14 Weeks

Fuzzy had a momentous 14th week of life.

1)  His new nanny - we'll call her Maya - started work this week, and lo, it turns out she is a miracle worker.  On her very first day, she and my mother managed to distract Fuzzy long enough for him to consume half an ounce of milk from a bottle.  Granted, this whole process took almost an hour, required two grown women, two musical toys, an exercise ball, and a plethora of distracting tinkling, squeaking, and rattling objects - but still!  Definite progress from no bottle at all.

2)  Fuzz also showed some motor development progression, as he flipped from his back to his stomach in a fit of pique.  This was during a middle-of-the-night feeding and diaper changing, so I was the only witness, and so far he hasn't repeated this trick for anyone else.  I'm pretty certain it happened though, and wasn't just a sleepless hallucination on my part.

3)  Finally, the baby has finally discovered his feet.  He's certainly seen them before, and even stared for lengthy periods of time, but this week he figured out that those things at the bottom of his body can be fun toys.  He now grabs them when laying down and purposefully splashes with them in the tub.  This discovery is a mixed blessing for us adults - on the one hand, he has a good object of distraction when no toys are available.  On the other hand, diaper changing is significantly harder now, as he resembles nothing so much as rolly-polly bug who refuses to straighten out.

3 Months

Between his twelfth and thirteenth week, the Fuzz has developed some new tricks:

1)  Blowing bubbles.  Whereas he used to communicate in several adorable coos, this new milestone means that Fuzzy basically now stares at us while gurgling and drooling excessively.  His squeals have gotten higher pitched too, and he somehow manages to convey both whining and demanding tones, especially when he's hungry.  The Pit and I decided his new conversational language resembles nothing so much as pterodactyl cries.  If chatting with the baby were plotted against our enjoyment, I would say this week brought a definite dip.

2)  Playing peek-a-boo. To make up for talking through a mouth full of spit, on his three-month birthday Fuzzy showed my mom and I something totally new.  I was holding him in the crook of my arm with my mom sitting next to us, and Fuzzy decided he would play a game.  He turned to my mom, gave her a big grin, watched her attentively for a second, and then turned his head to hide in my arm.  He let a few seconds go by, and then he flipped over to my mom again with a delighted look on his face.  He did this over and over and over again, clearly showing off how good he was at concealment.  My mom tried doing peek-a-boo back by hiding her face in her hands, but Fuzzy was clearly more interested in hiding than seeking.

3)  Rolling over.  Fuzzy has generally been more cranky this week, which means his usual response to tummy time was an indignant wail.  However, we did manage to get him to lay on his stomach a few times, and were  rewarded with the baby suddenly rolling over onto his back.  At last count, he had done this four times with a completely nonchalant air, looking at us with vague confusion when we erupted into cheers and clapping.  He hasn't rolled over from his back to his stomach yet, but has gotten all the way to his side while reaching for a toy.

4) Not sleeping.  As mentioned above, this has not been Fuzzy's finest week.  The last two days in particular have been brutal, with demands to be fed every two hours, and sudden hunger pangs that bring him screaming out of sound sleep and groping for a boob without ever opening his eyes.  I would say the following picture really summarizes all of our feelings about the situation:

12 Weeks

At 12 weeks, Fuzzy is displaying a remarkable progression in hand-eye coordination.  Three weeks ago he was batting at toys, grabbing them sporadically, and mostly unsuccessfully attempting to shove them in his mouth.  As the weeks passed, Fuzz began clenching his fists, bringing them up to his face, and then studying them in crossed-eye concentration.  Eventually he would try to cram one of them in his mouth, to better appreciate its aerodynamic qualities.

Apparently all this studying paid off, because he became better and better at toy grabbing.  With his 3rd month half-over, he can take just about any toy dangled in front of him, or placed off to the side, determinedly clench it in his fat little fingers, wave it around for a bit, and then in a very satisfying finale, bring it to his mouth for a taste.

He's also starting to show us desires (desires other than food or sleep, that is) - if he's playing with a toy and we take it away, he will first look around for it, and if it's no longer within reach, he will look at us accusingly and start making half-crying half-whining noises until it is returned to his grasp.  This new-found toy fascination means that we can leave him to play alone for longer and longer periods of time, freeing us up for certain critically important tasks.*

* Using the restroom and showering are important tasks at the top of this list.

