, and the facilitator who was recording our conversation began to ask us questions, which was nice because his questions prompted us to talk about things we wouldn't otherwise. John admitted how unprepared he was for fatherhood, how much harder it was than he thought it would be. He said he thought parenting would come naturally to him, but it didn't. I was afraid it wouldn't come naturally to me, but it did. It definitely wasn't easy, but it did come to me.

I don't think I'll listen to the recording for a while. I'm just going to slip it into Isaac's baby book and leave it there for a few years. And, unfortunately, I don't really see John and I having another conversation like that for a long time, if ever. But I'm glad we had it and that Isaac will have the opportunity to hear his parents' recollections of the day he was born, their fears at the time, their hopes for the future. And he'll be able to hear himself, too, laughing and talking, whining and making smacking sounds with his mouth. I think that could be as cool as anything else.

Isaac Swings

At Zink Park with our friends Jenny and Lillian. Obviously, my mother is too single-minded to take any pictures of my friends.

Isaac Computes

Hmmm... wonder if I can pry any of these keys off and get them into my mouth?

He's writing my Arts Experienced column. He's really Max Clark. He just didn't want you to know because he thought, if you did, you might not take him seriously as a journalist.

All right, you caught me.

Back to work. I'm on a deadline!

500 words on: Why I Need to Marry a Doctor

It’s not about money, really. I mean, money would be nice, but I’ve pretty much relinquished myself to the fact that I’ll never have any. Or I’ll never have much. Hell, even if I were to find a doctor who wanted to marry me, I’d probably fall for the guy practicing for free in some sorely underserved part of the city, rather than a brain surgeon making hundreds of dollars and hour (or however much brain surgeons make. I obviously don’t, and probably never will, know).

No, I want to marry a doctor because I absolutely despise going to the doctor. To me, it’s just a hassle. And right now, since my insurance doesn’t kick in for another two months, it’s an expensive hassle. But even when I had insurance, other than during my pregnancy when I obsessed about going to the doctor and probably went more often than I should just to make sure everything was okay in there, I still made visiting the doctor a last resort option.

It’s so much easier to Google my symptoms and self-diagnose. I realize this is probably not healthy, especially for someone who may have inherited a bit of her mother’s hypochondria. (Mother is, incidentally, the one who taught me to self-diagnose. She introduced me to many a home medical volume, which she and I would both use to discover we have twelve types of cancer and various other fatal ailments.)

When I am actually sick, which is much less often than I think I am sick, I find I’d rather let the sickness run its natural course rather than attempt to stifle it with any medication stronger than Advil Cold and Flu or vitamin C. It’s a lot easier than making the trip to the doctor, who’s just going to hand me something only a bit stronger and tell me to let it run its course.

But were I married to a doctor, or had a close friend or family member who happened to be a doctor, I could call on a whim and either verify a self-diagnosis or actually receive some sort of consultation/appointment/treatment without having to expose myself to any situations I find annoying, inconvenient or outright intolerable. And, I wouldn’t have to worry about payment!

Yes, I could use a doctor husband right about now. Earlier, when I was pumping, I felt a hard knot in my right breast. I can still feel it, actually. I’ve never felt it before, and it’s likely just a clogged duct, but it sure would be nice to find out for sure. I may have to fork over some dough for this one. Unless anyone reading this happens to be a doctor and is not completely weirded out by my need for a breast exam? I promise you don’t have to marry me. Unless you want to.



(P.S. In case you're wondering if I'm a bad mother who doesn't take Isaac to the doctor, I'm not. Completely different situation there. I take much better care of him than I do of myself.)

Oh, Brother

“Guess what? I want to go to culinary school. I’m going to be a chef,” my brother announced yesterday as he proudly stirred a pan of ground chuck, dehydrated potatoes and powered “spices.”

I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on him. It was his first attempt at cooking something that wasn’t nuke-able. And he did attempt to dress up the Hamburger Helper beef stroganoff with some Italian seasoning and salt and pepper.

