One of the reasons I chose "frogs" in my formula is that when Junior jumps in his doorway jumper he looks like a graceful frog. After close to six months of jumping he’s become quite proficient in his various jumper moves. He points his toes and kicks out one foot, then the other. He tucks his legs up under him and swings back and forth. He also springs up and down like a mini cannonball.
Unfortunately, the saddest thing about having a baby is that they keep on growing. Junior’s been eating like a pig lately, which means he’s getting close to the weight limit on the one thing that has brought him (and me) hours upon hour of enjoyment (i.e., peace and quiet).
My other regret is that he’s been jumping all this time in the bathroom doorway. (It was the only doorframe that had molding short enough to hold the jumper’s clamps, I swear.) He’s had a bird’s eye view of the vanity and shower stall; fortunately the toilet is behind a wall. I could make an obvious assumption: that all the months of bathroom jumping might lead to a profession involving plumping. Hello, Roto Rooter. But I could just as easily come to a different conclusion because of his acrobatic ease. Perhaps he’ll be a famous ballet-man ala Vaslav Nijinsky? (I had to Google that—I have no idea who tops the list of famous male dancers.)
We don’t quite know who Junior is yet. It’s a fascinating unfolding, one that yields new discoveries every day. For example, I discovered that a lot of people who visit don’t mind waiting to use the bathroom until Junior’s finished his last Holubetz (I Googled that, too). He’s that damn graceful.
Or, more probably, they were too polite to say otherwise.