It's Tummy Time!

Today, Little Husband was cleared by the cardiologist to get started again on Tummy Time. Here's how Tummy Time goes in our house: I place Little Husband on the floor and he lays there with his face mashed into the floor, pathetically crying and gnawing on the carpet as if the wool fibers are the only only meal he's had all day. At no point does he make an attempt to lift his head or do the proverbial "push-up" which, to my understanding, is the whole point of Tummy Time. Then, if that doesn't garner any sympathy, he'll start crying, then screaming like he's being branded with a red-hot cattle prod.

In essence, Little Husband found a way to render Tummy Time completely ineffective.

Out of desperation (why does it seem like everything I seem to do these days is prompted by desperation?) I did some research and found an inventive way to get Little Husband to cooperate during Tummy Time.

Old Tummy Time:



New Tummy Time:



He loved it and spent a whopping ten minutes on that ball, lifting his head, doing push-ups and just generally allowing me to roll him all around. I'm sure he'll catch onto me and renew the protest, but I've got a plan: once the novelty wears off I'll just pour a few drops of Sweetease on the ball and let him lick away!