Just because I'm only 3 months old does not mean I can't rearrange your face. Case in point: I was chilling with Mom, Dad, Aunt Gail, and Uncle Mike outside with the wind blowing through the trees and the sun shining down on Uncle Mike's perfectly green lawn. I don't mind getting up close and personal since my vision isn't quite 20/20 and it usually means I'll be getting a hug and a kiss. Now that I'm at the 3 month mark, my senses have become a little bit more heightened. I can see certain colors, hear more sounds, and make out faces a tad bit better. Although, my somewhat improved vision throws me for a loop and totally disrupts my concentration. When objects are coming towards my face way too fast for me to focus, I freak out. I'm not talking about a Rick James freak out. It's more like a Rocky Marciano beat down. All of a sudden this face comes rushing towards without giving me anytime to focus on who's face it was. My fight/flight instinct kicked into overdrive and I went into fight mode. Right when the face came up to me, I let out a scream, closed my fist, and went for a jab. My poor coordination made me miss and I was left making a boo face. After Mom rocked and calmed me, I realized it was Uncle Mike wanting to give me a kiss. Sorry Uncle Mike. Dad taught me well.
I thoroughly enjoy the pacifying aspects of sucking. I can suck on my thumb (when it stays in), my fist, and (when I'm really desperate) a bottle. Suck, suck, suck, suck...I'll even shove the washcloth into my mouth so I can suckle on something. Well, I guess out of sheer exhaustion and recklessness, I started sucking on Mom's arm. She was shhing and rocking me to sleep and I needed something more. I couldn't stop rooting and smacking my lips. The bottle was empty and Mom wasn't going to whip out a teet for me to feed on. So I just turned my head and went for Mom's arm. Suck, suck, suck and I pulled away out of embarrassment. How could I have been so desperate to suck on Mom's arm?! So I stopped and just shoved my fist in my mouth. As a memento, Mom has a bruise on her arm from my zealousness.
My chub seems to be expanding. I realized my wrists and ankles are nonexistent since my chub encases my joints like meat in a sausage casing. Dad called me a "log." I don't know if he means a tree log or a poo log.
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