For the past year and a half, Steven has talked about nothing but going into the military, being a soldier and a chaplain. Although I could never really picture him as a soldier or a chaplain, and although I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of him enlisting in the military and (probably) being carted off to war, I thought maybe the military would teach him some self-discipline—or some discipline in any form—and I tried to be supportive and not remind him that he’s overweight and has a major problem respecting authority—both qualities upon which the Army tends to frown.

But he told me last night, as he attempted to prevent his culinary masterpiece from scorching, that since the country elected Barack Obama the next president of the United States, he no longer had any desire to enter the military and would instead attend Tulsa Tech as a culinary student. He was inspired, he said, in part, by me. The last time I was at my parents’ house, I left the TV on the Food Network and Steven, unable to locate the remote, watched Iron Chef America for hours and decided he wants to be the next Bobby Flay.

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to encourage Brother’s new ambition. It’s a realistic one, for once (unlike the month he decided he wanted to be a professional wrestler). Everything he needs to know in order to succeed, he can learn. Although he’s never been a particularly good student (in fact, he’s failed miserably more than a few times, less out of an inability to learn and more out of sheer laziness), I know that, when the subject matter consists of something he actually enjoys or cares a little bit about, he can do very, very well.

I decided, rather than to subject myself to a meal of purely processed food, I’d go ahead and whip up a salad to go along. (My brother, the “future culinary student,” I should mention, is probably the least adventurous eater I know and has, since he was a child, refused to indulge in any kid of vegetable, specifically the green kind.) I was chopping a red bell pepper I found in the fridge, and Steven asked what kind of pepper it was. It kind of shocked me that he didn’t recognize a bell pepper, and I had to remind myself that, growing up, my parents rarely served us fresh vegetables and, even if they had, Steven probably wouldn’t have eaten them.

He asked me if those are the kinds of peppers in Louisiana Hot Sauce, and I said, “Probably not. Bell peppers are sweet,” and, with that, offered him a slice to try. He sort of made a face, shook his head and said, “No thanks.”

Here is where I start to see Brother’s visions of becoming a chef somewhat unrealistic.

“Steven,” I said (admonished), “if you’re going to be a chef, you’re going to have to know what food tastes like. They’re going to offer you stranger things than bell peppers in culinary school.”

Somewhat reluctantly, he took the bell pepper, snapped off one bite, and handed it back to me. He said he didn’t think it had much flavor. I told him that was probably because he’s not used to eating fresh, unsalted, unprocessed food. He tends to limit his diet to that which comes from a box or can.

Moments like these remind me of how different Brother and I are. It’s almost as if we were raised in different homes. I’m not really sure how he became the way he is and I became the way I am. I’m definitely more self-sufficient, but I don’t think our parents forced me to be that way and not him.

When I was 10, I decided I didn’t like the way my mother folded my laundry. She left too many wrinkles. You know how some check-out clerks at department stores will wad your clothes up into a ball and stuff them in a bag instead of folding them neatly? That’s kind of how my mother does laundry. I tried to show her how I like my laundry folded, and she told me if I didn’t like the way she did things, I could do my own laundry. So I did. And I have ever since. I don’t think, even at 19, my brother does his own laundry.

I started cooking for myself my freshman year of HS (maybe even before that?) because I converted to veganism. A couple of years later, when I started eating meat, I still cooked for myself and, sometimes, for the rest of the family, because I had discovered fresh foods and would not longer put up with the thinking that canned corn constituted a vegetable. Last night was the first time, in my memory, Steven has cooked anything besides Ramen.

Still, I believe, if he’ll just open his mind a bit and be receptive to experiencing new things, he’ll make a good culinary student and maybe even a good chef someday. I would love to see him succeed, not because success happened upon him (which I think, more often than not, is the case with him), but because he found something he wants to do and is good at and worked hard. Really, really hard. It would do him good to have to work for something, to have to do a few things on his own.

And yes, I’ll admit, Hamburger Helper tastes much better with a pinch of Italian seasoning.

