The Lord Squirmoculous

Watch­ing Abra­ham is a nev­er-end­ing source of fun. At first he had no voli­tion, at all, but here we are three weeks lat­er and he’s already fig­ured out that he has the abil­i­ty to con­trol his own body. He’s not very good at it, but I can already see some def­i­nite human behav­ior emerg­ing. He’s a good boy.

In the evening he’s usu­al­ly over­stim­u­lat­ed from all the new things he’s learned dur­ing the day, so while he feeds he fuss­es might­i­ly. Some­times he gets full and does­n’t real­ly know what is going on and becomes incon­solable by Deb­bie.

I’m an expert, how­ev­er, at both wak­ing and get­ting the boy to sleep. Here’s a demon­stra­tion of the for­mer:

The lat­ter basi­cal­ly con­sists of me lay­ing him across my body and let­ting him hear my heart­beat and look at my face until he’s out like the fat kid in dodge­ball. Takes no more than 10 min­utes, every time.

I’ve been read­ing him Robert Bly’s The Night Abra­ham Called to the Stars and The Sil­mar­il­lion.

The oth­er day I referred to him as Lord Squirmocu­lous, and treat­ed him as if he were a com­mand­ing alien from an alien inva­sion force; dis­guised as a baby, of course. This has been quite fun, and we’ve been run­ning with it. Say­ing: “Lord Squirmocu­lous com­mands x!” and “Your forces are leav­ing Squirmoc­u­la now, sir!” and “If you don’t lis­ten to Lord Squirmocu­lous, he’ll unleash the Squirmo­culiz­er!” Poor lit­tle guy, he has no idea. Heh.