This next triumph will be difficult to explain for the American readers, but Russians have this playful stretching/ massaging exercise for children, typically done upon waking.  It's pronounced paty-goose-ing-key, but all as one word.  The way it works is that the adult puts their hands on either side of the kid's head, and then runs their hands all the way down the sides of the body, stretching out the arms and legs as they go, and all the while saying "Patygoosingkey!  Patygoosingkey!"  I distinctly remember my grandfather doing this with me when I was little, and loving it.

Well, upon first meeting Fuzz, my grandfather started doing this to him.  The really amazing part is not that the kid loved it, but how quickly he learned it.  After spending a few hours with my grandpa, he's got the routine down.  I can start saying the words and running my hands down his arms, and by the time I get to his chunky thighs, he's straightened out his legs all by himself, and is grinning at me while assuming a classic toy soldier position.

A Breakfast Scene

The Pit is always chastising me for wandering around the house semi-nude, or, depending on the occasion, completely starkers.  So you can imagine my delight, when on this trip to visit my family, I came downstairs in the morning to the following tableau:

The Pit, standing at the kitchen island with my dad, having breakfast.  The Pit dressed normally, but my father wearing only bright green speedo underwear and a rather small short-sleeved collared shirt, which I'm fairly certain was worn only for a place to put his cigarettes.

Why was this considered appropriate breakfast attire?  Why didn't he wear shorts instead of a shirt if he needed pockets?  These are all excellent questions, but I do not have answers for you.  All I know is that The Pit should be grateful that the only Peachy family member he has to regularly see half-naked at breakfast is me.

2 Months

Fuzzy turned two months a week ago. I would have gotten this post up sooner, but his two month birthday coincided with two unfortunate events - his first set of vaccinations, and my return to the working world. Our foray to the doctor's office was initially quite successful - Fuzzy really enjoyed the aquarium in the lobby, and followed the fish with great interest:

Then, as we waited for the doctor in the exam room, he babbled and smiled at me, completely oblivious to what was coming.  His newest sound is a sort of wolf-like "aooooo" noise, which he happily makes in response to any conversation.

Then came the shots - 3 of them in his little thighs, and a squirt of attenuated rotovirus in his mouth.  His grandmother cried, Fuzzy screamed, and I tried to stay calm and carry on.  The Pit wisely went to work that day and avoided the whole traumatic experience.  Although Fuzz calmed down after a few minutes, he had another period of screaming later in the day, and then he was fussy for the rest of the week, reverting back to twice-nightly feedings.  Not so fun for Mom when I had to wake up in the morning and concentrate on creating research plans and editing documents.

However, everything seems to have returned to normal.  Notable recent achievements include:

1) Wringing his hands.  Fuzzy found his hands shortly before he turned two months, and he now frequently puts them together and rubs fingers.  The action gives him a distinctly nervous look, especially when coupled with his usual somewhat concerned expression:

2) In addition to the hand wringing, Fuzzy has started grabbing at his blankets, and then shoving the resulting fist full of material into his mouth.  We would feel better if he also had the ability to shove said material out of his mouth, but I suppose fine motor skills are developing right on track.  Fuzzy has also started batting at toys dangled in front of his face, and even grabbing them on occasion.  So far the grabbing seems pretty sporadic, but he is clearly thrilled whenever he manages to make it happen.

3) As he has since coming home, Fuzzy remains fascinated with the ceiling fans in almost every room of our house.  When he was a tiny newborn, he would glance up at them frequently, and then turn away.  Now he can lay there and stare up at them for quite some time, and he also gets a puzzled expression on his face whenever he sees them not moving.

4)  I can't really remember any other observations, which may have more to do with my sleep-deprived state than Fuzzy's developmental progress.  However, apropos of nothing, I'll leave you with one of my favorite recent pictures, taken at seven weeks:

Russian Lullaby

The Pit likes to entertain the baby by making various funny noises.  Fuzzy quite enjoys this, but when I filmed it and sent it to my grandparents, they expressed some concerns that we were howling at the child like wolves, and not singing to him like civilized human beings.

