Owen had his four month doctor's appointment the other day, where we learned that at 19.3 pounds and 29.5 inches, he is in the 100th percentile for height and the 98th percentile for weight. In other words, he is a fast-growing big galoot, and as such, he tends to outgrow his outfits quickly. His grandfather commented that he seems to wear a different outfit in each picture he sees, and whereas that is not close to true, I do try to make a point of taking a picture when I put him in something new, in case the next time we put it on he is bursting at the seams.
So here is Owen looking like a little man in nice cords and a plaid shirt from Martha's husband Gordy's Aunt Lois. Owen looks a lot like his cousin Henry in this picture!:
Here Owen is wearing a meta-monster outfit from Sean's cousin, Kyle and his family. This outfit came complete with monster socks and bib, as you can see in the second picture below.
Apparently monsters cannot keep their feet still, so I wasn't able to get a good shot of the three monster toes on each feet, plus the fact that the socks say "Rawr!" on the bottom with treads:
Ever economical, Owen is here wearing a hand-me-down turtleneck from his cousin Henry:
And here he wears a lovely sweater outfit from Aunt Martha, which came complete with a matching hat that has bear ears!
He likes to wear his football shoes with this outfit. They are comfy and go with everything!
Here is Owen with his giraffe, Sophie, and wearing a cute overall outfit that he received as a gift when his cousin Morgan visited. Martha the anthropology major was able to figure out that Morgan is Owen's second cousin twice removed. Or in layman's terms, she is the daughter of Sean's nephew. Owen only gets to visit with Sophie on his changing table, since Dorothy has become obsessed with the giraffe, and it is not safe for Sophie to descend to a lower berm.
Sometimes Owen likes to hide from the paparazzi by wearing his Aunt Susan's sunglasses. All of those flashing lights bother a handsome fellow's eyes:
Wearing a moose onesie!
Just another boy in a hoodie:
And here he is in an old favorite--his guitar footed onesie that zips instead of snaps, making it easy for quick diaper changes.
His granny and grandfather sent him a crab onesie which is also a favorite. Owen looks good in navy blue and who doesn't like a crab motif?! Here he is happy in the crabby suit:
Owen drools a lot these days due to some impending teeth. We thought maybe a terry cloth outfit might soak up some of the excess fluids that tend to course down his front. Here he is in a terry cloth raccoon onesie complete with raccoon on the tuckus and raccoons on the feet:
Chillin' in plaid. An adorable outfit that is killer to put on, because it doesn't button all the way down, so really requires that the wearer have double jointed elbows to get the arms in the sleeves.... Owen does not have double jointed elbows.
And monkey feet!
Here Owen is sporting a green-cotton turtle outfit, that I believe his Aunt Martha sent him when he was still in utero. Always thinking ahead!
And here is Owen in one I call his Band Camp outfit, and what some of my family members have pointed out is his Great Grandpa Ernie outfit (Ernie had a reputation for mixing stripes and plaids and spots.) The vest is from Gordy's Aunt Lois and Uncle Harvey, but let it be said that they did not suggest I match it with stripes!
And the outfit gets even busier when you pan down to the feet. Even Owen is horrified!:
And last but not least, getting an afternoon snooze in his plaid parka, which he has now worn once and will hopefully be able to wear again before it is too small. Let it be noted that the zipper was already a little hard to zip up over the thunder thighs and ample belly.
Last Friday while I was hard at work earning money to keep Dorothy in kibble, Sean was taking a much earned day off. When I got home that night, I found that he had been busy. Behold! Christmas lights on our front porch!:
Aren't they pretty? We also got candles for our front windows:
Here's a view from a bit farther back. Note Dorothy's glowing eyes watching me from the doorway. She is trying to keep track of all the members of her pack....
As mentioned before, Owen is not a big believer in sitting when he could instead be carried by one of his slaves parents. He has a bumbo seat, but as of late his thunder thighs have prevented him from fitting comfortably into it. He still can fit in his catapult seat, but he tends to tolerate it for five minutes tops:
Don't let this smiling face fool you--
he is about to demand to be extracted:
Yes, that's right, You! Take. Me. Out!
So one recent Sunday I was dispatched to that particular hellhole known as Babies "R" Us to buy Owen a new contraption in which we could, on occasion, dump him, thus giving our weary arms a rest from his nearly twenty pounds of tightly packed chub. I went to buy what some call an exersaucer, and others, an office.
I found the aisle with said saucers, and browsed amongst the explosions of plastic, trying to choose the lesser of the gaudy evils. Since I couldn't make up my mind, I texted the three choices to Sean. Behind the first door we had the modest frog office:
Behind the second, the aquarium office:
And behind the third, the jungle office:
Ever fond of a sea shanty, Sean texted back his vote for the sea-themed saucer, and I left the store a little later with a large box of blue plastic.
Sean set it up, and Owen now spends a wee bit of time each day in his office at his desk, until he gets angry that he can't reach all the gadgets, and is forced to start yelling at his secretary:
Owen is very busy. Go away.
Of course, another member of my household is also interested in the exersaucer....
I tend to choose the cute pictures of Owen to post, or at least the ones in which he is sporting a spiffy outfit and looking rather pleasant, like so:
But Owen has been a colicky baby, and whereas things have definitely improved in the fussiness department, I thought I'd post a picture of Owen looking, alas, how he often looks to us in the evenings:
That is the face Owen makes when he Doesn't: Doesn't want to lie down, doesn't want to sit up, doesn't want to be held, doesn't want to be put down, doesn't want to eat, doesn't want to stop eating, etc. etc.
We are seeing less of it, to be sure, but we both will be glad when the colic becomes a distant "remember when," and we see more of this Owen instead:
As anyone who lives or has lived with a pug knows, pugs are clowns with a great sense of humor.
My Tulip was very good at "jokes", her favorite being to take a few steps back each time I bent over to put on her leash, remaining just out of reach. She thought that was funny. She also liked to join me in my sweater when I wasn't paying enough attention to her, and pop her little pug noggin out the neck hole. That too was a riot. We also had a gag routine that we'd do, where I'd say "attack!" and point at someone else, and Tulip would run over and attack my sneakers. Ba dum dum.
But then there were also those occasions when the humans would not really be laughing with the pugs, but at them. And one such instance was the L.T., or Lip Tuck. This is what my sister and her husband called what happened when a pug's snaggle-teeth ended up on the outside of the pug lip instead of the inside. The pug with an L.T. walks around with tiny teeth protruding, and doesn't understand why everyone is snickering.
It turns out that this is something that a bulldogge does as well. I present to you Exhibit A:
Now that is a lip tuck! Of course, her father and I began to laugh, and poor Dorothy had no idea what was so funny. We are juvenile that way. But look again!:
Hee hee. It's the bulldogge equivalent of slipping on a banana peel! Snicker.