Whew. This has quite seriously been a month for the record books.

It started with us coming back from Europe – we left with a baby who couldn’t crawl yet,  we returned with a baby who could easily take over the house the moment we had our backs turned and rewire the nearest electronics into sentient toasters. I know everyone says to childproof your house before the baby comes, but really, who listens to that? (Hint: not us.) We’ve kind of fenced in the living room for the time being and put foam down on the floor, because we were having a really hard time listening to your poor little noggin hit the hardwood floors every time your attempts to stand failed. You still hit your head on things, but it’s much less awful this way.

Crawling Torsten on the loose!

Beware the wild Torstens at the Grothoff zoo...

(Note: much more below the cut for those who can see it. If you don’t see anything at all after this text, please visit the original post to see the rest.)

You are really, really close to walking, kiddo. It may not happen for another couple of months, who knows, but you zip back and forth along the couch as if there’s no tomorrow, and you sometimes forget to hold on to things as you walk along. Papa apparently walks you up and down the hall at work, with you attached to his pant legs, and you are forever trying to bridge the distance between two places you want to be by holding on to as many things as possible so that you don’t have to crawl. More and more often, you’re successful, even if that means letting go for a second or two.

Up on two feet, all by myself...

This development, along with the fact that your first tooth is in, but you have five more coming in at the same time right now, has meant bad, bad things for Mama and Papa’s sleep. See, we don’t do the “cry it out” thing. Not at all. And we really don’t mind that your crib is in our room either, or that more often than not you end up in bed with us at 4 am after sleeping for several hours in the crib. Old Mothers of Doom, say what you want about it, but that’s the way we do things here at Haus Grothoff. Things have been this way for a while, and it’s been mostly fine now that you’re older.

You can see the new tooth on the bottom in the middle if you look closely...

Well, except for now. See, those teeth thingies? They hurt. And having five coming in at once on top of the one that has just broken through is really not fun for small monsters. So in spite of the fact that we do give you Orajel at night (which does help you get to sleep some nights), at some point, you’ve had it and you need cuddling, milk, rocking, or whatever. This alone might be OK, but add this to the fact that you stand up and walk around your crib when you wake up crying (thus waking yourself up even more), and you get a Mama and a Papa who are spending an awful lot of time with Torsten at night.

We get standing monsters in the crib at all hours...

Back in June, you were getting through the night with one, maybe two (and occasionally no) night waking(s). In fact, since Papa and I divide the night shift at 3 am, it was often true that we’d end up alternating your single night feeding on one side or the other of 3 am, so one of us often had the opportunity, occasionally, to sleep without interruption (although since I get up with you bright and early in the morning, I still ended up exhausted most days…). It was getting better. But then came the teeth, and the walking, and the readjusting to life back in Denver, and so now we’re back to the old days of not-so-much sleep.

Now Internets, I know you have Theories about The Right Way to Get Babies to Sleep ™. I know you do, and the reason I know you do is I read lots of opinionated posts about the subject from various people for whom Book X and Approach Y worked. Goodie for you. I am of the opinion, after seeing how many babies on my pregnancy board are no longer sleeping through the night (and how many have never done so), as well as reading friends’ blogs and discovering that their older children have never slept through the night no matter what they’ve tried, that if those things worked for you, great, but it’s mostly a matter of luck. I can recall being three or four and still bugging my parents all the time at night and the early morning (which is probably why I walked in on them “wrestling” once, but we won’t go there…). So I suspect we’re in this for the long haul.

At least someone's sleeping (Moomintroll, not Mr. T)

But I digress. (As usual…)

We’ve also realized that you’re really a sturdy guy now, and because you’re so much bigger than other babies (and you’ve had a lot of body stability for months now), we can do some things with you that we might not have felt comfortable with when you were smaller. Like biking.

Papa loves biking more than anything (except you, and some days, Mama ). He has a not-so-secret desire to install a rocket-propelled grenade launcher onto his bike to eliminate all of the cars going by (thus making more room for bikes), and he bikes everywhere. He even biked down Sunset Blvd. in L.A. every day when he was at UCLA, which is an insane way to get yourself killed. Fortunately, he survived, and he is a lot more careful now, because…

The well-protected Grothoff boys...

