Finally, my parents arrived and we were able to hand over Max to rest of tendinitis-y wrists. Max will sit on the shoulder of just about anyone as long as he has a burp cloth to chew on. He just likes to be handled and have all his needs met, like a tiny rock star. Consider:

• he yowls when he needs drink, then nods of at the bar, if you will
• he sleeps most of the day and likes to party all night
• he can often be found in a pool of his own vomit

We are finding that life with the tiny rock star is pretty fun, all things considered. Smiling in response to things we do is a pretty big deal for us, since we now think that maybe he has a hunch that we are other people (or other baboons, or whatever he thinks he is - he did have a nightmare, I assume about falling out of a tree, last week and raised up a tiny hand with very sharp nails and grabbed a hunk of my skin with a strength that I am sure would have kept him in that tree) and not just the tall robots that feed and change him. This is very exciting.

The elusive dad, captured on film. Normally I hold the camera so as to avoid this sort of embarassment, but while I was tending to the boy (or, "parenting") at the beach, Leah got ahold of it and snapped this beauty. Note the similarities of our hairlines. We must be related.

Baths for Max are opportunities to both kick water and grab onto fabric, his two fave activities outside of staring at trees and eating. Sometimes you can even splash water on his tummy and get him to laugh, which is very rewarding. Usually, though, you get the mild look of bemusement visible here, followed by angry screaming when the bath is over and he is hauled off in a towel.

Yet another milestone: we decided that Max now holds his head up well enough that he can face out in the fantastic Baby Bjorn ("bjorn" is Swedish for "harness that carries while lulling to sleep"). This development lets us show his face off to the world, allow him to see things other than our shirts, and shill for the Bjorn Corporation right under his chin. As always, Leah's radiance is only overshadowed by Max's. So it goes with a baby.

Another development from this week has been that we are finally able to capture some smiles on camera. Here Max is perched on Leah's knees and is not bothered by the flash going off in his face. We are pretty sure he has the proper number of chins, but we will check with the pediatrician, Dr. Socks. For real, that's his name. Dr. Socks. A real doctor. Named "Socks."

We've been on vacation all week and Max has passed much of the time lying on his changing table, gazing at the trees. He is, without fail, delighted by trees. We thought he was going to become a botanist when we heard that all babies love trees. It's the leaves, apparently. Regardless, whether he's hungry, tired, or wet, he stops yelling and smiles out the window when we put him down. People should sell videos of waving leaves to project on the walls of nurseries.