Fred 8 Months

Apparently the speed at which babies pick things up and cultivate their little characters increases as time goes on. And so as I sit her trying to detail the past two months in the life of the wee man, I’m daunted by the sheer detail and space that will be required. Freddy Boy, these past two months have been jam-packed with milestones, events and laughter. It’s too much. You’re too much. TOO MUCH. I want to eat you.

So lets start on a high. The past monthly blogs have all been largely made up of me moaning over your sleep. Or lack thereof. It’s been such a downer and I apologise for that. True, it was the number one topic in both your fathers and mine lives. Rarely did we have a conversation in your first six months without mentioning sleep. However now… (cue: drum roll and smug smile). You sleep. Like a little angel, you get put in your cot, a quick kiss from your dad or I and then you babble yourself of to sleep. Sometimes you wake and yell for us, but you’ve learnt that this doesn’t work, so more often than not you swiftly go to sleep again. THIS has been revolutionary in all of our lives. You are happier for it, and your dad and I find ourselves with hours of down-time in the evening (which we spend talking about how marvelous you are). FRED SLEEP = AMAZINGNESS.

And whilst we are going over old topics, we can obviously not leave out food. You’re getting much better at eating and more often than not you eat a substantial amount. However you are still languishing among the underworld of the growth chart. But not much more can be done about this. You’re strong (especially your vice-like grip as it gouges holes into my cheeks and nose.), happy (making you laugh is too easy. And joyus. I happily spend my days being your court jester) and healthy (you love zucchini and fish!)

So I guess the headline for these past two months is the teeth. Two. Bottom Middle. Just when you think that one thing could not possibly get any cuter (the smile) it does (the smile with teeth). And so I must apologise for constantly having a camera in your mouth.

In a conversation with your father today, he admitted that when he looks at you, he sees you as a little version of himself. He confesses that he doesn’t really see any of me in your charachter…. although you are rather noisy - so maybe you got that from me. But your father’s theory does seem to have many supporting arguments. You’re both small. And you are both sporty… Your top three games to play (besides peekaboo of course) are run-run-runing, throw and catch the ball, and kicking the ball. You also take particular fun in being chucked into a pillow, face first. That is definitely not my character.

The noise.. is a constant. You are particularly fond of yelling. I’m talking, serious, long, hard yelling. Yelling unremittingly when there are 15 people around. Yelling unwaveringly when you are alone. We get it Fred. You got voice. And if its not that you babble, gurgle or squeal away most of the time. It’s very endearing and I find our conversations are strangely satisfying.

In fact, most things about your company is pretty great. This past month has seen you begin to get more and more into the world around you and those days of having to rack my brain over what can be done to stimulate you are something of the past. You lunge at anything and everything that us lying in your midst, making the ‘baby safe zone’ wider and wider by the day. You are indiscriminate in your interest - a musical flashing toy is just as exciting as the button on your pants. If we put you on the floor, through lots of rolling, pushing, twisting and shuffling you are able to cover large distances. And seeing as you are currently pulling yourself up onto all fours (although not quite knowing how to move from that stance) we’ve started the research into child-proofing the place (dear god! Does the spending ever stop?!?).

But there is probably nothing you like more than being put in your chariot and wheeled around London. We’ve had a hoard of Canadians staying with us this past month and as a result you have taken in the best sights, shops, museums, galleries and pubs London has to offer. In your chariot. With Canadians catering to your every whim. Being fed upon demand. It’s a tough life. (As a result of these thoughts I discovered that adults do not fit into prams).

One thing we both love doing is going to the Library. We head down there once or twice a week to our new friends the librarians who fuss over you each time you arrive. I peruse the audiobooks and books for sale section (Thanks for the tip Geordy and Pete) whilst you nag me to hurry up already, so we go to the kids section. You have your milk and I read you a few books. Lovely.

As the months roll on, you continue to delight us. Whilst no doubt you were delightful when you were 6months, 2 months… 8 months is turning out to be ridiculous. I don’t know if our minds can accept any more delightfulness. One day last week you sat up. And not the sort of sitting up that gradually morphs into a face first nose dive, but the sort of sitting that does not require any support beyond that provided by your arms. As we gasped in delight, you stared at us nonchalantly, asking what the fuss was. It is just sitting.