A (Very Funny) Means to Explore

Isaac’s new favorite past time, as of the last two or three weeks, is grabbing and squeezing the various features of my face. His little hands (and very sharp fingernails, no matter how short I clip them!) will grab onto my nose, my cheeks, my chin, sometimes even my forehead and squeeze so hard that it hurts. He finds this hilarious. He doesn’t limit this activity to my face; if you get an opportunity to hold him for very long, chances are he’ll get hold of your nose. Yesterday John popped in for a bit, and Isaac was especially interested in playing with his chin, which, unlike mommy’s, is covered in hair.

When he grabs my face, it sort of hurts, but it also makes me laugh, which I think just encourages him to do it again and again. I sort of keep waiting for the moment he'll poke me in the eye, though.

Most nights, Isaac ends up in bed with me. Sometimes he’ll start sleeping in his bed, and I’ll move him to mine when I hear him cry in the night. Other times, out of pure exhaustion, I’ll lie with him in my bed and nurse him to sleep. Every morning, though, it’s his little fingers grabbing onto my nose and cheeks that wakes me up.

I remember when Isaac was born, he had bright red welts on both cheeks, which, we discovered, he inflicted upon himself by grabbing and squeezing his own cheeks. He would grip his cheeks so tightly that it was sometimes difficult for John and me to pry his fingers from his face. I can’t really remember when he stopped doing that. I think it was probably before we left the hospital, because I don’t really remember him doing it much at home. Then, I guess it was some kind of reflex. Now it seems to be a mode of exploration.

Isaac + Carrots = Yum!

Isaac eats! The other day, I broke down and bought some organic jarred baby food and some organic rice cereal. I thought I might compare the jarred stuff to my homemade sweet potatoes and, if all else fails, break down and give cereal a shot. I gave Isaac some carrots for the first time yesterday morning, and he actually seemed to like them! He ate about a third of the jar, and he finished it this morning and evening. I think, at first, he was a little put of by the texture and consistency of the carrots, and I noticed that, while my sweet potatoes were as runny as his commercial carrots, they weren't quite as smooth. (I was happy to find, though, that they did actually taste like carrots.)

I think I've figured out that the trick to getting Isaac to eat is to feed him while I'm eating as well. I started introducing solids in the first place because of his interest in what was on my plate, and tonight I discovered that putting his food on my plate, next to my salmon and rice, made him my more amenable to eating them. I didn't have to cajole the carrots into his mouth--quite the opposite! If I took too many bites of my own food without giving him one of his, his little hand would reach out to grab my arm or, if it happened to be within his reach, something off my plate. Every time I directed the spoon toward his mouth, he opened it wide and swallowed his mush without spitting any of it out!

Okay, so I know not everyone (or anyone) will find this as exciting as I do, but that's okay, I don't expect you to. Perhaps I should have titled this post "Only read if EXTREMELY bored!" :)

On a side note, Isaac bit me with his new tooth tonight while he was nursing. It still hurts! I tried to remember what Dr. Sears says to do when this happens, but I was so startled and distracted that I couldn't do anything but yelp. We're going to have to put a stop to that before I-Man gets any more teeth.

A fit of giggles

Last night, after my parents dropped Isaac off, I was changing out of my work clothes, Isaac propped up on some pillows on my bed. He sneezed, and I said, "bless you," which, for some unknown reason, incited a fit of giggles from my Little Man. I said "bless you" again, and he cracked up again. He was laughing so hard that it made me laugh, and as soon as our laughter died down, I'd say "bless you" again, and he'd start cracking up all over again. It was the funniest/cutest/weirdest thing I've seen. We did this for about 20 minutes, just cracking each other up every time I said "bless you."

See for yourself.

Have I lost my touch?

I'm afraid I've become one of those frumpy moms who used to be attractive until she had a baby and let herself go. My hair is rarely not tied back in a ponytail, I hardly wear makeup and, when I do, I've rubbed it off by the middle of the day and my clothes, besides being three sizes bigger than I'd like them to be, seem to have the affect of making me feel the complete opposite of sexy.

