Written by: Suzanna February 01 2012 It’s official, folks, we […]
Written by: Suzanna February 01 2012
It’s official, folks, we have a rollover. Actually, we have a bajillion. Now that Jacob has learned how to go from his back to his tummy (and back again!), it has replaced drooling and finger-chewing as his new favorite pastime.
The first day I saw our little guy roll over, he did it with so much panting and groaning it was all I could do to keep from giving him a nudge. I don’t know who was struggling more—him to turn over or me to resist the urge to help out. Fortunately, I didn’t have to deny my motherly instincts for very long. By the next day, the kid was an expert. Now, within seconds of setting him down, he throws his little legs to the side and flops over onto his belly right away.
I don’t want to brag—oh, who am I kidding, OF COURSE I do, I’m a mom—but J’s alacrity at the roll-over is pretty impressive.
First off, he achieved it by three months. Most of my baby books say to look for it closer to month four or as late as seven months. Secondly, the Powers That Be say that a baby on the large side will tend to show this type of physical progression later than his smaller peers. At two months, Jacob was in six-to-nine-month clothes, and at 17 pounds, he’s in the 90somethingth percentile for his age and weight. Needless to say (but I will anyways), large is an understatement.
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Since J entered the world of the upwardly mobile (or would it be sidewardly or downwardly mobile?), I have learned to be extra-cautious of where I put him. He has a built-in honing device for sharp corners. If there’s one within two feet of him, he’s sure to find it, usually with his head. (Besides gaining him a bump in the head or two, his superior rolling ability also has the unfortunate effect of making the Snoop Dogg lyrics, “Rollin’ on dubs, whoop d’ whoop … whaaat?” go through my head on a regular basis.)
Having mastered the rollover, Jacob is now working on the army crawl. But since he’s not there yet, I’ll spare you the details (and my motherly peacocking) until next time. You’re welcome.