7 January 2002

Owen

Rapid changes make it difficult to say much. Listing his accomplishments is one way, but these little triumphs are fairly one-dimensional. Nevertheless:

Nearly five months old he is a mammoth of a boy, the Woolless Mammoth. Weighing in at over eighteen pounds, Owen has a bulging buddha belly, chubby cherub cheeks, and thick sausage-like limbs. His light brown hair barely hides his round head, and his skin is supple and smooth, expect his red cheeks which have dried in the winter air. Once slate gray eyes are changing to dark brown, but which shade they'll end up as is anyone's guess.

Though bulky, he is not moribund like other large babies I've seen. He stands with our help, rolls, and scoots, but hasn't figured out how to put these things to good use. Particularly scooting. A few times, after tremendous effort, he's managed to scoot an inch or two towards a toy or kitchen utensil of some sort. But he gives up before he makes it, feeling the more practical solution is to scream in frustration, until we slide the desired object to him. No doubt, I will soon curse his mobility as he gets into thing after thing.

However impressive (or not) these physical description are, Owen's most amazing features are not visible. Unless you count his bright clear eyes that continually soak up information. He looks intelligent. Smiling often, mostly calm, he exhibits immense curiousity. When holding him you need to be careful nothing gets within his reach you don't want him to have. His arms dart at everything, trying to pick up and taste them. His cousin, eight weeks older, does not seem nearly so "grabby". Lately he has learn to alter his voice to better fit his mood. Last week he found out he could screech delight. Watching him grow is amazing.

Matilda

Matilda is Matilda. She is smart and curious. Her body is tall and compact, her limbs are muscular and long. Her feet and hands are huge. Her hand was nearly as large as Mary Haber's.

Owen has taken his toll on her. Though she showers him with sometimes overly rambuctious attention, the strains of becoming an "older sister" clearly show. I can't tell what has caused the biggest change, getting older, the stress of moving to Finland, or the radical disruption to our family structure, but I think the last affects her the most. Before Owen she relished the "big girl" label. She wanted to dress herself and exhibit her independence. Now she wants to be babied, asking us to help her with things not long ago she routinely did herself. For example, taking off her pants is now beyond her. She gets them down around her ankles and asks to have them pulled off. Knowing she can do it herself, we refuse. After flopping around like a fish on land for a minute or two she eventually kicks free of them. That is, if we don't get sick of the pantomime first and take them off for her. I am not sure which is better. I don't want her to feel left out, but we can't let her be a baby.

Other than that, she is constantly making new connections, learning things, for better or worse, from friends, and just being a kid. She likes to watch the news and hear what is going on around her. I know she eavesdrops on Melina and my conversations, sometimes asking from another room for us to say it again. She has a tough row to hoe. I wouldn't want to grow up over again. But she is sensitive and cautious, wise and foolish. I think she will do fine.