Pulling all the DVDs off the shelf. Pulling anything off any shelf. Playing with puppies, playing with babies, playing with anyone who loves puppies and babies. Playing with toy cars, toy tractors, toys that aren’t actually toys. Pressing the little red button on the car-seat latch. Stroller rides. Being read to. Music. The dishwasher. Puffers. Velcro. Buttons. Clips. Cups. Bugs. Dirt. Water.
Being ignored, waking up startled, the vacuum.
9 Months With Waylon
9 months in, 9 months out. Which do you prefer? I suppose it was pretty warm in the womb, but out here you get to eat pureed peas and carrots! Lucky you. Oh Waylon, you are quickly approaching Toddlerdom and crawling further and further away from Babyhood. Lately you’ve been throwing hysterical tantrums over the smallest of infractions. Yesterday I put you down so I could use the bathroom and you would have thought I set your favorite bear on fire only to watch it burn. I JUST HAD TO PEE.
It’s not all bad news though. Your attention span reading books amazes me and you love music so much I’m tempted to buy you a tiny bongo. You love dancing and being social (your mother’s child) and observing and listening too (your father’s child). Speaking of your dad, you think he’s the funniest guy in the world. Obviously you’ve never seen Seinfeld.
This weekend we took you to a surprise 30th birthday party for one of our friends. I selfishly worried you would ruin it, that we would have to leave soon after we arrived and that everyone would be annoyed at the baby who wouldn’t stop crying. Instead you were an angel. You ate guacamole, flirted with the ladies, and were content to sit in your stroller on the dance floor while we busted moves around you. We even stayed late to help clean up because you fell asleep. Who are you?
Happy 9 Months, Tiger. Keep on keeping on.