To make them feel better, I decided to look up some Russian lullabies online and play them for Fuzzy, because anyone who has heard me sing once tries to avoid a repeat performance at all costs.  It should also be noted that I don't actually know the words to any real lullabies, as when I was little, my grandfather sang me to sleep with old Soviet propaganda tunes from World War II.  I thus know the lyrics to the Russian version of A Wing and Prayer, but not an equivalent to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Anyway, I clicked on the first likely looking YouTube video, and the baby and I listened to this song:

You will note that while the music is indeed soothing, the images seem rather...martial.  However, I was rocking the baby, not looking at the monitor, and thus only started to attention when I heard the line about an "angry Chechan creeping over the riverbank, clutching his dagger."  What what now?

I emailed my father asking for an explanation, and he dug up an English translation of the lyrics, which I present to you here.  They have taken some liberties in order to make the English rhyme, but I assure you, the translation has, if anything, toned down the original.

A Cossack Lullaby
Sleep, my darling, sleep, my baby,
Close your eyes and sleep.
Darkness comes; into your cradle
Moonbeams shyly peep.
Many pretty songs I'll sing you
And a lullaby.
Pleasant dreams the night will bring you....
Sleep, dear, rock-a-bye.

Muddy waters churn in anger,
Loud the Terek roars,
And a Chechen with a dagger
Creeps onto the shore.
Steeled your father is in gory
Battle.... You and I,
Little one, we need not worry... .
Sleep, dear, rock-a-bye.

There will come a day when boldly,
Like your dad, my son,
You will mount your horse and shoulder,
Proud, a Cossack gun.
With bright silks your saddle for you
I will sew.... There lie
Roads as yet untrod before you....
Sleep, dear, rock-a-bye.

You'll grow up to be a fearless
Cossack, and a true.
Off you'll ride, and I'll stand tearless,
Looking after you.
But when you are gone from sight, son,
Bitterly I'll cry....

May the dreams you dream be light, son;
Sleep, dear, rock-a-bye.
Thoughts of you when we are parted
All my days will fill.
In the nighttime, anxious-hearted,
Pray for you I will.
I'll be thinking that you're lonely,
That for home you sigh....
Sleep, my son, my one and only,
Sleep, dear, rock-a-bye.

I will see you to the turning,
And you'll ride away.
With my icon you will journey
And before it pray.
Let your thoughts in time of danger
To your mother fly.
Close your eyes and sleep, my angel,
Sleep, dear, rock-a-bye.

So yes, the Russians apparently took a work by their second-favorite poet, about fighting Chechans in the 1830s, set it to a nice melody, and proceeded to sing it to their children as soothing bedtime music.  The funny thing is, after listening to several other Russian lullabies with more traditional lyrics, I liked this one the best.  I suppose a childhood listening to WWII melodies will do that to you.  And so the tradition continues!

The Cow Speaks

Yesterday the baby began putting weight on his feet when we dangle him, which makes him some sort of highly advanced genius according to an insert in the cow toy we received recently.

Half a cow smooshed into half a ball cannot be wrong people.  Although please note the one customer review this toy has received: according to an anonymous Amazon patron, the cow is not roly poly enough.  Perhaps it cannot be trusted in its judgments of genius either.

In other news, Fuzzy has also begun burping like a regular human baby.  Up until a week or so ago, he had hoarded his precious precious burps like gold, bestowing them only on the most lucky or ingenious of parents.  Practically speaking, this meant he would burp for The Pit maybe 30% of the time, and never for me.

This lack of maternal burping ability caused some issues between The Pit and I, as he insisted the lack of burping was responsible for Fuzzy's gas pains.  I mocked The Pit for his "more burps equals less farts" ideas, until we visited the pediatrician and she confirmed his hypothesis.  Oh, how bitter it is when The Pit is right about something, yet again.  Regardless, I'm hoping that Fuzzy's new-found burping skills mean fewer gas-related crying jags in our future.

While I may have been wrong about burping, my predictions regarding hair loss were spot on: our baby does indeed now resemble a medieval monk from behind:

I'm hoping this stage passes quickly.  From the front, he is also bald, but still cute as ever.  His eyelashes  have either lengthened or darkened in recent days, or possibly both, and his grandmother and I stare at him constantly while telling each other how beautiful he is.  It's sickening, really - yesterday I burned a perfectly good quesadilla to a crisp while watching a video of him I had just filmed, live and in person, not 30 minutes before.

1 Month

My little guy turned a month old on Saturday, and once again, I'd like to record some facts for posterity.

1)  The Pit is undoubtedly Fuzzy's favorite person.  The kid calms down instantly whenever his dad picks him up, looks up at him in adoration when set on his lap, and consistently smiles and laughs in his presence.  In comparison, mom is just some waitress bringing the milk.

