How big is the baby

So big. So, sooooo big.

(This one is pretty much 99.9999% Baby Photos Without A Point, so you may want to move along if that's not your thing.)

(Oh, I know it's your thing. I know.)

He spends most of his time like this, upright, standing. He steps from ledge to ledge, furniture edge to furniture edge, lapping the entire room like so. Chair, couch, obsolete piece of baby equipment, ottoman,
table, TV stand juuuuust out of reach...floor...uh-oh.

He is an explorer who has no patience for toys or books or TV. He wants to know what's in that corner, under that table, inside that drawer. He wants power cables, wall outlets, precarious heavy things thoughtlessly left on surfaces that he is suddenly-just-today tall enough to reach. He is the polar opposite of his sensible, cautious older brother, and we haven't the faintest idea what to do with him.

 

It's a nightmare. He's a dream.

He knows the sign for "milk" -- I KNOW HE KNOWS IT -- but he'll only use it as a last, wailing resort. He prefers, when he wants your attention or whatever food that is you are eating giveitgiveit, to scream an ungodly, unearthly scream at the top of his lungs. He's not upset, he's not crying, he just...screams.

And he thinks it's funny.

Yes, he is still a good eater. Yes, he still eats everything, and my God, I mean everything. He can drink out of a sippy cup and is trying to clumsily master a spoon.

He is rapidly losing interest in nursing.

I'm gradually becoming okay with that.

Mostly because he bites.

And he thinks it's funny.

He's so big and still so small. He's a wild thrashing crocodile and a snuggly baby monkey. His feet look like uncooked biscuit dough but taste like the playground. He is soaking up knowledge by the minute but has gotten himself stuck under the dining room chairs again. He is the most challenging, frustrating, beautiful, breathtaking little being and I can't even fathom how boring life must have been before he showed up.