That’s right. Torsten is now bike-ready and sits in his seat on Papa’s bike to go in to work with him once a week. You sing and look at everything and are very, very happy about this new mode of transportation – the only thing you hate is putting on the helmet, but once you get going, you even forget about that. The only thing cooler than biking with Papa, I think, is biking with Papa while Mama bikes next to you. We did that through the park and you couldn’t quite figure out what was going on – Mama had to bike in front of you guys just so that you didn’t squirm your body around in the seat to figure out what Mama was doing on wheels.

Torsten is clearly the real operator of this wheeled conveyance...

Papa and Torsten return... on wheels

Let’s see – what else… ah yes. You have discovered the joy of blowing raspberries on everything, especially (but not limited to) bellies, shoulders when you’re supposed to be going to sleep, and (for some reason) the couch. You even aim for Mama’s tattoo once you decide, yet again, that you will not be able to pull it off of her ribcage, and that tickles like crazy, but you and Mama and Papa giggle and giggle and life is good.

Ptttttthhhbbbt!

Genetics at work - he acquired at least one trick from Mama, at least

In fact, the giggling is one of the best parts of you right now. You’ve discovered how to play and have fun like never before. You chase Mama around and around the recliner, and usually you figure out just when to stop so that you can turn the other way and catch me. I’m so proud of you for having learned how to trick me at such a young age, though perhaps I shouldn’t be You also talk and talk and talk, and you actually sound like you mean what you’re saying, though I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s awesome, though, and some of the things you say sound more and more like “Mama”, “Papa”, and “ball”, so we know you’re on your way.

Multitasking for babies: making a mess, feeling the new tooth, and giggling, all at once

There’s another first in here this month which Mama is loathe to talk about (see this post for the story), but it turned out OK in the end, so I guess it’s all good. This month, you got your first haircut.

Fuzzy baby on the way to his first haircut

Pre-haircut baby from the front

Pre-haircut baby from the back

You were awesome – you got to sit in a little car while the stylist cut your hair, and you were such a good boy. She had all sorts of cool tricks to keep your attention, and in the end, we got a cute little boy with a frighteningly grown-up haircut.

Torsten and Mama wait for the haircut. (Mama's the one having the bad hair day...)

Not afraid of this haircut thing at all...

Hey baby... wanna take a ride?

Snip snip snip...

Distracting the subject with a hair clip...

And a little off the top...

Voila! So grown-up...

You’re such a big boy now, much bigger than the other little boys your age. Poor you… Every time we go to the playground, some desperate mother with a bored, crying baby will see you, and I’ll hear, “Hey Max/Sam/Ethan/Dylan, look at that little boy in the swing! He looks like he’s about your age!”

And then I have to break the bad news. No, my baby is not as old as your 18-24 month old baby. He’s just looks that way. He’s 10 months old and he’s got a very, very tall Papa. At that point, it breaks into short mommy small-talk and she and her little boy go away. I’m sorry about that – but since you don’t walk yet, there is a limit on the rough-and-tumble you can tolerate, so I go for full disclosure.

And then there’s the other side – we meet up with a family that has a 7-12 month old, and you are SO much bigger that although you’re old enough to play, they look at you warily like, “You will CRUSH my daughter.” And I just want to say, “But he’s a very nice boy!” And you are! Last week, you met a 7-month-old at a debate watching party and you were at least twice her size, but you were sooooo gentle with her, even stroking her hair sweetly instead of pulling it (unnatural for you, and I cannot say the same for what you did to the cat…). You’re a really good kid.

Mmmm... stroller... delicious!

Thank God our playgroup starts next month, seriously, because you love and need other kids, and it appears the playground ain’t the place to find them just now. Maybe when you’re old enough to SAY “I will crush your son” it will be ok.

But it saddens Mama, because you’re a sweet little boy, and you need the company of other babies.

Of course, you don’t mind – you’re perfectly happy having Mama and Papa as playmates, but we think it’s a good idea for you to, you know, get out and socialize more. (If I’m not, someone has to!)

Papa instructs Torsten in the art of nectarine-eating

Just like Papa...

Yummy, even if I can't take real bites!

