Four months

When people ask how old the baby is, I always round down.  Like yesterday, for instance, I told somebody he was four months old, when in fact he'll be five months old tomorrow.  But I just can hardly bear how fast time is going with him.  I felt like it went by too fast with Gillian, but I at least had distinct memories of those slow, quiet times during her infancy.  With this baby, I'm suddenly shocked to realize that he's nearly outgrown the clothes that it seems I'd just gotten out for him.  

At four (okay, five) months old, his personality is quite evident.  He is easily soothed, as he was since the moment of birth--he emerged into the world screaming his head off, but once he was situated onto my chest he calmed right down.  He's not a fundamentally easygoing person--he's a bit anxious.  But it's as if once he has a safe place to be, he can observe the world with a certain brave, becalmed skepticism.  

That's the way I picture him: perched and observant.  He likes to be carried around the house (and the world) facing out, seated on one of my hands and leaning forward over the other forearm, like he were riding an amusement park ride.  He occasionally likes to gnaw on my wrist or arm; he is by far our most oral child, constantly chewing on his hands, sucking on his thumb or fingers, shoving handfuls of blanket into his mouth.  Sam held him up the other day, holding him under the armpits, and said, "I love how he kind of hides behind his blanket."  The baby stared at us, like he'd been caught in the act, half of his face visible behind the fleece blanket he was holding in front of him and stuffing into his maw.  We joke about his look of perpetual surprise.  

He drools a lot and still on rare occasions spits up, so when I feed him right before I leave the house, usually at the very last minute so he can last until I get home 3-4 hours later, I sometimes hand him over to Sam or the babysitter to be burped for fear of an ill-timed dousing.  He hasn't taken my being gone for work terribly well, and each of our babysitters has had at least one shift of tearful baby.  Yesterday he screamed his head off for the first time for the one sitter who's been with him since birth (she hadn't been here in a few weeks, and during that time, he'd started developing separation anxiety).  He screamed so hard that she called me to see if something might be wrong with him.  He apparently looked around about five minutes after I left and then started screaming like he was set on fire or something (to say I could hear him on the phone is an understatement--I could barely  hear her, and probably could have heard him without the telephone, from 15 miles away).  But today, he did much better, and I am hoping that he is learning that I always come back.  He is so happy to see me--wiggling his arms and legs and beaming big smiles.

His sense of object permanence seems to be developing as well, and it's a source of endless delight to him.  Sam and Gillian were showing him a butterfly toy and letting it drop out of view, and every time they lifted it back into his line of sight, he'd laugh a deep belly laugh.  Just the greatest sound ever.  He likes it when I hold a blanket between us and then do peek-a-boo with him.  The first time, he looks interested, then the second time, amused, then the third, tickled, and the fourth, like it's just the funniest thing he's ever seen, until he just can hardly take it anymore. 

He rolled over on Friday for the first time, back to front.  He wanted to be closer to Gillian as they were lying on our bed.  Then later that day, she wanted to play with him and asked for him to have tummy time on his mat; I put him down prone and walked into the next room and then heard her wail, "No, I wanted him to have tummy time!" And sure enough, he was lying on his back, arms and legs going like a little bug.  I hadn't seen either of these rolls, so you can be sure that I rolled him right back onto his tummy and stared at him until I got to see one. :)