2)  Fuzzy has also looked like The Pit from day one, but that resemblance has been strengthened even more recently as he began to go bald in exactly the same pattern as his father.  Unfortunately, Fuzzy's hair loss is accelerating quickly, as my mom and I discovered when we wet his head during a bath.

I fear that soon, my adorable baby will begin to resemble a tiny tonsured monk - a fashion statement I'm not anticipating eagerly.

3)  Although his looks come straight from Daddy, it's clear that Fuzzy inherited at least some things from me. Specifically, the baby is already a picky eater, absolutely refusing to suck on anything that isn't warm human flesh.  My mom and I have been trying to get him to drink from a bottle or suck on a pacifier, and from the reaction, you would think we were trying to poison him.  He jerks his head away, makes a face, and flails his arms about wildly.

If we persist in our folly, there is screaming.

4)  In the last week or so, Fuzz has started to not only smile and laugh (albeit infrequently - we have one serious kid on our hands), but also to babble a bit during those happy intervals.  In between his near constant hiccups, he makes little birdlike cooing noises, irresistibly cute as he looks up at us.

5)  Fuzzy was born with a very interesting set of ears, and a little tiny cowlick in the hair on his upper arms, which can both be see here in his first week:

Sadly, the cowlick has disappeared along with the hair, and his ears are starting to assume a more normal and human folding pattern, perhaps from his habit of grabbing at them when he's trying to pass gas:

6)  However, to compensate for the loss of those two features, Fuzzy is growing by leaps and bounds.  He stopped fitting into his newborn onsesies after 3 weeks, and now wears clothes meant for three, and occasionally even six, month olds.  Additionally, he has developed a killer set of arm and leg muscles, with more definition than his mother ever enjoyed.  His chunky little thighs make him look even more froglike than before.  His crowning achievement to date though is definitely the development of freakishly giant head - lifting it is a real drag:

7)  The kid sleeps best tightly swaddled, so I suppose it's not surprising that upon waking, he likes to stretch his arms and legs a bit.  What is surprising is the volume of farts that accompanies the stretching, and the faces he makes in the process.  I'd like to title the following composition "Stretchies is Serious Bizness"

Good and Evil

Recently, The Pit and I took Fuzzy and went to introduce ourselves to our newest neighbors.  We chatted for a bit, and then their 3ish year old daughter came over and looked at Fuzzy.

"He wooks like baby Jesus!" she exclaimed.

We were all a bit lost for words there - I mean, I'd like to think that my son is a genius - just look at him reading already.  Granted, it's a book with a tail, but nevertheless:

  

However, judging from another recent photo, my baby has rather more...sinister...plans for the world:

Shopping

This Wednesday marked Fuzzy's third week of life, and I decided that I was finally ready to do more than walk between the couch and the bed, serving as a human buffet.  So yesterday, my mother and I took a much-needed trip to the mall to purchase some clothes befitting my new... generous...dimensions in the bosom region.  Since Fuzzy still eats every twoish hours, it was clear he needed to accompany us, as no mall trip could possibly conclude in less time than that.

Like most gentlemen, the baby behaved relatively well at the beginning of the shopping trip, sleeping quietly in his stroller.  My mother and I foolishly wasted this time taking pictures:

Shortly after this picture was taken, Fuzzy started fussing, requiring me to feed him in the middle of the Macy's lingerie department.  We found a quiet corner by the nursing bras, figuring it was as safe a place as any to breastfeed in public.  Wouldn't you know it, as soon as the baby latched, two separate men appeared out of nowhere, intently picking through the women's nightgowns nearby.  However, neither one of them paid me much attention, and after some debate, my mom and I concluded that their focus could only come from transsexuals shopping for themselves.  

After the feeding Fuzzy quieted down again, and even took some interest in our endeavor: 

Sadly, his patience with shopping wore thin quickly after the novelty of the bras, and by the end of our trip, he assumed the universal (straight) male expression seen after a few hours at the mall:

Remarkably like his father, in fact.  

PS: Does anybody understand Fuzzy's shirt?  It was a gift from my boss, and The Pit and I are both puzzled by it.  "Dude" we get, but why is the male symbol pointing horizontally instead of at the usual angle?  Enlighten us, oh well-slept masses.