I know I say this all the time, little guy, but you’re growing up so fast, and you really are an amazing kid. Pretty soon you won’t be a baby anymore, but I’d like to hold on to Baby Torsten for just a little longer if it’s ok with you

Cookie monster!

I love you very much!

Mama

Dear Torsten Monster,

Ugh, Mama has been horrible about writing these things, and she’s very, very sorry. I’ve got a bunch of drafts piled up, but none of them make any sense, and I didn’t get all that far with them anyway.

Not coincidentally, this lack of posting coincided with you learning to crawl and walk (all of which happened in the course of about six weeks, thank you very much), leading to an even sleepier Mama and Papa.

That’s ok, though, because you, Torsten, rock.

I know what you're up to!

I won’t go back and detail the last six months here, because that’s for other posts, but I will talk about who you are now.

(More after the cut – if you see no more text and no cut here, visit the actual blog entry…)

First of all, you’ve got a bunch of words you use all on your own now – Mama, Papa, Bauch (tummy, in German), nose, belly button, Hi, car, dog, baby, Boppy, bottle, butt paste (no, seriously. You’ve had this one for a while. Blame Boudreaux’s Butt Paste, a highly recommended product here at Haus Monster), no/nein, ja/yes, ball, up, down, on, off, out, bear, Booboo Bear (you), something that kind of sounds like Torsten (toe-teh), book, cup,  go, bath, keys, vroom-vroom, and a lovely smacking kissing sound which should be a word, even though it isn’t. I’m probably missing a few, but you’re coming right along with your vocabulary. For us, understanding these things depends to some extent on context because some of your words sound the same (language geek alert: phonologically speaking, lots of your syllables have an onset and a nucleus, but no coda – totally normal for your age as far as I know), but it’s still cool. Oh, and you roll your “R”s like Charo on crack, but you’ve been doing that for a while. We do it together a lot, and it makes you giggle.

Not only is your vocabulary increasing, but you totally understand a lot of things. If I hand you something and ask you to put it in the trash can, you’ll take it from me, walk over to the trash can, open it up, and put it in. And then you stand there with a silly grin waiting for Mama to tell you you’re awesome, which she always, always does

You’re really tricky these days too – you frequently (briefly) outwit us in chasing games, and you’re able to be funny on purpose. You’re also able to let us know when you want things sometimes – for example, if you’re tired and you want to go to bed, you bring Mama your Boppy and you tell me “bottle” (our nighttime routine).

You’ve also learned how to let us know exactly how you’re feeling about something – sometimes even over the phone. Mama had to go to Chicago to take a big German exam, and you actually read me the riot act using baby words over the phone about not being home (and then started to cry, but boy, did you let me have it first). I know this will get old quickly, but knowing you could express yourself over the phone and make yourself understood even when you don’t have words was pretty amazing.

You’re really getting around, too – you can do stairs (usually with a little help going up and a lot going down, since you want to walk), you walk most of the way to the park with us sometimes, and you can chase with the best of them (though your height means your body is sometimes a little unwieldy for you and you do take a lot of falls, scaring the crap out of us sometimes). This is particularly scary for us, but it’s neat to watch you explore.

What you’re really good at is figuring out how things work. Really good. It’s too bad we don’t have a car, because you’d totally fix it. You used to only take things apart, but you’ve gotten the idea of putting things together now, and it’s lots of fun.

You’re finally starting to eat real food on a regular basis too. We haven’t pushed it very hard, because we didn’t see the need to, but we keep letting you try it, and in the last few days you’ve really gotten into it. What’s nice for us is that you like all kinds of food – veggies, Thai, Indian, Mexican, Italian, Greek, meat, grainy breads, hummus, you name it – as long as the texture doesn’t bug you, you’re game for anything. The only problem is that you constantly bite off more than you can chew, but we’re working on that. Of course, you also really enjoy making a mess with it, but that’s to be expected…

(Password for this poor-quality no-sound video is “smurf”…)

On top of all that, you are the most lovey baby I’ve ever met. You give lots of kisses and hugs to us, rubbing your face all over us like a kitty, and you’re equally kind to your teddy bears, your Moomintroll, and most of all, your true love, the Boppy pillow, which you also sleep on every night and call “MmmBOP!” (not to be confused with the Hanson earworm – click the link, Lynn… I dare you…).

