It takes nine months to go from zygote to newborn. And things don't really slow down from there, no matter how much I would like them to, sometimes.
Actually, forget nine months, my head is still spinning over all the changes that have happened just in the past nine days.
After learning to pull to a stand in his crib (which he now does constantly, even in his sleep, so I occasionally have to go in and reposition a confused-as-hell, half-awake baby who doesn't understand why he's standing up or what he's supposed to do about it), yesterday marked learning to pull to a stand everywhere, anywhere, on everything, anything.
He is so proud of himself that I can almost ignore the bruises.
(Approximately 30 seconds later we were both VERY grateful for the strategically placed dog bed, however.)
He waves hi and signs "more" and is consistently mimicking a handful of words -- dada, kick, yum. Those chubby cheeks are the result of an appetite EXPLOSION, as he's suddenly eating everything under the sun with great enthusiasm, and in even greater quantities. He will always, always have some of what you're having, so please hand it over. (Especially if it's Indian food. That's my boy, and so very much the product of my non-stop pregnancy craving of saag paneer.)
He loves riding in the Ergo, bouncing in his jumper and listening to strangers freak out over the size of his giant saucer eyes. He hates diaper changes and injuring himself, even though both of those things seem to occur at least a dozen times a day.
This morning he found the Lego basket. Poor Hagrid's hut never saw it coming.
(Although thanks to this photo I now see the curtain-blinds-string-pull situation that I need to rectify, because THIS MOBILITY THING REALLY CAUGHT ME BY SURPRISE FOR SOME REASON.)
I'll tell you what, though: It never gets old, it never gets less amazing, the novelty of the rapid-fire milestones of the first year never wears off.
...in just nine months. Ike, you're absolutely amazing.