Life is chugging right along for you, and you’re SO. BIG. (Literally. You’re at the 90th percentile for weight.) Here’s what’s going on these days:
- You started crawling a couple of weeks ago, and haven’t stopped moving since. In 100% related news, Moose, despite his obesity, has learned to sprint.
- 1 week after crawling, you started pulling yourself up to standing. W. T. F?! You’re turning into an actual sort-of-functioning person. Also, my life is over.
- The days of putting you in front of your giant toy pile while I hide behind the island (doing dishes, drinking wine, cooking, drinking wine) are gone. It used to be, “Out of sight, out of mind”. Now it’s, “Out of sight, I must find her immediately!” And yes. I hide from you.
- You get a huge kick out of drinking water from your sippy cup. Upon introducing it each time, you get pumped. Arms flailing, feet kicking. Similar to the reaction I have to coffee each morning. And wine each evening.
- The war of Pook vs. Sleep is in full-force. You’ve resorted to hair pulling and teeth grinding as tactics to prevent falling asleep. Sleep must win. It MUST. WIN.
- I can sneak a full 50% formula into your bottles now! Pook – 0 : Momma – 1. Haha, just kidding, you’re beating me by like, 537198 points in life.
- You’re usually too busy for reading longer than .23 seconds during the day, but when you’re in the mood, you go straight for “Hoot” and climb into my lap. You’re sometimes a cute and loving child.
- Cheerios are winning big in the preferred foods department around here. I mean, you still dig all kinds of fruits, bread with hummus, and cheese (duh). But Cheerios, man.
- We’ve discovered the deliciousness of pasta recently. Consumption of it looks a lot like rapid shoveling. And it ends like this:
- Baths have become more frequent because of aforementioned pasta-shoveling. In fact, we normally go straight from highchair to bathtub. You stand at the tub watching it fill up as I peel off your tomato saucy clothes and diapie (yes, there’s often sauce in and around the diapie). And then you stand there with your little bare rear, and I have this overwhelming desire to take a picture of you every time. It’s possible that I take a picture of you every time. I can’t wait to show you these pictures and blog posts when you’re about 16.
- Speaking of being 16, I’m starting to plan your 1st birthday party (!!!!?!?!?!?!?!). Which means you’re basically almost 5 and going to school, and basically almost in high school and driving and getting married and having kids of your own. These are the rational thoughts that run through my head on the daily.