Cole is 9 months old today and he was in rare form, celebrating in the hospital cafeteria by eating all of his solid food, polishing off a bottle of milk, then devouring his entire thing of puffs in quick succession. At the end of it all he bounced up and down on his aunt’s lap and made loud inarticulate noises which seemed to say “Keep it coming, you fools, for I am 9 months old today.”
We’ve all been so focused on Avery that the new tricks Cole’s learned almost flew under the radar. In the past month Cole has learned how to use pillows as steps to climb his way onto the couch, entertainment stand, and the plastic containers which serve as the walls of his
prison play area. Over the weekend he made it onto one of the bins then fell over to freedom and floor on the other side. He didn’t cry, even as Lynnette shouted at Madison and me for failing to prevent it. I like to think he was too proud of his accomplishment to fail the pain.
Lynnette recently featured a picture of Cole smiling with his eyes closed and tongue sticking out of his mouth. Apparently, he was celebrating having whined juuuust enough to get mom to rescue him from his crib and place him in our bed. He topped this jubilant display off by thrusting his hips upward repeatedly. “He has all my moves!” I wrote gleefully under the picture. It’s true. I have celebrated and will always celebrate – in this exact manner – Lynnette bringing me to bed.
He’s growing so quickly and we have so much going on, but we’re trying to appreciate Cole’s small quirks, the things that make him a unique chubby ball of joy.
We’ve taken to calling him “Binkie Boy” because of his fondness for his Wubbanubs. He’s got quite the collection going and it includes a blue bear, a pink bear, a fox, and a Mets-colored lion. If he loses track of it at night, he whines while half-asleep until one of us (OK, Lynnette) gets up to return it to him. Even funnier, though, is the fact that he’s such of creature of habit that he cannot correctly use other pacifiers. Cole’s use of his binkies is straightforward: he holds the animal in his hands while the rubber piece goes his mouth. However, when he is given a pacifier without an animal on one end, he struggles to discern which end belongs in his mouth. If this sounds ridiculous, I agree with you. I didn’t believe it either until Lynnette pointed it out one night. My Sun God lay on his back with tears running past his temples. He had the pacifier in backwards. He bit on it, choked on it, then spit it out and cried. If it’s possible for something to be pathetic, endearing, and hilarious at the same time, then that was it.