Two things I have been trying (and failing) to get on video for the past five days for you people (and also posterity and stuff):
1) Baby Ike saying "uh oh!" This is his newest trick, and he loves it and it's adorrrrrrrable and etc. He says it constantly, but most often during the 30 seconds I've decided to turn my back on him, just for the added thrill of wondering if he's using it in the correct context this time because he's...yes, he's knocked over the Lego bin/my coffee/the pets' water dish. Faaaantastic. Uh-oh, indeed.
But the minute I stick the camera in his face he goes all serious and looks away, and I can practically SEE his little brain trying to figure out how to roll his eyeballs at me. So I've mostly ended up with a lot of stinkeye footage with a LOOK AT MAH BUTT finale.
Yesterday, in the car, he joined in a singalong of Karmin's Brokenhearted (SHUT UP JUST SHUT UP), mimicking the "UH OHHHH" lyrics perfectly. I was delighted and put the song on repeat (DON'T YOU JUDGE MEEEE) so he would do it again and again, but then questioned the wisdom of this once Noah was all, "let's get up let's get on it" and then asked that I switch to the "Cookie Monster Song" which is actually Call Me Maybe (thanks to this video) and you know what? Let's just stop talking about the contents of my iPod already, okay? Let's just...stop.
2) Baby Ike walking. Yes.
Okay, so I know he's technically just standing in these photos, but he IS walking. He took his first steps on Saturday, and we had witnesses and everything. It happened. It was real. And exceedingly wobbly.
(BTW, the sign that someone has definitely crossed the bridge of friendship into familyhood: When YOUR baby takes his first steps and SHE bursts into tears over it.)
I have yet to capture it on video, other than the one time he started to walk towards me and the camera and promptly fell headfirst onto the floor. With a brief yet spectacular collision with the coffee table on the way down. (THAT'S ONE FOR THE BIRTHDAY MONTAGE.)
I can't yet tell if his motivations are related to wanting to join his big brothers, or more of the I-need-to-get-myself-away-from-these-people variety.
Either way, shit just got real up in here. More real. Reallier real. Time to make good on my secret dreamy-dream to live in an oversized yurt furnished with nothing but upholstered ottomans.
PS. So is he Just Ike now? Toddler Ike? No. He is Baby Ike. BABY IKE 4-EVAH.