Since the moment of his arrival in the world, Noah has been unmistakably boyish. I still remember pushing him around the post-partum floor in his little hospital bassinet and some other newborn's grandfather remarking, "He looks like a boy." True then, and even more true now. And this boy quality is way more than skin deep. Witness his obvious disdain for Mama tying his hood with a bow.
Or his affection for spilling blocks on the floor and banging his toy stacking rings.
And then there's his enjoyment for meal times, especially if meat and potatoes are on the menu.
Of course, there are a few things the pictures cannot capture: the dedication with which he tried day after day, like a tiny couch mechanic, to get himself fully underneath the sofa in the living room. Getting under the dining chairs proved an easier, but clearly very gratifying, feat.
Finally, we have the several-times-daily drama of diaper changing. Last week he was fascinated with the light that stands next to his changing station and nearly toppled the whole thing over onto himself. This week he is just too busy to wait for a new diaper to be fastened to his bottom. Cool air on the bum must feel like freedom because no sooner is his soiled diaper removed but he is flipping over, up on all fours and trying to crawl off the changing pad. That is, unless he reaches down and finds that epicenter of all boyness. Then I've got a shot at him lying relatively still while I change him. Then we all wash our hands.
Or his affection for spilling blocks on the floor and banging his toy stacking rings.
And then there's his enjoyment for meal times, especially if meat and potatoes are on the menu.
Of course, there are a few things the pictures cannot capture: the dedication with which he tried day after day, like a tiny couch mechanic, to get himself fully underneath the sofa in the living room. Getting under the dining chairs proved an easier, but clearly very gratifying, feat.
Finally, we have the several-times-daily drama of diaper changing. Last week he was fascinated with the light that stands next to his changing station and nearly toppled the whole thing over onto himself. This week he is just too busy to wait for a new diaper to be fastened to his bottom. Cool air on the bum must feel like freedom because no sooner is his soiled diaper removed but he is flipping over, up on all fours and trying to crawl off the changing pad. That is, unless he reaches down and finds that epicenter of all boyness. Then I've got a shot at him lying relatively still while I change him. Then we all wash our hands.
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