Please, no comments reassuring me that I really do look great for just having had a baby. I'm really not fishing for compliments here. I just feel like I have no time or energy to devote to myself and my appearance. Yesterday, I had to take Isaac to the doctor at 10 a.m., so I had three hours to get ready in the morning when I usually have about 30 minutes. I ended up feeling pretty good about myself yesterday because I actually had the time to take a shower AND fix my hair. Usually, it's one or the other. And then I look back at pictures of myself pre-Isaac and think, "Wow. I wish I still looked like that." I wish I still had the time to look like that. I wish I weighed what I did then. Or maybe I just wish I still had the confidence I did back then.

I would say that perhaps I'm thinking about this now because I'm concerned that, someday, when I'm ready to attract another man, I won't be able to. But I think I was worried about it even when I was with John. I remember one night, toward the end of my pregnancy, I half-casually, half-jokingly, half-desperate for reassurance, asked John if he would still think I was sexy even after I had his baby. Instead of the "Yes, I'll always think you're sexy and beautiful no matter what" I had hoped for, he replied, "If you lose all the weight."

I was heartbroken. And I probably should have dumped him then. But I really did think that I would care enough about myself to keep up with my appearance even after I had Isaac. I didn't want to become the frumpy mother who never recovered from infancy. It's hard, though, to find time for myself when my whole life revolves around I-Man. It was hard when I was with John, and it's even harder now that I'm doing this alone. I thought cutting my hair would make daily beauty maintenance easier, but now I find that I just miss my long hair and it was one more thing that used to make me feel beautiful that I no longer have.

I'm not really sure how to resolve this. Maybe to attempt, in any way possible, to do things that make me feel good about me?? To get a pedicure once in a while, even though they are ridiculously expensive and not very good for the environment? To actually use the elliptical machine that is taking up so much space in my living room? Or, better yet, does anyone have a miracle pill or cream that would solve all of my problems?

More firsts

I-Man got his first tooth last night! I had been expecting it all weekend and had almost given up, thinking his fever and other symptoms might have been due to some virus rather than a new tooth. But last night I saw that little glimmer of white again, and I felt around in his little mouth, and his lower left incisor had broken the skin! I was so excited that I called everyone in the family and sent my friends (the ones I thought would care) text messages announcing our new arrival. I bounced him up and down chanting, "You have a tooth, you have a tooth!" and he just smiled and laughed, excited about whatever it was that was making me so happy.

I didn't expect to get so excited about a tooth, but I was. Over the weekend I went out with some folks for my friend's husband's birthday, and I spent so much time talking about Isaac and his latest developments and his fever and his sitting up and his falling over... It's hard for me to talk about much else sometimes. And it makes me grateful for my friends who are moms because I'm pretty sure half the people I used to know and be close to could care less about any of this stuff, and although they once thought of me as someone who has pretty cool and fun to hang out with, I'm now to them excruciatingly boring.

Oh well, I guess.

I have been forgetting one bit of very important Isaac news. He gives kisses. For almost a month now, he's been giving his mommy and grandparents great big kisses with his mouth WIDE open. The first time he did it, he kind of surprised me. I was holding him and doing something else and all of a sudden there was this little mouth on my cheek. I looked at him and he just gave me the sweetest, widest grin and then another kiss. Now, when I give him kisses, he'll open his mouth really big in an attempt to reciprocate. It's the absolute cutest thing and I must get a photo of it.

What a big boy

I keep telling Isaac that growing up is just so hard to do and it's painful and, if he knows what's good for him, he'll stay a little baby forever.

Case in point: I think he's cutting his first tooth. Last Thursday he started to get kind of sick, runny nose, etc., which we figured was a cold he caught from my parents, both of whom were sick all last week. Then, on Friday, my mom said he had diarrhea and, when I went to pick him up, he had a high fever. I happened to glance in his mouth and I saw a glimmer of white on his bottom gums, what looked like his first tooth coming in! By Saturday his fever had broken and the entire weekend came and went with no sign of the new tooth, so who knows when it will make its fist appearance. All I know is that I-Man definitely does not like it when I try to look for teeth in his mouth.

