Thursday, December 10, 2009

Nine Months


You're in the home stretch, buddy! Three more months til you're a year. Who are we kidding - it's three months til Mommy gets to eat FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD again (as if you'll give up nursing the second you turn one. HAHAHAHAHA!).

I know, I know, I swore with you I wouldn't look too far ahead. So let's just concentrate on you. Now.

You only gained half a pound this past month, and you even dropped in your height percentile. Your doctor wants you to really ramp up on solids. But it's hard, since we are so limited. No pasta. No baby yogurt. No bread. No avocado.

Last night I gave you chicken and black beans and you kept opening your mouth for more like a little baby bird. You developed a small red patch on one of your cheeks, but otherwise, didn't seem bothered.

It'd be awesome if you would consider sitting in your highchair for more than three minutes. As much as I enjoy wearing the food you like to smear on me when I hold you for meals, it'd be much easier for you to practice eating finger foods if you were plucking them off your tray instead of my palm.

Our little morning routine involves you sitting on my lap while both of us crunch on Rice Chex. You also love potato chips and if you see the bag you will chase whomever has it, your little hands slapping on the floor as you hurry over. Who can blame you for wanting all that salty, greasy deliciousness? Hey, I've got to get fat on him, right? Don't judge me, internets!

You are no longer Mr. Smiles. Well, for your family, you are. But now you prefer to quietly observe. You are very interested in everything that goes on around you, but you are acting your age: don't even THINK about handing me to someone else, Mommy, or I will SCREAM!

There is nothing you won't attempt to pull up on, and you cruise around the furniture with ease. There's also nothing you won't try to put in your mouth, and you protest loudly when we have to remove crayon tips, paper, and these little burrs that come in on the dogs' fur.

A couple weeks ago we visited our friend Ciaran and her family. She has a 22 month-old who wasn't so sure about having to share toys with you. At one point he took this whiffle ball you were playing with and went to stand by his dad.

You crawled right over, grabbed the boy's shirt to pull yourself up, and grabbed the ball. A tug of war ensued, until he was talked into giving the ball to you.

He did, and you got the hugest smile of victory on your face - and then dropped the ball and moved on.

I was impressed by your, well, ballsiness, in going after what you wanted. No passive baby, you, unlike your older siblings. Guess that's another mark of a third.

Can't wait to see what you'll do next.

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