Torsten and Mama's bear get all snuggly after naptime

Waking up: Torsten, Bear, Moomintroll and Boppy

And then there’s Papa. You two are silly peas in a pod, and you still worship him. Often, you’ll squeal when you see him, which is, let’s face it, just cool

Papa and Torsten watch Olbermann

You love to go to the park, play in the sand, play cars and trucks, play with finger paints and crayons (though not so much as the other stuff) and all of that other stuff that little guys your age like to do. And you love, love, love to make a good mess. You excel at it, in fact, and especially like to mess around with liquids, much to our chagrin.

Finger painting, stage one: Before the real mess

Finger painting, stage two: Getting the hang of the mess

Finger painting, stage three: Squishy! Just before you put your hands in your mouth...

Finger painting: Mission accomplished! The best part - splashing to clean your hands.

Maybe it’s silly to be so amazed by all this, but I don’t care – you’re the most amazing person we’ve ever met, and every day you do something that makes me laugh, my snuggly little joker.

Torsten and Mama mess around with the camera

I love you to bits, pumpkin. You’re turning out to be the nicest little kid I’ve ever met, and I’m really happy I get to be your Mama.

I’m sorry this is such a rotten post, but I figured something was better than nothing. Fortunately, your cuteness will surely distract from the horrors of my writing!

Love,

Mama Monster

And then… it happened.

Christian and I both got the Evil Death Cold of Doom ™. And when I say “evil” and “death”, I’m so not kidding.

It sucked.

It continues to suck for Christian, anyway – I’m much better now. I can only hope the baby doesn’t get it, because that would be horrid.

In any event, the point of all of that whining is that I’ve had no time at all to get pictures up, and I’m not promising anything right now, either. I have a huuuuge German test to study for that takes place next month, and until that’s over, I’m totally slacking on everything else except for the care and feeding of a baby Torsten.

I have so much cuteness to post – low-quality video of snuggly toddler waddling around in snowsuit, birthday pictures, etc, but it’ll just have to wait. Sorry grandparents and stalkers… them’s the breaks.

Those monthly Torsten letters? Um, yeah. Turned out that with a bunch of stuff that’s been going on plus an active 10-12 month old, that’s not particularly easy or high-priority either. C’est la vie.

However, I will get a one-year-old first-birthday update post up soon, complete with pictures of all of the things Super Baby has been up to, because he’s pretty darned awesome.

First, though, I have more real life to attend to. Sorry, but the Mr. T Show will have to wait another week or so

The bio is still a bit incomplete because they wanted to confirm what I meant by living with my “Evil German”, but I’m still tickled that they liked the story of Torsten’s and my heroic finish last year!

Dearest Torsten,

Mama has really sucked the last few months and didn’t finish her seven- or eight-month updates. Part of this is because we were in Europe with minimal internet access, but most of it is because I’ve been just so busy with a certain Mr. T to get them finished. I’m not going to try to take too many bits and pieces from what I did write, because it seems a bit silly now, but what I can say is you have blossomed since my last letter to you.

Surprise!

Seriously – wow, have things changed. Two months ago, you were only sort of able to roll around and rotate on the ground to get to things, and it was mostly random. Even at eight months, when we were just leaving for Europe, you seemed to be only minutes from crawling, but still hadn’t managed to get any forward momentum.

But then… then Mama took off to London for five days. And when I came back, you came crawling across your grandparents’ floor, squealing with delight that it was Mama and that you could get to her all by yourself.

And then, oh boy, was it ever on.

(If there’s no more text showing after this, click on “Read more” below (if it appears) or the link to the original post to continue reading this entry…)

Now you zip across the room, pull yourself up on whatever is convenient, and walk around cruising the furniture, often forgetting to hold on and giggling the whole way. You pull things down to see how they work (you are obsessed with wheels and all things mechanical), you shake things if they won’t move and are in your way, and you use anything you can find to pull yourself up on if you are inclined to stand (such as Mama’s hair and her nose). You walk with help and get better every day with it, and are often to be found walking around your crib staring at the sleepy adults in the early morning, smiling your huge beautiful smile when you see we’re awake and reaching up to be picked up for a hug. You squeal with delight at that first morning snuggle, and while I hate getting up, I absolutely love your joy.

