My Wombaticus Chucklingae (his scientific name) is nine months old today. What a love.
He's such a curious little person. He says "hello" to a new person by gently patting them on their face with just one hand. If he knows you and loves you, he pats you very vigorously with both hands. And by "pats," I mostly mean "beats." Very Animal. He really enjoys watching everything that's going on around him- such an observant little bug. Or big bug, rather. The clothes he was wearing in the photo above are size 24 months. Oy!
Mostly he can still wear 18 months, though, except in footed sleeper pajamas because he got his daddy's ridiculously long legs and is proportioned like a 4 year old instead of like a regular ol' stumpy legged baby. Seriously he has to sort of bend over to hold on to coffee tables and such. My poor Lurchy Lurcherson.
Speed crawling, pulling up to standing, trying to eat trash off the floor, splashing in the dogs' water bowl, finally realizing that the bath is fun and not horribly frightening, opening up the kitchen cabinets, trying to clap by banging his forearms together....and *sniff sniff* sleeping like a *sobbing* big boy in a *waaaaaah* plaaaaaaaaaaypen for his naps! I thought it would be wonderful (and in a way it is because he isn't crawling off my bed and trying to give himself 17 concussions per day) but it's kind of heartbreaking because how is this my tiny baby doing all these grown-uppish things?
I'm probably going to go in there and find him reading a copy of A Tale of Two Cities or something. Harumph.
Sweet John Charles, you are so lovable and so loved. When you wake up in about an hour to have a snack, I'm going to smoonsch your cheeks with my face.