The Baby With Talons

After work, I like to sit down with the kids in the living room and just hang out. This involves me laying down on the floor, Ryan crawling and climbing all over me (when he's not chasing balls around the house), and Jacob playing Legos. Ryan intermittently will chase after a couple balls, crawl back to me for cuddles, then go chase some more balls.

Once Ryan has his sights set on a ball, everything else in the room disappears. He will go to great lengths to obtain a ball. He will crawl under our TV stand (where he frequently gets stuck) or crawl through a hallway full of baby-sized obstacles. For Ryan, there is nothing better in the world than having one ball in each hand. He gets really confused when he sees a third ball and tries to pick it up. I can see the wheels turning in his head, "Do I drop this one to pick up that one? Or do I keep holding this one? Where's my third hand?!" Sadly, evolution does not think it is necessary for a baby's survival to be able to hold THREE balls at one time. Ryan would strongly disagree, however.

Once he has two balls in his hand, he is satisfied (mostly) with his ball quota and then tries to crawl towards me. But, still not willing to let any balls out of his grasp, he will crawl toward me while desperately clutching a ball in each hand. Wouldn't you know it? The kid actually makes it work too! As he crawls towards me, I hear the quick-paced "bang, bang" of tiny plastic balls hitting our wood floors.

He looks like a baby gorilla. It cracks me up!

When Ryan makes a bee-line for me, my first instinct is to coil myself into a fetal position and protect my face. Ryan's a tough lover. He shows that he loves me by hurling his little body against mine, clawing my face, scratching my neck, pulling my hair, and pinching all exposed skin, all the while showcasing a wide, maniacal grin. I hate it but I also love it at the same time.

Tonight he crawled over to where I was laying on the floor and, erupting in giggles, pounced on my face like a playful cat. I began to engage in some friendly baby talk while Ryan drummed contently on my forehead with both hands. This made me laugh and cower at the same time. Then, without warning, he was attempting to rip fistfulls of hair from my scalp all the while trying to suck on my cheek. I was about to plot my escape from his grubby baby hands when a chubby finger filled my vision. Before I knew it, a baby talon barreled toward my pupil and I felt the equivalent of a dozen sheets of paper ripping across my eyeball. It hurt like crazy! I immediately grasped my face with both hands as tears uncontrollably spilled out of my right eye. I then buried my face into a pillow and let out a thirty-second long string of explitives.

Five minutes later I had finally regained somewhat fuzzy eyesight. Ryan looked puzzled and slightly alarmed by my outburst. When I looked down at his hands, I half expected to see a large chunk of my eyeball hanging from his falcon-like talons. Then, as I was still recovering, I heard a familiar parade of explitives coming from Jacob's general direction on the couch. I looked over at him and realized that he had recorded the entire incident on my old phone and was playing it back to himself and laughing with much amusement. I quickly confiscated the phone and deleted the video, just in case it ever found it's into Jacob's pocket for his grandma to find. I may be an adult, but I still don't need my mom knowing I can swear like a sailor.

Switching gears, Ryan had his nine month check-up on Monday. He weighed in at 20 lbs 13 ounces (I swore he was more than that!) and 28 inches long, placing 50th% for both categories. His head circumference was in the 80-90th percentile.

He looks like such a little man here! Where is my baby?

The doctor seemed impressed by Ryan's ability to eat anything. Seriously, this kid can and DOES eat anything. The other day, I was distracted while making dinner. After ten minutes I turned my attention back to Ryan who was happily sitting on the kitchen floor, pantsless, munching on a large cinnamon roll. I have no idea how he even got that cinnamon roll, unless it was gifted to him by his older brother. Ryan had already chomped his way through 3/4 of it so I figured I'd let him finish the thing and have his fun.

 

And then I spent the rest of the night finding evidence of Ryan's "fun" in the form of teeny-tiny, sticky crumbs that had been rubbed into, my kitchen floor, likely by the same falcon talons that had ripped open my eyeball.