Monday, May 12, 2008
The UK publication is proceeding...here's the cover.
The next thing is coming together.
Julien is walking. He's a year old. Twelve months and twelve days. His first word is "ball." Though it comes out "gawl." He picks up any ball and says "gawl" and throws it. "gawl..gawl..gawl." He climbs the couch like a ring-tailed lemur. He waves hello and goodbye. He dances, knees tucked under butt, bouncing up and down and smiling, to the plastic tunes that emanate from his plastic playpen when he hits any of the translucent colored plastic panels. He flops, letting his muscles go slack, passive resistance to being put down. He turns the pages of his little picture books when left alone in his crib or on the floor and giggles at each new image as he goes. This little half-laugh that's almost forced, like he knows he's supposed to react, show appreciation each time he greets the same red pail or dancing pig. He's turning me into one of those parents who post all the amazing little things their baby does. Apologies. His head's too big. He's too skinny. He doesn't eat enough. He eats too much. He should be talking. He's inside too much. He's anti-social. He's too light. He's too brown. His hair's too thin. His hair's too curly. He doesn't have enough. He has too much. He has a mohawk. His teeth are crooked. He's awake too late. He's up too early. He can't talk. He won't eat peas. He poops too much. He hasn't pooped in days. He's obsessed with a plastic pig, sticks it's head in his mouth like it's a pacifier. He has his pacifier in his mouth too much. He'll never talk. He says "gawl." I don't read to him enough. I read the same book too often. You're supposed to. You're not supposed to. He found his peter, but only remembers it when his diaper's off. That'll change. I gave him some mashed up Gerber's chickenvegtablesoup-from-a-jar that was all pasty and thick. He refused it. I couldn't figure out why. Perhaps heating it up first would help. Maybe reading the directions on the little jar would help. But I'm tired and he's crying and when will the second book get written and what will it be about and why do I need so many Advil when I haven't played "gawl" in a week?
What is all this? Monday.