You’re no longer our little baby – in fact, you look a whole lot like a two-year old in size, and people go nuts when they realize you’re not even a year. It’s all genetics, so we’re not worried, but you are a big guy.

A big cute guy, I might add.

Cutie pie

Still, you’re in the 95th+ percentile for everything but weight (you’re still, regardless of what your fat-obsessed grandmother in her expert medical opinion has decided, right at the 50th percentile of the CDC height vs. weight curve, and you are perrrfectly healthy!), but completely proportional, so people just don’t believe you’re only nine months old. It makes buying clothes hard, and it’s sad because you physically outgrow age-appropriate toys too quickly (the beloved jumperoo had to go when we returned from Europe), but otherwise, except for Mama’s back, your height isn’t an issue at all. Look at it this way – you can ride roller coasters with Mama way before the other kids

You also have a knack for charming the ladies that I fear will come back and bite us. Not only do grandmothers everywhere gravitate toward you (regardless of where they come from or who they are, I might add – you got a run-by kissing from some weird old woman in the Dortmund train station that seriously freaked Mama out), but all the little girls (and quite a few of the little boys) think you’re awesome just because of your pretty big eyes and really want you to play, even though you don’t know how to chase and run and play with them yet.

Whee, Papa!

Truth be told, I know I’m biased, but you are a beautiful little guy, and that makes me a little creeped by some of the people who decide they simply must be near you (especially on the bus – weird old men who are fascinated by you are not cordially invited to sit next to me). I understand the compulsion though – you’re not only cute, but you have a bright, sunny, hilarious personality, and you laugh with your whole heart, even when it’s just because a couple of ladies near you are having a conversation. It’s amazing to see people who mean to be dour and removed walk past you and break into smiles in spite of themselves. It’s really cool, actually, and it makes me miss you so much when you’re not around, even when I’m desperate for a break.

Let’s see… what else… You’re still teething, although those bottom teeth are finally on their way in. Papa and I were in no hurry to see you have teeth – we both got ours quite late – but you’ve been in pain for months, and those guys have been slow to come in. Soon you’ll have Teeth of Chomping™ (+2,+2), and I suspect we’ll all be happier for it, even if miserable for you counts as a good day for many other babies’ countenances.

Teething cookies rock!

You took your first big trip ever in July and August as well, flying from Denver to Munich to Helsinki, and then taking the train all over northern Europe before flying back to the U.S. You did amazingly well (and on the way back, much better than Mama and Papa did), and all I can say is that you appear to be a Travel Baby. You charmed all of the Lufthansa staff (and by the way, to anyone who has to fly overseas with a baby, fly Lufthansa and ask for a bassinet/seats in the infant row – the staff were amazing to us and the bassinet was a lifesaver, unlike the situation and staff at United…), slept almost the whole way overseas, flirted with other babies on the plane, and generally enjoyed yourself everywhere. You did look a little overwhelmed sometimes, but for the most part, you were great – and I think you had a great time. I certainly had a great time with you, and the German relatives appear to all be in love with you, which is great – the more love you get, the better How could anyone not love you?

Torsten sleeping with a seal at Tante Ulli's

So much has gone on that it’s hard to remember it all. You love to talk and sing, especially when the stroller is going over bumpy ground. You sing “la la la la la la” when you’re happy, shake your head and say “nonononono or neinneinneinneinnein” (or variations thereof) when you don’t want something or are being silly, and have said “Yes” at least once when I told you you couldn’t have something you wanted. “Mamamamama” has been a constant staple for a while now, and increasingly actually means me (or occasionally something else you want), and “bababababa” sometimes means Papa, sometimes means bottle, and sometimes means nothing at all. Given that you’re growing up bilingual, I’m sure there’s a lot I won’t notice as easily, but that’s fine, the German half is Papa’s job Not that we’re expecting words yet anyway, but it’s still cool

The best talking story of course is when one of Oma’s friends asked if she could steal you and take you home and you shook your head and said a very clear, “Nein!”. I doubt you understood what she said, but I think you did realize she was going to pick you up. She’s a nice lady and all, but she can’t have you

You are truly a sweet bundle of personality now, and you have a very funny sense of humor. You know how to make us laugh, and you delight in doing it. You also know how to let us know when something doesn’t suit you, even if you sometimes let us know that by crying at something that doesn’t directly impact you (like, for example, the ceiling fan not moving – you only do this when you’re very tired, but it’s still funny).

