I apparently neglected to write an entry when Nat turned 8 months old. Oops. I've recorded it in my journal, though, so all is not lost.
Nat turns 9 months old today. 39 weeks. In 5 days I'll be able to say that he has been out longer than he was in. I'm having a party to celebrate that.
So much has changed/progressed since last I wrote. Nat is completely mobile. Not walking yet, but crawling all over the place. Following me whenever I walk out of sight and crawling to me like a spider on steroids, tugging on my pant leg (because, really, who wants to see me in shorts in 90 degree weather?) because he wants me to pick him up. I can no longer pee and poop in private. He must be there with me, every step of the way - watching and encouraging, being fascinated by the sounds from within the toilet.
He's pulling himself up on things, getting braver and braver by the day - letting go with one hand before the inevitable thump on the floor. He'll "cruise" along the furniture. He flings himself forward onto his belly - launches himself, really. He's creepy-flexible...maybe I have a gymnast on my hands? He's long and lean except for his Michelin Man arms.
He's still trying hard to talk. Nothing I can comprehend yet - oftentimes he'll look at me and say, "ha ha." He's either laughing at me or he enjoys the sound it makes when he breathes out and vocalizies at the same time.
He likes when I put on loud music and we dance around the room. He's partial to oldies and showtunes.
4 teeth are in - two on top and two on the bottom, and one of his canine teeth is ramming its way through with lightning fast speed. Teething is a real bitch! Massive amounts of Aleve and/or Motrin don't seem to do the trick. Nat, on the other hand, does just fine with a nice Tyleon/Orajel cocktail. He becomes very excited when he sees the Tylenol dropper coming his way. I've created a junkie.
I definitely see some of the boy stereotypes in his every day behavior. If his diaper is off he needs to have his hands on his peesh. Always. He loves the remote. He whines if he doesn't get his way. Everything has to get kicked and thrown around - first by his feet, then by his hands. He likes to play rough. He loves when I bop him with a pillow - playfully, of course.
Sleeping is still an issue. He'll have his nights where he's up a few times because he wants to play, leaving him in the greatest of moods the following day. We're getting there, though. Slowly. I have a renewed respect for coffee now.
My baby isn't a baby anymore. He's quickly becoming a little boy and I can see far into the future already - craving independence, first day of school, driving, college, girlfriends and marriage...the latter giving me the biggest head and heartache of all. I can remember the exhasting first few weeks and people with knowing smiles would tell me to cherish his babyhood because it would go by fast. I remember thinking, in my sleep deprived, post-surgical state, that these people were idiots...time doesn't go by quickly, he would be a baby for a long time, and I would never know a decent night of sleep ever again. They were right, though. I can still remember when he was a brand new baby like it was yesterday. I wish I hadn't spent so much time worrying that I was doing things wrong, or fretting because I was so tired. I suppose it's a lesson all new parents learn, though. For now, I'll continue to cuddle during feeding times and relish the quiet moments when he lays his head on my shoulder and nods off to sleep, because they won't be around forever.