Somewhere when I wasn’t looking, Bebeface turned 3 1/2 months. I hadn’t noticed really. There were other things to look at- like spit bubbles. My son has become quite proficient at them, pursing his lips together to produce a nice, long cascade of wet, frothy silliness. Then he beams. He doesn’t smile anymore, he beams, his whole bebe face lighting up in the biggest, gummiest expression of joy.
A few weeks ago he noticed his own hands for the first time and then spent a few days staring at them intently. Soon afterwards, he began playing with his toys for the first time, MashaAllah. Lying underneath an assortment of hanging toys, Khalid now has mighty battles with the jingly yellow tiger. Khalid crams the tiger in his mouth, and the tiger retaliates by craming its stuffed legs into Khalid’s eyebrows. Khalid growls. The tiger jingles. The battle continues.
It’s hard to believe that this is the same baby I brought home with me in March. That baby was a tiny, non-interactive bundle of newbornness. This baby is a wiggly, cooing, squealing, arm-waving, judo-chopping, bicycle-kicking handful of chub and happiness. The Bebeface I brought home only cried, but this one holds conversations with you.
“coo! bbbbb! aaaa?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at the end of the sentence. He expects you to answer. So you coo and laugh and squeal back. And he beams.
Bebeface noticed his reflection the other day, and spent a vain long time engaging it in conversation. “bbbBbbb?” (translation: “Who is that handsome devil?”)
I wasn’t looking when it happened, but my son developed a personality. MashaAllah.