The baby is always on the move these days, so it's hard to get a non-blurry picture. He wreaks havoc wherever he goes, pulling records, CDs, and books off the shelves, emptying his toy bin, splashing in the dog's water bowl, drumming on the trash cans, thumping on the record player.
In a rambling, mostly-aimless trip to Willilamsburg yesterday, we shared a falafel sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie, got accused of gift-card fraud at American Apparel (true story), and bought new baby boots and a pair of small, wooden maracas. At home, after having the boots put on his feet, he promptly opened a kitchen cabinet, found and uncapped a bottle of canola oil, poured it on the floor, and put his feet in the puddle. As for the maracas, he hit himself in the head with one today and cried himself to sleep. He is still asleep now, and, miraculously, for the first time in two weeks or so, my head is not-spinning enough that I can sit down and write about it.