Once your child reaches a certain age, you get asked a lot of questions about whether they are walking yet, and whether they are talking yet. Back before we were Owened I thought, without really having given it much consideration, that these were more or less binary conditions; a child either was walking, or was not walking. In the actual event, it's not that straight forward.
Owen is not really walking yet. He could, if he wanted to. He can stand very solidly without assistance, turning and carrying things, but he doesn't take steps without something to hold onto with at least one hand.
He's figured out how to use his walker, a plastic wheeled contraption that plays music as it moves. This gets him closer to the efficiency of walking, without really requiring the leap of faith that unassisted perambulation demands. Amusingly, if you call him to you, he will sometimes crawl to the walker and then use that to walk over to you. He hasn't yet realized that he can just as easily do without the intermediate step, but I suspect it won't be long.
He's also built up a pretty decent vocabulary, albeit mostly one solely comprehensible to mom and dad.
ka - Car
ba - Bus (one of his favourites, especially school busses and double deckers, about which he gets very excited)
nanana - banana
dan - done, as in, I am finished with this thing you are attempting to feed me
a-dan - all done, time to let me out of my chair. Usually accompanied by waving, in the manner of a person frantically signalling to an approaching vehicle that the bridge is out.
He supplements his words with a variety of motions and signals. He is an enthusiastic nodder. When you ask him if he wants something that he really really wants, he nods with his entire body, flexing his knees and legs. He also shakes his head no, usually in a solemn manner when you tell him not to do something. He also points, sometimes supplementing his pointing with a loud "DA!"
He really likes Shreddies. In one mighty bound, they have overtaken all other post-fooding cereal snacks in his affections.
He still loves music. We've discovered that TSO is a particularly potent attraction for him; playing one of their better songs is a practically guaranteed way to get him to Rock Out.
He also sings along with me. I'll sing some made up tune, "da da da da da", and when I pause, he'll take up the refrain with his own chipper "da da da da da". He's always done this, but his "da da" s are getting faster and more rhythmic, with a bit of a tune clearly detectable. Not the tune I'm singing, of course, but then I have a multi-decade head start on him and I can't carry a tune in a bucket, so I'm not one to point fingers.
(We also have this thing where you bomp your head into the other person's belly as a sign of affection. It's something we do. Not as cultured as the musical thing, I know.)
(Also: we took him to the Oktoberfest up at Beau's. Getting out of the car upon arrival, the couple next to us noticed Owen, as they deployed their own progeny into the panoply of baby equipment, and remarked -- Oh, look, another first timer! We pointed out to them that, no, he's been to this one before. Thirteen months old and he's at his second Beau's Oktoberfest. He's Canadian, no doubt about it.)
That's about it. We move into the new house on November 1, although we get the keys a few days before that. We're in that middle ground of arranging to get things transferred and doing some desultory packing without really being able to pack any of the bulk of the stuff which remains, which needs to be used up until almost the last minute. My daily commute, and particularly the slog through the middle part of Terry Fox, grates more on me than it used to. I am eager to settle into the new space, with all the possibilities it implies.
Owen is not really walking yet. He could, if he wanted to. He can stand very solidly without assistance, turning and carrying things, but he doesn't take steps without something to hold onto with at least one hand.
He's figured out how to use his walker, a plastic wheeled contraption that plays music as it moves. This gets him closer to the efficiency of walking, without really requiring the leap of faith that unassisted perambulation demands. Amusingly, if you call him to you, he will sometimes crawl to the walker and then use that to walk over to you. He hasn't yet realized that he can just as easily do without the intermediate step, but I suspect it won't be long.
He's also built up a pretty decent vocabulary, albeit mostly one solely comprehensible to mom and dad.
ka - Car
ba - Bus (one of his favourites, especially school busses and double deckers, about which he gets very excited)
nanana - banana
dan - done, as in, I am finished with this thing you are attempting to feed me
a-dan - all done, time to let me out of my chair. Usually accompanied by waving, in the manner of a person frantically signalling to an approaching vehicle that the bridge is out.
He supplements his words with a variety of motions and signals. He is an enthusiastic nodder. When you ask him if he wants something that he really really wants, he nods with his entire body, flexing his knees and legs. He also shakes his head no, usually in a solemn manner when you tell him not to do something. He also points, sometimes supplementing his pointing with a loud "DA!"
He really likes Shreddies. In one mighty bound, they have overtaken all other post-fooding cereal snacks in his affections.
He still loves music. We've discovered that TSO is a particularly potent attraction for him; playing one of their better songs is a practically guaranteed way to get him to Rock Out.
He also sings along with me. I'll sing some made up tune, "da da da da da", and when I pause, he'll take up the refrain with his own chipper "da da da da da". He's always done this, but his "da da" s are getting faster and more rhythmic, with a bit of a tune clearly detectable. Not the tune I'm singing, of course, but then I have a multi-decade head start on him and I can't carry a tune in a bucket, so I'm not one to point fingers.
(We also have this thing where you bomp your head into the other person's belly as a sign of affection. It's something we do. Not as cultured as the musical thing, I know.)
(Also: we took him to the Oktoberfest up at Beau's. Getting out of the car upon arrival, the couple next to us noticed Owen, as they deployed their own progeny into the panoply of baby equipment, and remarked -- Oh, look, another first timer! We pointed out to them that, no, he's been to this one before. Thirteen months old and he's at his second Beau's Oktoberfest. He's Canadian, no doubt about it.)
That's about it. We move into the new house on November 1, although we get the keys a few days before that. We're in that middle ground of arranging to get things transferred and doing some desultory packing without really being able to pack any of the bulk of the stuff which remains, which needs to be used up until almost the last minute. My daily commute, and particularly the slog through the middle part of Terry Fox, grates more on me than it used to. I am eager to settle into the new space, with all the possibilities it implies.
No comments:
Post a Comment