Munch is 11 months old today and I've probably done 5 posts on him, if that. It's not my fault, just blame it on the second child syndrome!
Seriously though, I'm enjoying his babyhood so much more than I did Moppet's. Not that I didn't enjoy Moppet as a baby, but there was a lot more worry and self-doubt at the time. With Moppet, I'm finding her current phase much more enchanting than her baby phase. The things she says and does surprise and delight me every time. You'd think I'd have learnt to expect it by now, but she still takes my breath away with all her chattering.
But this post is about Munch and what a delicious little fellow he's turning out to be. Sadly, it appears that the whole 'good boy' impression was just an act. Having deceived us all into thinking that he was going to be a quiet, well-behaved young man, he sprouted horns overnight and turned into a babbling, walking, dancing, hair pulling, mischief mongering little imp.
He took his first unaided steps at nine and half months and now does what I call the zombie walk - arms outstretched for balance, he teeters and totters (particularly around corners), but manages to stay upright the whole distance. He's practically stopped crawling now, and no longer needs support to pull himself up. He goes from sitting to crouching to standing and walking all by himself. And now that he's figured out that when he walks he has his hands free to carry stuff, things are getting ferreted away and turning up in the most unexpected places.
Oh and he dances! It cracks us up every time. He toddles up to the music system and then jigs up and down in time to the beat, waving his arms like a windmill with a supersized grin on his face.
He babbles a lot - not just a a few repeated syllables, but a stream of made up words that sound so familiar that I wonder why I can't understand what he's
saying. Like when I go in to get him after his nap, he'll be standing in his crib and will say something that sounds like 'Aathaka?' on seeing me. And the tone screams 'what took you so long?' Or the way he puts his fist behind his ear and goes 'Aa-uh?' in exactly the same tone as I say hello on the phone. He does say a few recognisable words - Papa, Mama, and Ka (car) being the most oft heard.
He attempts to eat everything he comes across, earning for himself from his father the nickname MatterEaterLad, who is apparently some obscure comic book superhero. He has ingested some sort of insect (I only managed to extract the wings from his mouth so I have no idea what sort), assorted varieties of leaves and grass, mud and gravel, crayons (which I realised only when he threw up bits of it later), and plenty of paper. A nickname well-earned.
He's learning to stand up for himself against Moppet. Her days of being queen bee are numbered. If she tries to take something away from him, he hangs on for dear life and screams in her face. He pulls her hair every chance he gets. He bites, mostly out of affection, but sometimes in frustration, a habit I'm trying to nip (heh heh) in the bud. To her credit, Moppet rarely hits back. Having been the recipient of some of his pinches and bites, I know that they really hurt. But though she may scream or push him away, so far I've never seen her hit or poke or pinch him back.
On the whole, he's a most satisfactory baby. He's soft and cuddly and affectionate. Friendly, sociable and a complete clown. Total paisa vasool. Even though he's done his growing up as fast as Moppet, faster in some cases, he's still very much a baby, unlike his sister who always felt like an old soul to me.
Kaala tikka, my darling boy, and happy 11 month birthday!