Torsten does his Bam-Bam impression (sorry, Patrick)

Looking back at your pictures, a lot has happened in the last three months.

We celebrated your first Father’s Day:

Making the Papa's Day Cake

Happy Papa's Day!

And Papa had a whole week away from us, which exhausted us both:

Torsten, passed out in the jumperoo

You went from pushing up and rolling just a little on the floor at six months…

Torsten, almost crawling - but not quite

To scooting all over the floor at around eight months…

Scootin' Torsten

To sitting up all on your own and crawling at nine months.

Torsten sitting, nine months

You occasionally try to feed yourself while Mama’s back is turned,

Torsten shows Mama how one really does eating right

and you want to eat whatever we eat.

Torsten attacks a plum (with no teeth)

Mmmmm popsicles...

You love, love, love to read books (especially Rainbow Rob, which makes you squeal with glee), and you can now turn the pages for Mama with a little help.

Torsten and Mama read Rainbow Rob in Munich airport

You and Mama have stormed your first castle…

Torsten and Mama at Turku Castle

Torsten, storming Turku castle

Torsten, storming Turku castle

Taken your first long-distance train rides…

Torsten and Papa on the train to Turku

Sailed on a big boat in the ocean…

Torsten and Papa on the ferry to Sweden

Torsten and Mama on the ferry to Sweden

Torsten and Mama on the ferry to Sweden

Torsten and Christian on the ferry

Gone swimming (sort of) in a Swedish lake…

Torsten takes a swim at Claudi's

Visited Mama’s faaaaavorite park in her faaaaaavorite city in the world…

Torsten in the Vondelpark

Travelled the world…

Torsten and Papa on the plane to Munich

Torsten at the bus stop in Turku

Torsten attacking Moonintroll, Naantali

Torsten, crashed out at Frankfurt airport reading Papa's iX article

And basically become a huge, wonderful little boy who almost isn’t a baby anymore.

Give me a hug, Mama!

My old au-pair friend Anna, whose middle child just turned eight, told me not to blink.

I can totally see where she’s coming from.

Torsten and Mama in the late-night sun shadow in Finland

I love you!

- Mama

Not three minutes later, I returned to the living room, prepared for a chat with my smiley baby over coffee, as is usual in the mornings, when the smell hit me.

Oh, there was still a smiley baby there, but that smell? He was dancing in it. Apparently he’d been storing up for a few days, and the diaper just could not contain the poonami (that’s poonami, with an ‘m’, you sick freaks) that he’d been storing for a couple of days, and it was freaking everywhere. Fortunately he was in just his diaper, but that meant picking him up like he was radioactive and sticking him in the bath (I didn’t have the presence of mind to just turn on the shower), and then spraying my soapy clean baby off in the kitchen sink before going to clean up the floor, and the jumper, and the bathtub, and me….

Ugh. Good morning, Mama!

I know, I know, you’re amazed that we went seven whole months without the kind of poopsplosion that decorated parts of the house (and may I just say thank God for hardwood floors, because cleaning that out of a carpet? YUCK.), but it’s been a really special morning so far, and that’s not even counting Little Guy waking up at 3 for an hour because, you know, that’s a good time for a play break in your sleep routine.

This post has been brought to you by the letters S, H, I and T, and my mother’s side of the family, which cannot, to my knowledge, go more than about an hour without mentioning something fecal.

Day five in the “Papa is out-of-town” marathon, and let me just say that Mama is glad tomorrow is the last full day of it, because… cripes (N.B.: I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone use that interjection since the early 70′s…). I am just about used up.

But there are some benefits to being T’s mommy 24/7 right now, not least of which is that he’s decided to do all sorts of new stuff this week. Like really play games with me. And reach out to get stuff he wants from Mama. And get really mad when Mama does not give him what she has, and reach out for it on the table (hey, that’s attention span, and it’s all good!). And help Mama play peek-a-boo by pulling the blanket off of her head. And talk on the phone (he left Papa a voicemail today, mostly consisting of “mmmmboo”). And do a full push-up on his tummy all the time (now all he needs to do is get that little butt up in the air and we’ll have a crawler!). And pick up food and stick it in his mouth. And, well, we’ll count this as something new because I think it’s funny – he’s figured out how to drink from his squeezy toys in the bath, which is kind of funny, even if it’s not very hygienic. And rolling round blocks back and forth to Mama in the high chair, because, hey, Mama can play too.

