Happy Birthday Will

Oh, you tiny, perfect little man.

How is it that it's only taken twelve months to go from this:


(this one even freaks me out a bit)
To this:



Will's birthday was a success. He's officially one now: no more infant clothes or car seats. He's a fully-fledged, card-carrying member of the Whole Milk-Drinking, Bottle-Weaning, Forward-Facing Car Seat Riding, Toddling Just Enough to Warrant the Name, Cake-Smashing, Table-Food-Eating (but only certain foods because he only has the one tooth), Clapping-Waving-Hi Fiving Club. The WMDBWFFCSRTJEtWtNCSTFEbocfbhohtotCWHFC is an exclusive club; I know of no other 1-year old who belongs to this club, mainly because other 1-year olds have more than one tooth.

Anyway, because Jason and Robert (Daddy and Poppy, respectively) had to leave at 8 tonight to drive to Houston for a store in the morning before driving back up to Shreveport for the weekend, Will had some help opening gifts to speed the process along. He tended to get caught up with things. Like ribbon. And paper. And Jovie playing with newly opened toys.

I was going to add more pictures, but they're not being uploaded correctly (it's slightly possible that I'm doing it wrong). I'll try again tomorrow (or later today. Man, I've been at this for a while) and show you pictures of the cake-eating.

Cow Hotrod & Pink eye

I'm able to watch entirely too much television considering I have a small child.

Jason and I have discovered Torchwood on BBC America. Thanks to Christopher Eccleston's wonderful turn as Claude the Invisible Man on Heroes, I became enamoured of him enough to catch Doctor Who when our PBS affiliate played his season from start to finish.

Anyway, absolutely loved The Doctor (just his season, though; David Tennant is just too bizarre for me) and got sucked into John Barrowman and his Captain (of Innuendo) Jack Harkness, from whom Torchwood (topic!) is spun. TORCHWOOD is an anagram of DOCTOR WHO (as is cow hotrod). Anyway, blah blah blah, backstory backstory, inside joke. How flipping AWESOME is this guy?! He's a weevil (insert your own Veronica Mars joke here. I'll wait). The Torchwood people are collecting them. I just love the little whispy bits of hair--much like Violet Gould's Homeless Baby Hair (yes, Bethany, that's obviously where the similarities end). There's a bit in the show that's reminiscent of Silence of the Lambs, which I'm guessing is why Weevil's dressed like that? Or at all?

Anyway, good show--and I'm not even a huge sci-fi fan; I just enjoy looking at pretty guys. Check it out on Saturday nights. Unless, of course, you have a life.

Also, Will had an eventful week: he had pink-eye, a sinus infection and ear infections in both ears. Of course, other than the pink eye, I had no clue about any of this because the kid won't stop smiling and giggling and just being all around cute. Where did this child come from?

Granted, this picture's a few months old, but I know that, when it was taken, Will had a really bad diaper rash and was vomiting. He's really sick, huh? He just looks miserable.

Man, what am I complaining about?

Thought for the day

Sometimes when you're angry with someone, it helps to sit down and think about the problem.
(Special thanks to Theresa Kennedy for this little bit of wisdom).

Ointment

A couple of months ago I went to Houston for a baby shower (BTW, congrats to Lee & Christina Tower, whose baby girl Sofia was born August 17). Since Jason was working in Louisiana that weekend, my parents made the gracious sacrifice to babysit. To comemorate (that doesn't look like it's spelled right) the occasion, my niece and pseudo-niece (Alexis and Kathryn, respectively) came over to help look after my oh-so-difficult little boy. For some reason I don't have pictures of Kathryn, but here's one of Alexis. She's gorgeous, right?

Will looks happy, no? Let's find out why:
He seems to have developed some sort of skin condition. Hopefully either of the people reading this can recommend some sort of ointment.

Heh. Ointment.

Am I a bass or a snare?

Will's favorite new toy is my stomach.

While I lost the pregnancy weight (plus an add'l 20 lbs, go me), my tummy is still a rather large and jiggly speciman. And we've discovered that the sound is different depending on where we pat my stomach.

Will thinks that's the coolest thing ever.

So while I lay on the floor and pat the echoing lard over and over and over again, Will sits next to me and squeals, bounces on his knees, and slaps along. Then he bends over and "kisses" (read: places his open mouth on) the belly. Sometimes blows raspberries, depending on the mood. I've confirmed that his gut-busting laugh is my favorite thing in the world.

I've never been so happy to be a fatty.