You are somehow eight months old. You have lived outside the U.S. longer than you lived there. Wild. When we first moved here, we met an eight month old. She seemed so impossibly big and capable and it all seemed so far away, but I knew it would be fast. And here we are.
You are quite the little roly poly. Not just because of your adorable squish, of which there is plenty. (Your dad said your thigh crease looked like a second butt the other day. A very cute butt, of course. And I mean booty, don’t say butt.) No, you are a roll-a-mus because you are literally on a roll. After showing very little interest in rolling at all, you can now flop from front to back AND back to front effortlessly. We can put you down at one end of the carpet and you end up all the way at the other end. You are going to be crawling any day now, I’m sure. Although we said the same thing about your teeth . . .
Even though you have been teething for at least four months, you refuse to sprout any teeth. I can only imagine this is some sort of Benjamin Buttons situation where you are not growing teeth because you lost them already. (If it was not abundantly clear from the previous sentence, I have not actually seen the movie.) Every day we keep checking, but no dice.
Your lack of teeth has not deterred your love of solid food though. Man, you love to eat. There is no combination of baby food too disgusting for you to ingest with relish. You will eat pork, mixed veggies, and prunes together and then probably wonder about a second course. You are a little more skeptical on some of your less pureed foods. The chopped fish and green bean situation was not your jam. We give you little bits of things to try to pick up, a challenge you seem to enjoy. You will happily gum a hunk of apple all through breakfast. You have tried rabbit baby food, but I think we will skip the recently-spotted horse.
You had a fun Christmas with your brother. Wrapping paper was a big hit. Speaking of your brother, even since I last covered him, he has taken his play up a level. He can now do imaginative play, particularly with his new Christmas cars and trucks. The cars go on adventures and eat pancakes. It feels like a little mini game of improv. The cars jump off the building? Yes AND they land at the octopus park! I love this so much. I really do. But I find it to be draining. I’m not sure why. I can read the same book 12 times in a row without complaint, but for some reason “being the firetruck” takes a lot out of me. Needless to say, I’m really excited to see you and Henry play this way when you are older. I have very fond memories of playing Barbies, or My Little Ponies, or both with my sister for hours. Her memories may be less fond because I know I was teeniest bit cough cough bossy. I hope you and Henry have excellent memories together. And if you can “be the firetruck” for a bit, that is all the better for me. (I am always fire truck. I don’t mind. I’m just curious what made the kid look at me and think, yup, you are definitely firetruck material.)
For being a baby, I am always impressed how hard you can troll your brother. You guys seems to have a strange symbiotic relationship where you can’t stand to be apart but often can’t stand to be together. It usually starts when Henry insists on playing right beside you. You grab all the toys he doesn’t want you to grab. He melts down. You melt down. Repeat.
You also seem to have fun together. I think you could watch Henry for hours. I get pretty indignant when he causes you harm. (I do try and avoid this, prevent it, and police it.) You look at him with such admiration and trust and when he hurts you it feels like a punch to the gut. Every time. You never see it coming and your eyes go from trust to naked disbelief that this would happen. And then you flip over on the bed and put your feet all over your brother. I think you’ll be fending for yourself before I know it.
I keep sleep stalking you. At the risk of waking you, I even take pictures. Or ask your dad to do it. You still aren’t quite making it through the night, but your wakeups are getting closer to five or six AM. I keep telling myself that we’re getting there . . .
Speaking of sleep, you seem to be dropping your morning nap. I’m OK with this. It frees us up for more morning adventures and you can cat nap if you need it. I am not OK with the state some days which seems to be a crankypants baby who refuses to sleep. Your choices are be asleep or be awake and pleasant. Thank you in advance.
I really can’t complain because you continue to be the happiest, most cheerful little dude. I think you are getting a little slower to smile at strangers; you like to analyze the situation first. You don’t mind not being around me, but you often get upset when I leave the room. This always surprises me because many times you are doing your own thing, and I didn’t think I was even on your radar.
Being on a cute baby’s radar. There are worse places to be. 🙂
P.S. Whoops, didn’t write about 7 months (I swear we took pics!), but more on Mac at 4 months, 5 months, and 6 months.
10 thoughts on “Crazy Eights”
Do you have stats for 8 months?
No. Doctor next month.