One year ago, my mommy was entering the home stretch of her second pregnancy... and it was starting to show. Several people, when looking at her tummy, said, "My, you're big!" and Mommy winced to think what they might say in another three months, when it was actually time for me to come out! And if she was so big, how big was I gonna be, since I was the one making that tummy protrude?
But at nine months old, I'm really not such a big fella after all: 18 lbs and 3 oz. is barely enough to qualify me for the 25th percentile on the weight charts. And at 28 and 1/4", or about the 75th percentile, it's hard to say whether I'll end up being really tall, dark and handsome or just plain tall, dark and handsome. Either way, the doc says I'm good and healthy, growing at a nice rate and looking good in all of the spots that docs have to look at. Not to mention that...
I'm standing! After conquering crawling, I couldn't just rest on my laurels--no! Onward and upward! With emphasis on the up! Shortly after I turned eight months I started pulling up on the furniture, on beds, on tallish toys, or whatever else is handy. I've discovered that standing is good for lots of things. It allows me to look out windows...
...play with dishwashers...
Also big news: I got teeth! Just two so far: bottom and center. Two brand new, shiny, pearly, sharp little biters that I use to gnaw on fingers and anything else that comes near my mouth. And that's really all there is to say about teeth.
What else is going on? Well, Dad and Mom have decided that I am either deep in the throes of separation anxiety or I am a major momma's boy. It's hard to tell which one it is yet. Suffice it to say that I am at my best when with my mommy. If she's out of sight (and reach, and smell), I am likely to be looking for her. And if she doesn't appear soon... well, then you are likely to hear about it. Daddy is slowly becoming an acceptable substitute--but we're not at 100% yet. It's still mostly about Mom.
Oh, and I still have the most ludicrously pathetic cry you've ever heard proceeding from nine-month old lips. When people hear it, they usually make a face that seems to indicate pity... and then they crack up laughing. I don't know why everyone finds my anguish amusing. There's nothing funny about being in the depths of despair.
Fortunately, I'm not in those depths too often. Most of the time, really, I'm a pretty cheerful guy. And if I have a gut-wrenching cry, I've got a great laugh to make up for it. I love giggling with and at my sister, climbing on my family members, being tickled, playing "woosh" or "horsey-ride" with Daddy, banging on our baby music table, and eating any kind of paper I can get my hands on. So just keep on letting me do these things, folks, and then it will all be good!
Speaking of all good, here are some pictures of my ninth month... crawling in the grass,
...smiling at Dabb's playground,
...swingin' at some other playground,
... and sportin' my hat. (Daddy had to hold my arms down for this picture because I kept tearing the thing off.)
This last one is super embarrassing, but Mommy says I have to put it in because it's "cute".
Just please don't ask me why I'm clutching my diaper, OK? Everyone has their unguarded moments.
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