First Words: An Infant’s Tale

As I am preparing to type out this blog, the very subject in which it entails is taking place right behind me. The blooming infant who has finally decided who his favorite people are, and of those specific favorites, who his ultimate favorite is. Not only that, but he has attached so tightly to this said person that he has even learned to say the name that he knows this person by, officially becoming his first word. Yes… I mean the Little Son has learned how to say “Mama”, and has officially used it against me all week to tear my heart asunder.

Recently, my husband, the great man that he is, finally reorganized the living room and helped situate my computer into the office room since it’s vacancy back in October. Since this all happened the same day as my car accident, I was unable to completely get everything situated the way I wanted to. Thus I had to close off the office room whether I was in here or not so the crawling infant could not find his way inside. This meant that it was impossible for me to make it to my PC while everyone else was at school or work; he’s at the stage where leaving him alone in a room for any amount of time longer than a bathroom break can result in many different bad outcomes.

Once I got to a point where I could stand up without feeling as if my foot were breaking, I cleaned out the room and got it “baby safe” so he could come and go whenever I was in here, hoping it would help me get some work done. Oh, how naive I was. How mistaken.

No matter what I put on TV, hoping it would distract him long enough for me to complete a post. No matter what toys he had in front of him, no matter how loud or bright they were… none was good enough to keep his attention. For his favorite person was in another room. This would not to. This was when I came to find out that he was not accidentally or coincidentally saying “mama” recently. No. Every time I walked in here when he was occupied (to be clear, I have perfect sight of him from the office, the two rooms are connected), he would quickly notice.

He would start off with the crying first. It was most obvious that it was that fake infant crying, that “pick me up or I’ll really get mad” crying. Then, as he began his crawling towards where I sat in my attempts to do something, he began throwing in whimpers and whines of “Mama! Mama!” in those cries. Ladies and gentlemen, this is where I broke.

The week before after the car accident, he had me all to himself as I was bound to a chair with my feet up, unable to do much moving besides when I had to feed said Little Son and go to the bathroom and such. He sat on my lap a good amount of time, and played around. We read books. I sang to him. We watched TV and played with toys. Oh, he enjoyed himself greatly that week. So of course, when time came to return to a normal routine where I could work and do what little housework I could do, he was unhappy with the results.

Ever since this little shite was about 3-4 months old, he’s been practicing ways that he could eventually get what he wanted. He learned the booboo lip extremely early and used it to his advantage to get attention at the dinner table, his smart infant brain noting the effect it had on each family member. He was stare to get our attention, and when we would finally look his way… the head went down, the eyes went up, and the lip stuck out. He worked at it until he perfected it, and after we would give him that “Awww, whhhyyyyy” reaction he wanted, he would give a shit-eating grin. He knew what he was doing.

Just like he knew what he was doing when he began throwing in those crying choruses of “Mama!” into his fits as he crawled to me, looking so pathetic. He knew I would sigh heavily, no matter how much I would try to ignore him. He knew that the moment he reached my chair and began smacking on it and my leg, still crying and saying the word, that he would get himself onto my lap. He knew that if he attacked anything on my desk (including keyboard I was using and mouse), that I would eventually give up and we would go back to the living room. The smart little bastard knew.

So, needless to say I had a growth attached to me all of this past week. I had meant to give an extra blog last Tuesday and was unable to do so because of how I couldn’t get more than two minutes alone. I had lost all sense of concentration and thought by Thursday, and was quite unable to come up with a subject for my scheduled blogs. Then yesterday, a day I meant for a make-up day, I used as a personal day to relax after work since my girls were home to help with the needy, teething infant (his oldest sister, the Soft Daughter, is one he greatly enjoys).

I do not, in any way, complain about these events. I love my children, and I love how my son views me as the sun and stars in the sky. I enjoy that he wants to be around me at all times. However, I am a strong believer of trying to build at least some independence, even at a young age. And that is my goal, which is why I leave him to play at times while I try to do other things. Usually, this is not a problem, but as he comes crawling back into the office right now, it is proving to be quite difficult at this time. I’m trying to blame the four teeth he currently is cutting.

For the end of this post, I give you pictures of when Little Son realized he could get inside the box blocking the office room: a series.

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