Number Two is preparing to join the world on the move. He's not crawling yet; he's not quite sitting on his own. But he's been set in motion.
He throws himself from his bouncer like a blond midget kamikaze, then hangs upside-down from his lap belt until I right him again. He repeated the act four times just this morning. Still, I'm not ready to face the idea that my baby has outgrown his first recliner.
The Boss was keen to the incongruity the first time she saw her brother pull himself to a full sitting position on that very bouncer. She glanced twice at him, then once at me.
"Look, mom," she said, her voice strange in its confusion. "His head is standing."
I looked, just like she told me to. And it was so very, very odd to see him like that. He wasn't just there. He wasn't crying. He wasn't sleeping or eating. His eyes weren't everywhere; instead, they were fixed. He was flexing abdominal muscles in expression of his fiercest desire to date. He was reaching up without holding on.
Number Two is getting ready to go places.
Number Two relaxes after a strenuous set of crunches.