The Beach

Another brokerage failed, the largest insurer in America went into government receivership, and the "fundamentally sound" economy needed $700 billion from taxpayers to stay afloat. Noah ate his first carrots and bananas, and discovered that the whole point of having feet is to get sand between the toes. What a week.

Like a miniature version of his dad, only with windmill arms in place of teeth, the bug always approaches dinner with optimism.



And just like his dad, the little copycat knows how to convey an elegant "ready for dessert" signal to the wait staff.



Then he likes to read.





Only it turns out that Faulkner uses too many pronouns for someone with a 15-second attention span.





What the camera couldn't catch was Noah's first attempts to crawl. It's quite a sight. He must have seen a tricycle somewhere, or a plow. Those back legs get working, all right, but the rest of his weight is borne exclusively by his forehead. Is it efficient? No. But could he trace a primitive furrow in patch of topsoil? Get out your gardening gloves.

And when you're a baby thinking you might just crawl, and your parents have put you to bed at 7 o'clock, when do you like to practice? Noah answered that riddle with a resounding in-the-deadest-hour-of-night. Who knew a Pack 'n' Play could take such a beating. You kind of expected sunrise to reveal a hole in the bottom of the thing and the bars bent backwards into the carpet. As best as we could work out, the poor guy was dreaming Sarah Palin into the White House and plow-crawling like mad to escape the nightmare vision. Which would explain the abject moans.

But you just gotta wash that away with a shot of water, and remember that there are worse fates than the end of summer -- although you're still allowed to put on a long face at the prospect of shorter days and longer sleeves.

Food Critic

After his mother caught him trying to knick a slice of bread from her lunch plate today, we figured it was time to give Noah a crack at some real food. Well, if you can call rice mush real food. He was skeptical too, at first. But he got into the spirit on his second or third bite. Liz, naturally, thinks he's a genius at eating now. Not to mention handling the spoon.

Judge for yourself.

Baby Whip

To my knowledge Baby Jogger has not tested its products in earth orbit, but I’m pretty sure the harness on Noah’s new stroller is fit for space travel. Check out the padding on those shoulder straps! Just how fast are we meant to be pushing this thing?



Fast. At least compared to his old get-up, which I now realize had all the handling ability of a 14th-century ox plow (did that jalopy even have wheels?). And like the Gemini astronauts, whose bladders were compressed by liftoff, Noah is diapered, so there’s really no limit now.

How must it feel, to be liberated from the unchanging view of his old man and lady he’d been stuck with in that old backward-facing stroller? Four months old and finally he gets to turn his back to his dad and take in the world. How long before he starts ghostriding this whip? (Or this one.)

Oh, the places he'll go.

Negotiation #1

DAD: What's that? You want to try a little coffee in your milk?

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Make it Irish!? Sure, we can make it Irish. It's boys day. We can do anything on boys day.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Absolutely not. Straws are for sissies.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: On the side of the mug? Donkeys and elephants. They stand for political parties.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Yep. That's what they do to each other in real life, too. Politics ain't beanbag.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Good point. They do seem to be having fun.

NOAH: (...)

DAD: Well, I guess if you're old enough to drink coffee, you're old enough for this. Let me explain...