Two weeks ago, when Noah had had a stuffy nose and a cough and an occasional fever for 14 days straight, I took him to the doctor.
His pediatrician, whom I absolutely adore, looked him over, listened to his chest, checked in his ears -- the usual.
The verdict: "Well, his ears look fine, and his chest sounds OK, so I'm hopeful that he won't need an antibiotic to go over this."
About a week ago, Noah and I had our first discipline-esque run-in.
The day before the run-in, I had found him on the floor in our living room, home phone in hand, gurgling gleefully as all the buttons lit up and a woman's voice said in a loud monotone: "If you'd like to make a call ..."
So when I plunked him down on the floor the following day, I was prepared: I propped a pillow up in front of the phone, thinking he'd never remember it was there.
Sometimes my naivete annoys even me.
So Noah's finally getting the waving bye-bye thing. Today, as I dropped him off at the sitter's, he actually smiled and waved bye-bye to me.
The part I find funny is that he's not yet sure which things are appropriate to wave bye-bye to.
