Alien vs. Oscar

Well, it's happened. Oscar managed to wriggle right off the changing table for the first time earlier this week, landing feet-first and getting quite a scare (as did we), but emerging otherwise unscathed. From now on, constant vigilance.

He's rarin' to get on his feet, and his head control is now sufficient that we can carry him facing forward in the Bjorn without him flopping around. Except, of course, when he falls asleep. But when he's awake, he really digs it.


He's gotten so tactile these last couple weeks -- he's getting the hang of those opposable thumbs and playing with stuff, grabbing blankets, diapers, whatever we put in front of him. He's really into that orange star-shaped thingy that Great Aunt Peggy got him. He likes to gnaw on the tendrils when he's in his car seat, so we frequently find him with it glommed onto his face, like something out of 'Alien.'


This weekend, we attended yet another wedding (actually, a "partnership ceremony") -- this time, that of the Rude Mechanical Orchestra's Becca and Phil. Dad tooted on the tuba and Oscar exercized his mutant superpower of extreme cuteness, somehow managing to doze angelically through the din and drawing, at times, a bigger crowd than the bands did. All the musicians were sizing him up for their instrument of choice, observing that he obviously has this or that embouchure. In fairness, I can state objectively that he does have a pianist's fingers. Which will be wasted on the valves of a euphonium just as soon as he's big enough to hold one, since he also obviously has a tubaist's lungs.