Also last week, Isaac had his first encounter with a sippy cup. I had tried to introduce it to him the week before, and he would put the spout in his mouth but wouldn't suck or get any water out. Then, on Friday night, my mom tried to give it to him, and he yanked it out of her hands and drank from it all by himself. If the spout ever escaped his mouth, though, he had some difficulty trying to get it back in. He's got a drinking problem a la Ted Striker on Airplane.

Last week, I swear Isaac said "mama." He was babbling incessantly, saying "ba ba ba ba..." and then he stopped and said exactly what sounded like "ma ma." I got super excited and started saying "mama" to him over and over, and he'd said "bababababa mama." He said it about three times.

To me, that counts.

Isaac reads

Isaac's first taste of victory

To the future.

Isaac and I went to our friend Natasha's house last night, along with two other girlfriends, Meghan and Wendy, to watch the presidential election results. We cooked a delicious meal that included garlic orange shrimp with brown rice and snow peas and fried, stuffed wontons. Meghan made a beautiful bi-partisan cake (we invited her, even though she was the only Republican among us. :) I have to say, she was a very good sport), and Natasha also made a delicious bread pudding.

We spent the first couple of hours of our evening in the kitchen and on baby duty (Natasha has a sweet 8-month-old named Sam), and when we finally settled down in front of the TV with our plates, I honestly couldn't believe what I was seeing. Obama was ahead. Though I hoped for it, I was sure it could really happen. I think I sorely underestimated the American people in thinking that they'd never elect an African-American president. I thought there was still too much bigotry in the country. It turns out, the bigotry was staring me in the face as I looked in the mirror.

Even as Obama took hold of Ohio, an accomplishment that nearly assured his victory since no Republican has ever won the presidential race without winning Ohio, I was still too nervous to get excited. I didn't want to "jinx" him. I was almost uninterested, almost emotionless as I watched with bated breath, trying not to let my hopes get too high, thinking that surely the evening would take a turn for the worst. Any moment now...

Isaac and I went home a little after 9:30. He was tired, and I felt badly for keeping him up so late. At home, I didn't have time to turn on the TV. We went to Isaac's room, and he nursed for almost an hour before allowing me to lay him in his crib without fussing. While I was nursing him, I started to get text messages from friends asking, "Can you believe this?" (and one from my dad that said "The world has ended"). I knew he had been ahead last time I looked, but I still didn't want to believe that he was elected president. I was sure that, soon as I let out a sigh of relief or allowed my lips to part into a smile, something would happen to take the joy back out of me.

When I did finally turn on the TV, I couldn't believe it. 338. Obama had won 338 electoral votes. He is going to be the President of the United States. Even then, as I watch Obama give his acceptance speech, I couldn't believe it. I was in total and complete shock. A good shock, though. The shock of knowing our country will be in good hands for the next four years.

I feel strongly that Obama will have an effect in changing the country's current bad direction. I don't think he can clean up all eight years' worth of messes Bush has made, but I think he will have a definite positive impact on the quality of life in the country.

I was touched, watching Obama accept his election, at the number of African Americans who were also watching, noting the great transition the country has made. Fifty years ago, black people couldn't vote. Yesterday, a black man was elected to the country's highest office.

But still, more than he is an African American man, Obama is a man who will affect great change in the nation. Who wants to improve the country's economy, healthcare, to end the war in Iraq. I do feel that he will leave this country better than he found it. He'll need help, though, and I hope (and I think) he'll appoint people to his Cabinet who excel in the areas in which he lacks experience. Rather than surround himself with people who will pat him on the back and tell him nothing but "yes," I hope he'll build for himself a "team of rivals," as Lincoln did. Because no matter how much I respect and admire Obama, I know he can't do it alone.

I feel, like Tasha said, as though a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I feel very, very hopeful for our country's future. I'm very eager to see what the next four years have in store. (Egad! Four years! I can't imagine Isaac as a 4-year-old!)

Next post, photos from our fabulous watch party.

Changes...

I changed my template again. I don't know why I can't be satisfied. Also changed the title. This one seems more appropriate now.

