Judah is a stone's throw from crawling. Rori and I have teamed up to be his cheerleaders, and he doesn't find it amusing. From what I gather his line of thinking runs along the lines of, "Quit with the yelling and clapping and move your ginormous feet to come pick me up."
Sorry kiddo, we all had to learn the hard way.
I thought I had a brilliant plan to help him out in the eating arena. Self-lead feeding and all that jazz. He still doesn't care too much for solids, so - why not let it be a toy?
Once again - he wasn't amused.
But he told me I could have a fun time cleaning it up. And that I did. Highchairs are the worst.
The little lady has been having a bit harder of a time with this round of business trips. She's cried every day since Friday wondering when her prince charming of a dad is coming home.
So it's been a lot more holding.
A lot more cheering up.
And a lot more loving.
And I don't mind.
The man of the house gets back tomorrow, and we can hold off till then. I might just have champagne and a party hat on to welcome him home - and a plea to never, ever plan a trip this long again.