A day at the zoo

The day after Thanksgiving, we took Oscar back to the Central Park Zoo for another visit with the tamarind monkeys, now behind glass in their winter quarters. He wasn't as taken with them this time -- maybe simply because the reflection of the afternoon sun on the window made it harder to see them. The penguins didn't really do it for him this time, either. The pygmy goats in the petting zoo were another story.


He squealed with delight as Jen held him up to the fence and Bonnie fed them, inches from his face. He managed to grab a hunk of hair and a horn and had his hand licked. Happily, goats aren't easily provoked, and there was a big tub of antibacterial hand goo around the corner.


Oscar's desires are fast growing much more complicated. Before, when he cried, it was pretty much down to a few possibilities: hunger, loneliness or tiredness. Now, he cries if he drops a toy and quiets as soon as it's returned to him. He cries because he's bored. He cries because he'd sooner stand than sit. He cries because he's hot or cold. He cries because he cries. And it's up to us to figure out what he wants -- or to distract him with an increasingly complex retinue of diversions.

It's not as easy as it sounds -- he's one intensely focused little boy. Intercept him on his way to investigate the cats' water dish, and it doesn't matter how absorbing the toy you set him down in front of -- after a minute of that, he'll turn right around and set off towards his quarry.


He's already outgrown his brand new bassinet. Yesterday, we awoke to find that he'd pulled in everything from the top of the neighboring dresser, flipped himself on his stomach and turned himself around. It'll be a matter of weeks, if not days, before he can escape it, so we'll have to move him to a crib even sooner than we'd expected.

On the upside, his joyfulness and wonderment at the world around him are contagious. He's bound to be a holy terror with so much energy and curiosity. But I can't imagine a more charming holy terror.