Holy crap, I can't believe I have to go back to work in eight short days. Last night I had a work anxiety dream that began with a boring departmental meeting and ended with me screaming "HELP" at the top of my lungs, waking myself and Mr. A right up (but luckily, not the baby).
We moved Soren out of our room and into his nursery last week, and he's in there now chatting with himself while I listen in using our auditory baby spying device. He's got a whole new repertoire of sounds he's been trying out. A current favorite is the creaking door sound favored by haunted houses everywhere: "Ehhhhh . . ." Also a pterodactyl screech that can indicate joy, rage, boredom, a fart--pretty much the entire range of baby emotions.
(While I was typing this, he really started to complain about his crib imprisonment, so I went in to free him. When he saw me it was like I was Elvis. Appearing live, right there in his very own nursery! I know this won't last, but it's great for the ego. Not many people react this way to the sight of me first thing in the morning, lovely though I look.)
Part of the bummer of working for a living again is that I feel like I am just starting to get the hang of this parenting thing. Actually, "hang of it" is overstating, but I do feel like I occasionally have some dim clue as to what the hell is going on. Plus he's so much more interesting these days. Newborns are cute but it's pretty much just them, them, them, all the time. Now he likes us and does tricks and stuff.
For instance, he rolled over for the first time a couple of weeks ago, on the day before his four month birthday. But he hasn't done it again since. His attitude seems to be, "Look, I did it once. I have nothing further to prove to you people."