Back Home Again in Indiana
5 months is such an explosive age what with all the poop blowing out of the diapers. Too much imagery, you say? Try being the one cleaning it up. I somehow managed to avoid all the blowouts, but I was there for a solid week of nonstop poopy diapers and a fierce diaper rash so don’t tell me I didn’t do my time.
Baby’s first virus aside, 5 months comes with a whole lot of chatting. He has things to tell us, and we can’t understand any of them. Sometimes he replaces the chatting with squealing. Are they squeals of excitement? Squeals of disappointment? Squeals to let us know he’s actually a pig? We’ll never really know since, again, we can’t understand a thing he says, but based on the snorts that go with the squeals, I’m leaning toward pig.
This child is also very into chewing his hands. He’s so into it, in fact, he gets his finger too far back and gags on it.
Other activities not going according to plan: walking. When you hold him, he’ll get 50 shades of hyper and start kicking/cycling his legs and leaning forward like he has places to be. Those places are no doubt exactly where I don’t want him to be, so we’ll save walking lessons for another decade.
5 months is also when people really start to comment on just how much he looks like his brother – from the crazy hair (absolute highlight of babyhood) to the open mouth stare. I’m afraid these comparisons will only continue for the rest of his life, and for that I blame his father for making carbon copies of himself.