Month 8

Dear Amos,

Today, you are 8-months-old. Good grief, child! Where has the time gone? I'm not sure I ever imagined you at 8 months. I was just trying to get through the early months of breastfeeding, getting you plumped up, reshaping your head, and finding a few winks of sleep in between. Quite suddenly, I have a baby who is eating solid foods and crab-crawling around the room. You are fashioning your own Al Qaeda-style baby training camp right here in the living room and dining room.

Your biggest achievement BY FAR this past month has been your newfound mobility. Although you are not technically crawling in the sense of the traditional hand-knee-hand-knee crawling maneuver, you are definitely on the move. Your preferred bastardized methods of transportation are scooting on your butt, twisting around in a circle while on your belly, or sliding backwards on your belly while on the hardwood floor. One moment I will see you in spot A. Two moments or centons later, you are suddenly in a different position in spot B, and well on your way to area C. Soon, I expect to see you with black lines painted under your eyes, scooting under barbed wire in camouflage footed jammies. I guess I should go find some old tires for you to run through.

Of course, this has your father and I in a panic. You have nicely pointed out all of our failures in babyproofing this house. It's not a toy you want. Oh, no. You'd rather pull on a lamp cord, chew on the Internet cable, smash my cellphone, pull the zippers on the diaper bag, and roll your highchair by pulling on the legs. It's sort of like having gremlins in the house.

A few weekends ago, you had a playdate with your lady friend, Coralyn. She is about three weeks older than you. Cora crawls like a champ, and it wasn't too long after observing her that you decided to scoot around yourself. Cora was incredibly charmed by you and was kind enough to let you play with her toys. She decided that in return, she should be able to pluck your binky out of your mouth. Ah, but you weren't having it, my boy. You promptly balled up your little face and started wailing. Perhaps you like your ladies to be a little less aggressive.

You love your Daddy very, very much. It is very obvious that you have grown attached to that bearded freak. I guess I had all of those months spent bonding with you in my belly, so your dada can have this time now. Just don't go making favorites, ya hear?

Food-wise, you have accomplished a great deal. Your gastronomic explorations include the consumption of pureed peas, sweet potatoes, carrots, pumpkin, butternut squash, and avocado. You made it quite clear that pureed broccoli will not be tolerated. I suppose broccoli is an acquired taste, but I am confident that a young man such as yourself will understand the complexities of broccoli flavor one of these days. Your favorite food, by far, is pureed organic prunes. Your mouth loves prunes. Your rear exit, however, has a different side to the story. We've learned by explosive trial and error just how much prune intake your rear exit can handle.

Sound is coming out of you nonstop. We haven't decided whether or not you've said your first word. You seem to know the right letters to string together and say them to the appropriate person, but I'm just not sure yet. If you have said your first word, I'm proud to say that it was "mama." You start by saying, "mmmm," and then progress to "mamama." Yay for me! Not to be outdone, you followed that soon after with, "dadadadadada" and "babababababa." Your daddy is quite proud (but "mama"was first). You are learning about sound volume. Sometimes you give a huge grin and whisper, "dadadadadada."

You've made it abundantly clear that you enjoy your toys. You also receive immense pleasure from destroying any attempts we make to stack your blocks. We have a hilarious game of Mama stacking blocks and then Amos knocks them down. Oh, boy, how you love to undermine my architecture. At times this secret whispering is uttered while you play with your toys. I believe the blocks can understand you.

You have become the dancing king. I have never seen a baby this young want to dance as much as you. You bob your head back and forth. You shake your hips. You stop, waiting for one of us to respond in kind. Then we both thrash our heads around and giggle. Little man, you even wake up bobbing your head to some imaginary music. I'll look over at you, you look at me, then you grin and start groovin'. Oh, man. You melt me.

The biggest sigh of relief that Mommy and Daddy had this month was during your appointment to see Hanger Orthotics. We looked at your head and had it measured again. Sweet, sweet relief! In five weeks, your head had improved SO much! The orthotist no longer recommends that you should wear a helmet. We are continuing to use aggressive repositioning at night for your noggin, but you will not need to look like a football player. Yay for you! I'll post the results and pics in another blog.

In your continuing quest to conquer all females with your cuteness, your father was shocked when a women followed him around the grocery store and finally had the courage to come over and say, "I just have to tell you that he is the CUTEST baby I've ever seen!" And then she disappeared. You have a strange effect on people, Amos.

You've certainly charmed your Mama. I can't wait to see what else you have in store for us. This next month will be full of trips to the mountains and visits to your grandparents. You'll have a great time. We'll see if Mama survives...


Love,

Mamamamamama