Busy Baby Syndrome

BBS is in full force at Chez Larson-Wyckoff.

That's Busy Baby Syndrome, for those of you who are't acquainted with a baby who's discovering all the cool stuff that's out there to explore.

William is quite possibly the busiest baby I've ever encountered. If he's not pulling up on the coffee table, he's trying to score a few pieces of the cats' food to sneak into his mouth. Or he's banging coasters on the coffee table. Or pulling up on the trash can. Or clanging together any two things he can get his hands on, just to see what noise they make.

He's always always on the move now, too.


















It's so funny! Splat, splat, splatsplat. You hear that, and you know it's the sound of William making a mad dash down the hallway, usually after one of the kitties. That's the noise his little palms make when he madly slaps them down on the floor as he crawls. He gets faster every day. And he always looks so pleased with himself, like, "Check me out! Look how fast I'm going!" Splat, splat, splatsplat. And heck, I guess I could use the exercise.

Another funny thing that William's doing now is something he started doing, out of the blue, in Nashville. He waves and says "Bah bah!" Now, I assume he's trying to say "Bye bye." But the way he says it, stretching out the second syllable, it sounds like he has an extremely thick southern accent. "Bah bah!" he drawls, like a little old southern man sitting on his front porch. "Bah bah!" It couldn't sound any more southern if he dipped the words in cornmeal and fried 'em up in a skillet. I mean, he should be wearing seersucker when he says it!

And here I was all worried that my California son would never be a real Southerner.

By the way, here's a couple of good glimpses at both the first tooth and the second one, which is en route:

































The preceding pictures were taken as William stood behind the coffee table. You may notice that there is nothing on the coffee table. I finally gave up trying to rescue things from the busy little hands that were always reaching for them. It was a losing game. Losing game for me, anyway. Now, the only things that live on the coffee table are some of W's books and, of course, the coasters that he loves to bang together.