Incredible

I cannot believe what is happening right now. I mean, I hoped for it and I prayed for it, but I'm not sure if I ever believed it would actually happen. It's so surreal. I feel like it's almost too good to be true, like something's going to happen to take it all away. I can't even be excited right now because I'm still in such shock. Even as the prediction's of Obama's win came pouring in, I refused to believe them. I didn't want to get my hopes up because I was afraid I'd jinx something. I think that's still sort of what I'm feeling right now.

There are such good things in store for this country. I can't wait to see troops coming home from Iraq, to see the threats to women's reproductive rights go by the wayside, to see improvements in the quality of life for all Americans.

This is really, really incredible.

Isaac's First Meal

On Sun., Nov. 2, Isaac enjoyed (?) his first meal of solid food, which consisted of locally grown, organic, pureed sweet potatoes. He's been really interested in food for a few weeks now, and he's not easily satiated by nursing alone anymore. I've been nursing every couple of hours in the evening and sometimes still following up with a bottle of formula.

I felt like Isaac was really ready for food, but he may not be. As you can see below, he didn't have a very good reaction to the sweet potatoes, and the two times I've offered them since this meal, he's refused. I've given him a little taste of banana, which didn't warrant a much better reaction than the sweet potatoes did, and I think next week I'm going to give avocados a shot. If we need to wait a little longer, we will.

I'm trying to keep my expectations low and try not to rush anything, but, for some reason, I had it in my head that Isaac's first meal would be met with laughter, excitement and lots of "mmmm" noises. It was nothing like that. I think he was just really confused and put off by the texture (though I tried to make it as runny and smooth as possibly) and the taste (I added breastmilk as an attempt at familiarity, but I don't know if it helped).

I think most "first"moments will probably not go as I plan or expect, so I'll just try to enjoy them for what their worth. Although Isaac didn't necessarily like his sweet potatoes (at one point, he gagged. I think that's when we quit), it was fun for me to watch him experience his first taste of "real" food (I do not count the bread or Cool Whip my parents gave him). My only regret is that these photos turned out so blurry. It's hard to feed a baby and capture the perfect image at the same time!

Isaac's first meal. Mmm... tantalizing. I think he liked the idea of getting his hands in this more than he liked actually having it in his mouth.

First taste! (Isaac: "Mom! What the hell is this?")

He was much more interested in sucking on his bib than he was ingesting the orange goop I was giving him.

"Mom, no! Why are you punishing me? What did I do?"

"Are we done yet? No more orange goop?"

"Fine, mom. You take the picture and I'll feed myself."

"That's enough. This isn't fun anymore. Put the camera down."

Isaac's New Trick

As of Oct. 25, Isaac is a sittin' dude. You have to help him get situated, and his bottom is a little round, so he wobbles and falls over, but he can sit up for quite a few minutes at a time.

He's very proud of his new skill.

Whoops! Falling over is just part of sitting up, we say.

Here he is practicing in his Bumbo.

I don't put him in this much anymore because he climbs out of it. You can see him now about to throw himself overboard. Yesterday, as I was getting ready, I put the Bumbo on my bed and put him in it and he catapulted himself out of it about three times, landing, of course, on his face. Luckily, no damage was done to the bed.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a wiener

My little hot dog. John and I took Isaac to our friends Jeremy and Kristin's house. They live in a newer neighborhood in Jenks near a lot of other young couples with babies and young children. We took Isaac and their 8-month-old son Turner around the neighborhood and visited the other folks in the neighborhood that we know. We even collected a little candy. :)
Later, we went back to the Roops' house, ate pizza and let the boys play.

Isaac eventually ate through the wrapper, and when I took it away from him, he wasn't too happy.

Isaac's friend Turner, who was a giraffe and loved to give kisses.

As you can see, Isaac got a little tired of Turner's kisses. Turner would grab him by the shirt and I think it kind of scared Isaac. Of course, all I did was laugh and take pictures, so I'm sure he felt completely abandoned, like I was just going to let this little baby attack him and not do anything about it.