Aside from being the Happiest Baby Ever In the History of Babies, Benjamin is a born imitator. He studies faces so intently that within a matter of days he can mimic your facial expressions. I’ve caught him laying in his bed, staring up at his little crib mirror just FASCINATED by his own face and the way he can manipulate it.
Last night at dinner, Maria was helping to feed him because I was too busy scraping burned brownies from a pan. (Not my best baking moment in the kitchen.) When he was through eating, Maria was whistling at him and he just sat mesmerized at how her lips got small and round and this new cool sound came out of them.
(I wish I was that easily amused.)
Later, when Husband and I were playing with him, I saw him purse his lips like she did and furrow his little brow. I knew exactly what he was up to – and it was all I could do to not giggle right in his face.
Even later last night, while he was up for the gafillionth time because his teeth were apparently stabbing him from the inside out, I picked him up from our bed where I had just given him his 1,475th dose of Tylenol. On the way back to his room, in the dark hallway lit only by the light of his baseball nightlight, I heard a tiny whistle. And he squealed with glee.
I’m halfway expecting to come home to see he’s got a hard hat on, whistling while he’s grabbing his crotch and yelling, “Hey, baby, nice rack!”
Flattery will get you everywhere, my son.