Housekeeping at Seven Months

As of today, Milo, your father and I have managed to keep you alive for seven months, which is longer than either one of us ever kept a plant alive. We're pretty pleased with ourselves. We're also pretty pleased with you. Your major shortcomings thus far include: the aforementioned inability to sleep anywhere but your crib, the constant stream of spitup that means Mommy doesn't get to wear nice clothing anymore, the fact that you still don't connect sitting in your chair with eating, and therefore scream and try to push your way out of it when all we're trying to do is feed you. Other than that, as babies go you're okay.

You continue to smile all the time. When we arrived home from California a few days ago, you rubbed your eyes and your jaw hung open and you stared at your room like, holy crap, how did you guys find this place again? I had no idea it still existed! And then you beamed at your crib, and at your chair, and swivled your head several times to make sure we were really home. Then you promptly went to sleep for fourteen hours.

In the past week or so you've become a squirmy pile of baby. You're getting really good at standing, and if you hold yourself up against the living room chair you can stand for a few minutes on your own. Unforunately you still don't understand that you can't just suddenly throw yourself backwards and expect to still be upright, which means we have to catch you as you tip over like the leaning tower of Pisa. You also manage to inch your way around the floor, although you don't use your arms for this - I'm still not entirely sure how you do it, but the other day I put you on the floor in your room and left, and when I came back a minute later you were on the other side of the rug. I can tell it's only a matter of time before you are a crawling, walking, running terror.

You are already into everything. You want to touch and eat anything always all the time. Your favorite toy is the plastic package that holds your blocks. If we let you, you would play with it for hours and probably manage to suffocate yourself, because mostly you like to crinkle it and lick it. Your second favorite toy is zweiback, which you don't eat so much as mash up into little soggy balls that stick to your face and clothing. Daddy says he finds the zweiback to be the most disgusting of the assorted baby byproducts.

You know your name, and you also know how to ignore us when you don't feel like responding because you are too busy seeing what that crazy cat is going to do next and for god's sake would we stop bothering you already? You are also terrifically ticklish, and when all else fails Daddy and I like to tickle you behind your neck and on the soles of your feet, which always makes your face scrunch up like being tickled is so funny you might explode.

You have yet to meet a food you didn't want to eat, which you can take as proof that you are not adopted.

We are now closer to your one year birthday than to your birth, which is hard for me to believe. Every day you are less of a baby and more of a little boy, and it's wonderful to see, but sometimes I wonder if I'll miss the way you've been the last two months, all smiles and snuggles and joy. I guess it depends on what you turn into.