Here is Fraser practicing his newest amazing trick, getting up onto his hands and knees and rocking back and forth. It's actually very funny (which you can't really appreciate from a still photo) since he looks like he's revving up to to take off like the coyote after the road runner. I have heard that this is the next step in Fraser's quest to crawl, though so far it has only resulted in allowing him to lunge forward without warning and land flat on his face. I can usually count a few tears when when this occurs, though I have my suspicions that he is less upset about smashing his face than he is about his attempts at locomotion being thwarted by his not-entirely-cooperative limbs.


Which brings me to another interesting, and significantly more concerning, development. Fraser, it appears, has one hell of a temper. You might well be surprised, especially those of you that have met him, as he is normally a very happy and easy going baby. Of course he fusses a bit when his bottle is late in arriving, when he is tired or when he simply wants confirmation that he is indeed the center of the universe, but nothing out the ordinary baby grumpiness. When his frustration, however, is aroused not by the failings of others but by his own inability to achieve a desired result, he goes positively ape shit.

For example, I have started giving Fraser little "finger food" bits on his highchair tray so he can practice picking food up and putting it into his mouth. (Everything else on God's green earth goes directly into this kid's mouth, but food for some reason seems to end up in his eyes, nose, ears, etc. In short, anywhere but his mouth.) I gave him little bits of pasta to practice with and for a few minutes he was quite fascinated. He worked on trying to grasp the slimy little bits between his thumb and forefinger, very carefully and deliberately orchestrating each attempt with crinkled brow and small pink tongue poking out from between pursed lips. I was very impressed with his patience and determination, which lasted precisely long enough for me to envision sitting in the audience as he walked across the stage to accept his degree from Harvard, when suddenly Fraser balled up his fist, let out one of his pterodactyl screams, and began pounding the living crap out of every piece of pasta until they were nothing more that pasta colored smears on the tray. When he was done and had surveyed the carnage with no small degree of satisfaction, he gave me a nice big smile that clearly said "That'll teach em to screw with me." Not good Fraser, not good at all.


The other major development in the McBeth household is the almost-arrival of Fraser's first tooth. We can't really say he has his first tooth yet, since he really only has two iridescent lines on his lower gums where his bottom front teeth will one day appear, but I can personally testify that it hurts a lot more when he bites now, so maybe we can say he has "pre-teeth". I'm excited, of course, not only that this will some day open a whole new world of food to Fraser (and hopefully give my food processor a break) but also because I'm hoping this will give us a short reprieve from the teething (which I assume is what caused him to wake up screaming at 11:00 last night and, after I brought him back to bed with us, continue to cry in his sleep until 12:30.) It also, however, has made me realize how much I'm going to miss his adorable dopey little toothless grin!