First I'd just like to touch on 1 thing:
1. I am astounded that not a single one of you commented about the Boobie Post. I'm assuming you either,
a) didn't get the humor in Shawn's comment (which means you know nothing about the make-up of my physical anatomy)
b) were a little scared at the image of the 4 of us snuggling in bed bare-chested (which was NOT the case. I did not need to be bare-chested in order for Ry to determine the size of my jugs; see "a")
c) You don't share the same 7th-grade-boy mentality my husband and I do, in which case I feel very sorry for you. Boobie cracks & fart jokes ROCK!
Now back to our previously scheduled program.
So. Way back in the day, Ryan had some adorable idiosyncracies that she would perform, all of which kept the entire family in stitches. Following in the Great One's footsteps, Jax has developed some of his own.
For instance, he has just discovered the joy of "blubbering"(huh?) his lips with his fingers, and will do it in lieu of a toy, playmate, or food.
Speaking of food, he is sooo over baby food, and becomes severely insulted when we don't offer a sampling of our dinner. He still does the lets-yell-before-during-and-after-dinner thing, coupled with the whole slam-his-head-against-the-highchair dance, but now he's become acutely aware of where the spoon is at all times and is now adept at swiping both the spoon, food, and your hand spontaneously, leaving a mess all over himself, his chair, the floor, and, well, me. He also refuses to wear his bib, and don't even think about trying to force it on him, because you will spend the remainder of mealtime fighting him to keep it on, and trust me, this kid does.not.give.up. Ever.
He's so totally into racing you in his walker, and God help you if you are not wearing shoes, because he will mash your toes until you cry and scream, at which point he will just scream right back for getting in his way, you big stupid dummy.
He'll try to repeat most of what you say, succeeding thus far in saying "ry ry", "bye!", "tank too", "daddy", "mama", "elmo", "ball", and mostly, "pappy", delighting my grandfather to no end, mainly because he still hasn't said "big daddy".
While he is entirely enthralled with all things ball-related, his favorite activity has to be clapping. He claps when he's hungry. He claps when he's angry. He claps when he sees you, when he does something good,he claps pretty much for any reason at all.
He's a clap-whore, if you will.
The only thing bothering me? He has just recently begun putting his two pointer fingers together and holding them out like a gun, sending shock and worry straight through my veins as I scramble for every medical book I can find stating anything about the workings of the male brain, in an effort to ensure he never puts a cap in anyone's ass, mostly mine, because the temper on this kid, coupled with how precise his aim seems to be scares the shit out of me.
I am now frantically searching for all those "funny" pics I took of him in princess costumes and wigs, burning them quicker than you can say "funeral pyre".
The Camera Adds Ten Pounds by The Pioneer Woman
19 hours ago