when the prune hits your eye

here are two shots of ben eating his first taste of prunes. it goes a little something like this:

1. ben takes a messy bite. half the prunes go in the mouth, half on the bib and face.
2. ben winces, cringes, kicks his legs in protest, spreading the prunes and glaring accusingly.
3. i apologize profusely and wipe the sticky residue, hoping he'll still love me, even though i gave him the offending prunes.
4. when the cringing and misery subsides, i tentatively spoon another bite and offer it.
5. ben lunges forward, grabs the spoon, and devours the prune puree with all his heart.
6. repeat steps 1 through 5.

i don't think he likes prunes, but he'll definitely eat prunes. when i thought he was all wiped clean and was sitting on the couch with him, the sun came through the blinds and i saw prune puree smeared all over his forehead and in his eyebrows. it's the beginning of a new era.

where is everybody?

ben misses you. i think he's bored with me.

the men of the house

finding his feet

ben's new favorite activity is laying on his back, holding his toes. it is so cute. i laugh my head off watching him roll back and forth, one foot in each fist, like a tiny buddha doing yoga (to mix my religious metaphors).

it's amazing how much he energizes me. i'm continually fatigued by his care, but energized by his person. he lights up like a christmas tree when he sees andrew or me. it's so lovely to have him around.

to bed

i just put ben to bed for the second time tonight and find myself strategizing, as i always do, about how to better arrange his schedule for the maximum happiness of the household. i should say his alleged schedule, since every day is different, and just as soon as i spot a pattern, it disappears. yep, with ol' benny, you never step in the same river twice. he's his own man.

one thing i'll say about being a parent. i have never had to be so creative, so flexible, so intuitive, so quick to anticipate, to adaptable, so thorough. to anyone who thinks having a child
limits you, i say it's just the opposite. nothing expands you more. it's the closest i've ever come to feeling the satisfaction that a really skilled athlete must feel when playing her sport.

so now he's tucked in. when i put him in his bed for the night, he shuffles around like a little puppy, gives a couple of hard kicks (he kicks both legs together in one big "whump,") and gets his hands up to his mouth. it's so cute to watch. then i tip-toe out.