Eight months old brings with it a handful of milestones:
- downward-facing dog. "Wait a minute," Daddy says. "So my son still can't crawl, but now he can do yoga? Great." Still trying to get a picture of it, but over the past few days Cayden picked up a new move, and the best way to describe it is downward-facing dog. Really, he looks just like this when he does it. OK, maybe his form isn't quite what I'd try for in a class, but he plants his feet and sticks his butt up in the air, nonetheless.
- even more grabby-hands and new foods. So Dad starts making dinner (by the way, I realize I forgot to post a Facebook status here, from a few days ago. Check it out, since Daddy deserves all the credit in the world for being a wonderful partner and awesome Papa), and I offer to slice the radishes for our amazing Asian slaw, while I watch Chicken in the living room. So I get through a few and realize I need to carry my little cutting board and my razor-thin radish slices into the kitchen to make more room for more slicing. And I return to the living room to find this.
So chicken had some radishes tonight, and he liked them. A lot.
- grunting and thrusting. I think he's starting to get frustrated with communication. Because over the past few weeks this kid's grunting has increased ten-fold. He grunt-yells, and thrusts both arms forward as hard as he can, obviously trying to get some point across. Usually that point is "I'm still HUNGRY." But occasionally it's "Gimme a DIFFERENT toy," "No, I WANT to kick the bulletin board you worked so hard to create off the wall and onto the changing table,"GIMME the kitty-cat's tail" or "GIMME A BOOB," (which, I guess, is kind of like "I'm still HUNGRY).
- toys in the crib. I don't remember how I realized it, but somewhere over the last week or so it struck me that maybe if Chicken had some toys to entertain himself with in the early morning he would be content to play quietly for a little while before waking us (read: me) for his morning nosh. And I'll be darned if a teddy bear or Taggies elephant (thanks, Erica) in each corner of the crib doesn't give him enough options to keep him quiet for an extra 15 minutes in the morning. Which is the equivalent of hours in pre-baby, repeated-snooze-hitting, mid-morning sleeping days.
- spinning. As in spinning in circles, on his belly, on the floor. Remember the sit-n-spins we used to have as kids? Yeah, he doesn't need to sit, and he doesn't need a steering wheel to power himself. He's content to just keep spinning around, stopping every now and then to dryhump or throw a leg in the air.
- 18-month clothes. Yeah, we had to retire the 12-month stuff and make another trip to Once-Upon-A-Child (and Costco, and the Carters outlet, and the Gymboree outlet, and the Children's Place store, and the Children's place outlet and Babies'R'Us; but all that running around is a different story -- just stay tuned for the Easter photos next week -- they'll be so totally worth the extra 50 miles I put on the car) for a Spring/Summer wardrobe. And swim suits. Little boy swim suits are the BOMB.
Sigh, if only the next four months could drag on like the first four months did. But seeing as how the last four months whipped right by us with all their smiles, giggles, wonder and real, actual personality -- I'm afraid I'll be looking back longingly at my baby boy's first year before too much longer.
Here's to enjoying the moment we're in and savoring it as. long. as. humanly. possible.
(Sorry if the stream-of-consiousness is hard to follow. It's been a long weekend -- for no particular reason, I realize -- and this Mama is enjoying her last glass of wine before bed. Bed at 9:30 p.m., that is.)
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