Inner Kitteh

The arrival of the baby human has brought out the inner kitten in our 11 year old cat Lyle, for better and for worse. He chases his tail on a daily basis now and seems to enjoy toys with all the more vigor. He also attacks the 12 year old cat, Zaius, whenever Emmett cries for more than a few seconds. Both cats have more scars, emotionally and physically, as a result of the new animal in the house. They both have taken to trying to usurp any baby furniture or toys. They sleep on Emmie's floor gym or in his mini-crib, if they are not in the car seat or bouncy chair. Zaius has also taken to hanging out on the "changing table," also known as our dryer. He even hangs around for the diaper changes, ignoring the flailing arms that periodically whack him.

Roberts Men

Three generations of Roberts men.

Note Emmett's latest preoccupation: his hands, the tool of tools, the toy of toys.

Recent entries are primarily photo entries. The blog doesn't showcase the photos that well, but you can click on individual photos to see a larger version. I am pretty sure you can copy them, too.

Rattle

Now that Emm 'n Emm is three months, he is supposed to show some interest in a rattle and grasping rings. So far he stares at it and touches it without grabbing. We will do our best not to compare him to an abstract norm of what babies ought to be doing developmentally. He has already rejected the common wisdom that "all babies love breastfeeding." He is a finger man and I have been trying to accept it, which has been harder emotionally than I imagined. This means I spend hours a day pumping and Will does middle of the night feedings (while I pump, pump, pump some more). Emmett has forced our parenting into a less traditional mold, which is more work for both of us. We are committed to doing it, however, in part for the intrinsic virtues of breast milk (it is much easier to digest and he gets my antibodies), and because formula would cost about 60$ CAD a week (!!!@?*!), and formula companies are evil (e.g. introducing formula to traditional and impoverished communities, where mothers lost their superior and free milk supply and needed to dilute it to spare the outrageous cost, resulting in many dead babies... I would like apply a word to them used frequently on the show Deadwood, but I don't since our families read this blog).

Hood

Emmett will surely wear lots of hoodies as long as we are dressing him. This one is a gift from grandma Rosie. There is also a pic of Emmie on his dad's shoulders in front of his favorite painting. Emm has been captivated by this painting from the day we brought him home. I often see him staring at it with a smile.

Learning to Fly

Credit for these impressionistic photos goes to worker's opposition.

Sleeping Angel

Our friends, known in some circles as "Worker's Opposition and "Beavers Abroad" had to snap pics of Emmett sleeping. Babies are beautiful asleep, and not only for the peace sleep brings.

Experiments with the Camera

I call these the "whirlwind" series. They are taken by the famous photog "worker's opposition" who appears in one photo (not taken by him). The photo with our friend Rohan nicely reveals the difficulty of photographing a moving baby. He decided to embrace the tendency toward blurriness and to work with it.

Puff Baby

So gangsta.

Capturing Smiles

Emmett smiles now. A lot. Still, it is very hard to capture them on film, b/c they coincide with very excited kicks and flailing arms. He has had a super hard week and a half... it seems that one extreme brings with it the other. Lots of smiling means lots of crying, too. Maybe with maturity comes greater sensitivity to pleasure and pain. It is hard being a parent and knowing that bringing a being into the world means that he will experience pain and suffering. I know we cannot only be sources of joy and comfort, but I never realized how hard it would be to see him cry. The smiles are a thrill though... we are elated by them. They provide a wonderful lift, even after negligible sleep. Here are some of our efforts to snap a smile. Notice the invisible arms.