Since a lot of The Bhaeblet's friends-and-relatives and other kinds of well-wishers frequently want to know more about him and expect me to tell them stuff, here goes:
1. He smiles. Frequently while he sleeps, sometimes when he is awake too. It ranges from a lop-sided grin to a full-cheeked faceful of joy. I don't know what he dreams of, but I find it reassuring.
2. He cries before he pees. I don't know why he does that, various people have suggested various reasons, but I like it, because it gives me warning when he's not wearing diapers. (I try to avoid diapers as much as possible because of the fear of diaper rash. During the daytime, anyway.)
For reasons known only to himself, he prefers to save his potty up for a couple of days and lets it out in a marathon session each time. I wouldn't mind, were it not for having to clean up after the marathon sessions. Not for nothing is he called Pottybabu and Pocha Pontla (that's Bengali for 'rotten bundle', to translate loosely).
3. When he takes time off from howling, grumbling, sleeping, feeding, peeing or potty (his daily preoccupations) he likes to lie on his back and contemplate the world. At such times he is quite chatty and likes to put his word in, in whatever conversation is going on around him. If there is nobody around he calls out loud. Quite the party animal, really.
4. He is LOUD. He might be skinny for his age, but there is absolutely nothing the matter with his vocal chords, not to mention his lungs. And when I tell you he can cry for hours on end (3 was the record, V and I measured it one night), you will understand why this is not something I'm particularly excited about. When I watch those other babies mewling away (relatively) quietly at the paediatrician's, I often feel a pang of envy for their mothers.
5. He probably has more exciting clothes than I do. He has button-down shirts, with and without sleeves, kimonos, rompers, t-shirts, hand-knitted winter outfits, pants, the dinkiest socks (ok, I bought those), shoes, lots of booties, caps, even mittens. He has blankets for every conceivable occasion. He has bibs to match those blankets, feeding bottles to match his clothes and three different diaper bags of varying sizes. He has more toiletries than I do, I'm sure, and uses them more than I do, too.
No, I'm not jealous. I only sound like it. I'm way too grown up to be jealous of some dumb kid.
6. He likes going out. He loves going on drives in particular, but out will do. He has been travelling around town since he was about a fortnight and a half old, come to think of it.
7. His favouritest people used to be his Didima (my mum) and his father; now that V's in Cal and Ma had to stay away for a while when V and I took him back to our flat and therefore became a bit of a stranger, I seem to have become his favourite whipping post.
8. He is awfully good about taking injections. The last lot of vaccinations, on Saturday, was rather nasty, being a 3-in-1 combined shot, but he took it very well. Certainly better than my father, who first left the room and then came back, only to squirm around him all the while.
9. He likes to look out of windows. I'm not sure why, since he still doesn't see too well -- moving objects still make him go slightly cross-eyed, when he looks adorably cute -- but I surmise the light and shadow fascinates him.
10. He SNUGGLES when he sleeps. This you have to see to understand. He makes himself into this wee ball and digs deeper and deeper. Yesterday, when my mother was patting him to sleep, he nearly burrowed under her armpit.
11. He loves being bathed. Not that he'll admit it, but he goes all quiet and has a look of witholding judgement all the while he's in the warm water. It's only when you take him out that all hell breaks loose.
12. He doesn't like being hugged or cuddled. Dunno why, but he wriggles out of all attempts. Just to spite him therefore, I take pleasure in giving him loud, smacking kisses.
I needed to write this post, you know. Not just because you've been asking, but because the stress of feeding him for hours gets to me, and then I let my horrible temper loose on him, poor mite. I do wish he'd feed properly though. The pain is a killer.
It's nice to be able to focus on the parts that I do like about motherhood. Like folding tiny clothes, and smelling his milk-scented breath. Or watching him while he sleeps.
Also, it's nice to picture his embarrassment when he grows up and reads this post. There'll be plenty more like it, Rahul-my-boy. Nowhere does it say a mother is not entitled to revenge!