Emmet's becoming such a little person. As in, he's not just a baby anymore. He's not the one who simply lays there and sleeps or wakes up and eats or sucks on his paci.
He's actually showing more of his individual person-hood. As he sits on his Daddy's lap, he babbles away. Taking after his Momma, he talks with his hands. Philip feels as though Emmett is, with the stern look on his face and the very determined fist-shaking, sharing the vast injustices to babies world-wide. Of course, when I break out the video camera, he stops. And then he gives his Daddy this look that says, "You weren't listening to a word I said were you?" At which point we determine one of these gross injustices was the continual demand for babies to act as performing monkeys in front of a camera lens. Oops. So we put the camera away.
The paparazzi returned later in the evening, though, despite the protests from our son, because he had his first taste of peas for dinner. Unlike his sister who expressed her extreme distaste for foreign flavors from the first bite (although always relented to the fact that we were, in fact, presenting her with food which is, of course, better than the lack-of-food option), he made no indication of recognition that this green stuff entering his mouth was even any different than what he was used to. What did he care? It was food. And food is good.
Boys.
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