Muckmucks Nummybubs

Life in the Kaplan household has been full steam ahead (or is it "full SPEED ahead"? I don't know. I'm too tired to Google it. Just know it's bonkers around this joint). Max is growing up incredibly fast - he was 16.6 lbs at his four month well check. Any mom will tell you that we now operate by the language of percentiles (Johnny drooled at 13 weeks? What percentile is that? Betty took her fourth poopie today? WHAT PERCENTILE IS THAT?). So I will tell you that Max's weight puts him in the 75th percentile, and he is in the 83rd percentile for height. While this last stastistic is not overwhelming in its significance at this point of life, Daddy and I did a Happy Dance over it at the pediatrician's office. Max's genetics came to a fork in the road somewhere over the course of 9 gestational months: "Vertically Challenged - THIS way", "Average to Tall Stature - THIS way". Time will only tell how his DNA forged ahead. But to just paint of picture for ya - my great grandfather was a horse jockey. True story.

Besides teething, rolling to his side, and sleeping 12 hours a night (doin' the Dougie), Max has recently started to eat solids! So far, we have fed him rice cereal, applesauce, squash, and now peas, which are his favorite evidenced by numerous smiles and tracking the full spoon like a Russian spy on uppers. We don't feed him solids exclusively yet and he still takes his formula. Recently, we have had quite the time trying to get him to engage in eating from his bottle, as he now seems to enjoy punching it with a legitimate "left hook", over and over and over again. If our neighbors should overhear the conversation in our household, they may be alarmed: "Ugh! Honey, the baby's hittin' the bottle again!"

You may have wondered since my earliest posts what ever transpired with the whole "baby talk" issue. We're going to pretend that you did, anyway. Well, it's with confidence and satisfaction - and with Josh's disdain- that I can report that I engage in baby talk with Max all the time. High pitched voice warmed up, I talk to him about everything from his toesie-woesies to how nasty-wasty those Kardashians behave. I am the first one, however, to admit when I may have taken the baby jargon a little too far. Case in point: over the course of the past 5 months, my term for Max's formula has somehow landed on calling it "milk milk". Right. Not just "milk", but a double "milk MILK". And I say it fast, like all one word. After awhile, the phonics of "milk milk" ended up blending itself into the ever-popular NON-word of "Muckmuck" (can you picture Josh's face at this point?). So I'm feeding Max his muckmuck and trying to have some sort of dialog with him. What better topic than to discuss how yummy - or, in my case - NUMMY! - his muckmuck is. Tack on his nickname - Bubs - at the end, and you pretty much have a case of high pitched babytalk sugar diarrhea.

"Muck muck's Nummy, Bubs!"

Whoa.

Even I threw up a little.