You're A Pal And A Confidant

NJ had a play date late last week with the lovely Olivia, who's one month older than NJ and apparently grew about six inches longer since I saw her last, just a couple of weeks before. Once Olivia stopped crying at the sight of the big, bearded doofus -- I think NJ put in a good word for me -- they had a grand time. Here they are smiling big for Olivia's mother, who has a knack for getting babies to really ramp up the cute.

International news reports indicated that yes, indeed, the whole world was smiling with them at the exact moment this photograph was taken.

Olivia's mom is a 5-foot-2 spitfire who was cool enough to bring scones and cookies from Seattle's best bakery, and she knows lots of things about many subjects (sadly, music is not one of them). She recently plugged Mrs. Mustard's Baby Faces, and The Wife immediately bought it. (I make a suggestion and The Wife might -- might -- get around to considering it several weeks later. This, she did right away: "Whatever you say, Olivia's mom!") I'm sure it's a delightful little tool for honing kids' emotional intelligence, but truth be told I find it to be a little creepy. What with the disembodied baby heads and all. If you ate a giant plate of dodgy Chinese food and then read several issues of some sort of Spy magazine for infants, your dreams that night would look something like this:

Yes, we're happy. Happy because we're plotting to kill you in your sleep.

Party Down

NJ's jibber-jabber and screaming caught up with her today when, on a play date with four other equally adorable babies, her strident vocalizations upset her hostess to the point of tears, a couple of times. I wonder if she's destined to be a brassy, mouthy broad.

Still, everyone had a wonderful time in a beautiful backyard on a cool, sunny Seattle Sunday. NJ even cut loose with a giggle fit, something outsiders rarely get to witness.

Oh Mommy, stop it. You are slaying me, girlfriend. My sides, they ache. With laughter!

This Could Open Up My Whole Day

Last weekend The Wife took NJ to a play date at a friend's house a couple of blocks down the street. There were four babies there, all born about the same time. A good time was had by all (including Dad Solo, who went out on his own for a hearty lunch), although there was some tug-of-warring between NJ and another girl over the only boy in attendance. I'm sure that kid has a bright future ahead of him -- his parents are great folks -- but it's a little too soon for me to see NJ fighting over a boy. Apparently she won over the other girl, but the boy wasn't particularly interested in all the attention anyway.

I saw him first!

The real hit of the party for NJ, though, was the Jumperoo. NJ was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs over this thing when she got a turn in it. The Wife told all this to her mother, so naturally a few days later the UPS man was dropping one off at our doorstep. Yesterday I assembled it as NJ played nearby on her mat. As the contraption got bigger, so did her eyes. I don't know if she recognized it from five days previous, but she sure knew it was Something Cool, and it was All Hers. I scooped her up and planted her in the cockpit. She looked at me and smiled as I lowered her into the seat.

And that's the last she thought about Dad Solo for the next 35 minutes.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG!

This thing plays music and has flashing lights, voices that tell you what you're playing with, and a seat that spins around in the middle so if you get bored with the little pink piggies (right) you can swing over (or get your dad to swing you over if you're not yet 100 percent on that concept) to the other side to the chick incubator (left). In front of NJ you see vegetables that are tied to ribbons -- the orange triangle is a carrot, to the left of that is a box of corn, and to the left of that there's a tomato. If you put them in their corresponding holes, a nice lady tells you what they are and laughs. NJ's feet don't quite reach the floor, as you see here; one set of toes only.

It's a huge hit. Only when The Wife came through the front door did NJ break her concentration on all the activity in her stationary 2001: A Space Odyssey pod. She looked up at The Wife, arms spread wide and shaking, as if to say "Ding dang, y'all, would you look at this?"

Later today I'm going to move it down to the basement and give NJ a few minutes in it. She'll get a little more Jumperoo time in the evening, because The Wife is going to be late and that pushes bathtime and evening meal time back a bit. Of course, the Jumperoo is no substitute for a flesh-and-blood parent, and there's a danger of plopping her in it too often. We're trying to be vigilant (now and in the future) about her watching too much TV, and this is so easy it could devolve into the same thing: an inanimate babysitter. It can't kiss a child on the cheek, or tickle her toes, or blow a long air fart on her belly.

It would be pretty sweet if it could change a diaper, though. Does Fisher-Price have a suggestion box?