Vocabumtary Update.

Wilson says many new words! Here are some of the highlights:

Lion
Otter
Hippo ("bippo")
Flower
Uh-oh!
Apple ("bappo")
NO!
mwah! (*kiss*)
Yah (as in, affirmative acknowledgment)

But my favorite of his newly developed verbalities is the *patooie*. Why *patooie*? It's what the camel says, of course! :D

Little Lover.

At some point in the past week, Wilson discovered how to kiss. Not that he didn't get the general idea before -- put lips together, apply to person you like -- but he's added some polish. The first person to get the new Wilson Love Treatment was Josh. Little Man put his hands on Josh's cheeks, puckered up, and planted a wet one right on Josh's lips.

Josh's response? "AGH!!" (It was entirely out of nowhere...)

Wilson does it all the time now. And you never see it coming. I think it's when he decides he really likes you, or after he gets in trouble and decides he's going to be good. Then he'll give you a biiiiiiiiiig hug (arms and legs), say "mmmmmmmm" and give you a looooong smooch. Or if he's in a hurry, he'll put his hand on your lips and say "mwah!" before running off to do something else. It's incredibly heartwarming. I really love it, even when he does it with a face covered with cookie bits, or when he still has mac and cheese on his hands and they end up in my hair.

Josh loves it too. Last night Wilson woke up upset, and Josh went down to comfort him. He gave Wilson some hugs and sang him a song, and then Wilson responded by giving Josh a big kiss and crawling back into bed without any protest. What a little love muffin.

It is sad to think that, as the years pass, he'll never like us as much as he likes us right now. But it does inspire us to treasure these little precious moments.

Good Baby.

Bad Baby.

I should say, Bad BabIES. Violet is quite a kicker, and took up residence in my chest cavity today. I just now managed to push her from my esophagus and extract her right foot from my gall bladder. And Wilson? Yikes. That little man...is such a butthead. His newly developed sense of defiance is much too big for his wee body. If his scowl and mimicky "NO!" weren't so damn cute, we might just throw him out the window.

The shirt Wilson made me for my birthday says it all: "I punch babies."

Cake, etc.

One of the more frustrating parts of late-term pregnancy for me is the sudden onset of ravaging food cravings. I don't pine for the strange like some of the pregnant, just for copious amounts of pretty much everything. Especially the stuff that isn't good for me.

Last time it was donuts. This time it's...everything else. Nutella. Bagels with cream cheese (like, 12 pounds of it, please.) Cheeeeeeeeeeezy pizza. Cookies. Brownies. Chocolate cake. And lest you forget, I'm the one woman on the planet who doesn't adore chocolate. And here I am, constantly jonesing for that hazelnutty-chocolately goodness smothered on crackers or toast or banana or a corner of the kitchen table.

It's frustrating, really. It feels like PMS-eating. (Y'all know what I mean, ladies.) It's compulsive, completely undeterred by rational thought or intervention. I actually start to panic if I don't have a carby munchy nearby when I get hungry. My latest obsession? Smucker's' Uncrustables. They are little pbj heaven pies.

I wish I could find the healthy eater that I know lives inside me. I generally love salad, veggies, oatmeal, fruit and lean proteins. I spent three years of my life not eating cheese, ice cream or other "thicky" foods because they didn't fit my healthy worldview. *sigh* But I also used to run 5 miles a day. And do pushups and crunches. I nearly had a six-pack once! Oh well.

Do I really care? Not really. Violet is extremely active and strong, and I know that as long as I eat nutritious foods (albeit sometimes too much of them), I'll grow a strong and healthy baby girl and that's good enough for me. Even if I have to put an extra 15 minutes on the end of my post-partum walks...it'll be worth it.

Wouldja look at that? Time for a snack! Later.

Djoosh!

Wilson knows what shoes are. You ask him, "Wilson, where are your shoes? Get me your shoes, please." And he'll run off and find them and bring them back saying, "djoosh? djoosh?" He'll also get his "gockies!" (sockies) and then sit down in your lap so you can put them all on. (Even if he is still wearing his footie pajamas; he doesn't care.)

But this morning, for the first time, Wilson said the word "shoes" properly! I was so proud.

(And yes, Wilson does wear Keens, thanks to Grama and Grampa Packer. They love him more than we do.)

Meet McSheep.

This is McSheep. He's a plush sheep hailing from the cold hills of Scotland. McSheep came to the States in a bag belonging to Nono and Grandmother Louise before coming to live with us. (Specifically, in Wilson's crib.) Where Harrod is the VP of House Animals, McSheep is the President. If one animal comes out of or goes into bed with Wilson, it's McSheep, numero uno.

McSheep was not always President. He and Harrod had a good stand-off going for a month or so there. But in the end, tough highland wool beat out soft city fur.

Like Harrod, McSheep would be difficult to replace. On our last check, the closest we could get a new McSheep delivered would be to Wales. Which is, you know, convenient.

McSheep is currently doing his best to console a very sad and not-interested-in-bedtime Wilson. Let us hope the tough highland wool is up to that delicate challenge!

Meet Harrod.

This is Harrod. He's a blue stuffed bear with a jingle in his belly. Harrod was a gift to Wilson from Aunt Beth, who found him during a trip to London. Wilson loved him right away.

Harrod plays an important role in our house. He's the current Vice President of Wilson's animal collection, second only to McSheep, who we will introduce shortly. When it's time for bed, Wilson tucks Harrod under one arm and McSheep under the other. It's terribly cute. (And comforting to know that pecking orders extend even to the stuffed animal kingdom.)

We lost Harrod once. He was waylaid en route back home from Grama and Grampa Packer's house, and we feared we'd never see him again. A mad internet scramble produced many ready-for-purchase Harrods, except when UK shipping costs were applied, they were found to cost like $80. apiece. (Sorry, Wilson; we love you, but not that much.) We decided there were other blue bears in the world, and we'd be more careful about where we put him once he made it back home safely.

Harrod was successfully recovered, and all made well. The little blue guy is currently nestled under Wilson's chin, who is snoring and drooling happily. Good baby, good bear!

Blueberries.

For many weeks I've been trying to get Wilson to enjoy blueberries. I mean, Costco carries them fresh and in bulk! (And I can only eat so many...) Well. At one point I got him to eat them if he could peel the skins off and munch on the insides. THEN. FINALLY. Yesterday he ate a few handfuls. And today, over the course of his 3 meals and 2 snacks, he ate, like, a pint! It's awesome. He can't get enough!

Bring on the blue poo...

Chairs.

Wilson can now climb up on chairs all by himself. He finds particular pleasure in climbing up to the table and engaging us in conversation. It's like it makes him feel big!

Week 23.

Violet is so big! (And so is Mommy!) She's about 1 pound this week, and about 8 inches long from head to rump. That's about the size of a small doll...can you believe it? She's very active, and gets the hiccups frequently. Her hearing is well developed, and she'll kick and squirm if I listen to loud music, or if something loud trolls by. (Like sirens!)

Her little pancreas is doing some developing this week, which helps her regulate hormones and digestion. She's slowly but surely getting fatter, although she still has a long way to go before she's the plump little raisin she's supposed to be.

As for Mommy, I've been SO HUNGRY the past three weeks. I have a doc appt. on Wednesday, and I expect him to tell me I've made up for any pounds lost and then some. I eat constantly. Aside from that, pregnancy continues to be fun and uneventful, so we're encouraged!