It's strange how each new phase in Reid's life becomes the instant definition of normal for us. If Reid decided that he was going to sleep from 6 until 8, then get up and listen to techno loudly from 8 until 10, and then return to sleep until 6 am, we would just sort of rearrange ourselves around this new schedule. We'd sit quietly and take in some TV or read a magazine until 8, and then, when he got up and started shouting, we would switch on the techno and put in earplugs while he danced, and then wander back in and turn it off at 10, to settle him down to sleep.

So life now has settled into its current incarnation of normal. Reid and K come home at 5:30, and after K changes into pajamas, I come home and we feed Reid, right around 6. Generally speaking, we need to change a diaper at this point. Then it's back down stairs for some playing on the carpet with toys or whatnot, until around 7:30. Then we head upstairs again, perhaps for a bath or perhaps just a little warm washcloth action, and then a final bottle, a toothbrushing (five teeth, and each of them brushed clean, thank you), and then to bed by eight.

When little new bumps crop up, it's strange how quickly they are integrated. Reid has fallen head over heels for Cheerios. The official food of new-eaters, apparently, Cheerios are lusted after mightily in our house morning, noon and night. At breakfast-time, Reid sits in a little chair playing by himself while his mom or I enjoy a bowl of cereal ourselves. The other day, he was being cranky and shouty, and trying to get up (despite firmly being firmly clipped in). Then I watched his eyes and realized that he was focusing on the box of Cheerios on the table next to the bowl I had just poured. I plucked two from my bowl before adding milk and held them in front of Reid.

His tiny hands reached out, eyes wide. He has a modified pincer action that he uses sometimes, where he makes a fist and then extends the index finger and thumb, roughly in an "L." Still his fine motor control is a baby's, so his hand generally slack and tightens, sending Cheerios out of the hand, or secretly scooping them up so even Reid can't find the Cheerio he thought was between his thumb and forefinger. He brings his hand to his mouth, and holds it before him like a giant perusing his quarry. Then he lifts his head over his hand, like Homer Simpson, and about fifty percent of the time, gets the Cheerio in his mouth. The rest of the time it is stuck to his chin or cheek, or carelessly deposited on his bib, unbeknownst to him.

Sometimes, he even appears to use his teeth. (This is strictly unintentional. He chomps down on the Cheerio just as it is plotting an escape and as a result, it doesn't land on his tongue but instead in the vicinity of one of his five little incisors. The consequences are a satisfying little crunch that brings a surprised half-smile to my boy's face.