Oh, yeah, and grabbing crap off of anything with lightning speed. I shall attempt to post a picture of this tomorrow. He’s clearly reached the “watch him like a hawk” stage…

There’s some other stuff too, but I’m too tired to catalogue it.

Unfortunately, this has also been the week for a new level of grumpiness. I suspect some of it is exhaustion (I know it is on my part) and my perception (see the first part of the sentence), but he’s developing a really heart-wrenching cry when he decides he’s grumpy, and it’s wearing me down I’m sure I’ll see it differently once I have enough time to, you know, use the bathroom without someone wanting to be held.

I know who he got the grumpiness from, of course, and I’ll give you a hint: the responsible party does not have a beard and still happens to share half of his genes. I know that’s an incredible mystery and all, but you can handle it.

Off to hang up laundry so we don’t have to go naked to our class tomorrow, and then… then I will pass out.

PASS.

OUT.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Day four in the “Papa is out-of-town” fiesta, and since it was supposed to get into the 90′s here today, Torsten and I went off to the children’s museum and then to the aquarium to bask in the air conditioning, let T play with other kids (which he adores now), and distract Torsten with pretty fishies.

Mama is now exhausted. But… Torsten had a fantastic time. I’ve never seen the little guy so pleased and excited. First, there were all the kids, and the nice soft playing pond and carpet to practice crawling, and the toys, and the kids, and the other kids, and, oh, more kids… and then there was the fire truck, and more kids… and after we finished at the children’s museum, there were all the pretty fish. And, oh dear Lord, the SHARKS. And… and… a tiger two inches from Torsten’s face.

No, really. There are, for some reason, some tigers at the aquarium – and we showed up around feeding time, and so we ended up right in front of one of the tigers, who looked Torsten up and down as if he were a tasty treat, and Torsten just bounced with joy, flailing all of his arms in the Baby Björn and giggling.

Mama, Mama, he wants to EAT me! YAYYYYYYY! BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE! I’m deliciiiiiiicious! Whee!

And then… then there were the pretty tropical fish. Ooooo… clownfish and bright yellow fish and blue fish and more sharks and… and… what the Hell is that guy in a diving suit doing swimming around? OOO, so not exciting. Move on, Mama. I wanna see more fishies.

Let me say this about the Denver Aquarium – it’s a tourist trap, it’s pretty cheesy in parts (yeah, I want to scuba dive with the sharks at the city aquarium, so thank you for advertising it with that weirdo swimming around while we were looking at the fish, and the face painting/pet the stingrays/blah blah carnival at the exit, and the constant advertisements for the aquarium restaurant), and it’s not cheap. And then there’s the robotic orangutan, and the macaws, and the tigers – I mean, seriously, it’s an aquarium… unless the aquarium is their dinner, what the Hell are tigers doing there?

But.

The fish are clearly well-cared for, and if you only look at what you came there to see and your purpose is to entertain a baby with colorful fish (and, ok, tigers) and to enjoy air conditioning, let me just say that it was pretty cool. Torsten loved it.

Loved.

It.

He loved it so much that he skipped his afternoon nap so he could giggle with wide-eyes and his big, beautiful smile on the bus and coo to all of the other riders about how awesome his day was.

Sure, he was a little easily upset this evening when he got home because he was tired, and he’s already awakened once tired and out of sorts now that he’s in bed, but it was one Hell of a day.

The most mind-blowing thing about having Torsten is this… every day, every single day, there’s a moment or ten or one hundred where he shows me something I’ve seen a hundred times or never thought about or didn’t expect, and we both watch wide-eyed, amazed and dumbfounded.

My God, it’s full of stars!

Every single day.

I could not love you – or being your Mama – more, my little boy.

You can’t have Torsten either.

My child is lucky enough to have dual citizenship, but as far as I’m concerned, you can’t have any more of anyone’s children.