Compartment 14B
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Eight months of Biscuit! 2009-02-11 - 7:47 p.m. My little man, I�m sorry it�s taken me over a week to write about you turning 8 months old. It�s been pretty busy around here. When you hit that 8-month mark, you were, sadly, just starting into your first big cold/flu. First your sister got it. For two days she practically sizzled to the touch, then, just as it was shifting into a lower gear involving lots of mucus and stuffed-headedness, it hit you. You both threw up a couple of times, but I suspect that you, like her, just felt generally achy and crappy, because for a couple of days you treated every exhale as an opportunity to tell me just how rotten you felt. Each breath became a whimper. While you didn�t sleep too badly at night, during the day you would only doze in my arms, your head cradled on my chest as you slumped forward into me. It didn�t help that we were showing the house on Thursday either, or that your daddy also got very sick. Other than a trip to your Nana�s on Sunday, I didn�t get a chance to leave the house for five days, and then it was only to make a supply run for essentials like juice and lotion-soaked tissues. You�re still not quite back to your normal self, but you�re getting close. No longer are sneezes quite the mucus explosions they were. Today you were cheery for pretty much the entire day. I find it interesting to note the differences that have already cropped up between you and the baby your sister was. She didn�t have much interest in toys; you can be distracted from all but the biggest funks with a shiny new plaything. She was miserable in the Jolly Jumper; you can bounce for over an hour at a time quite happily. You still don�t have teeth; she got her first two at 6 months. She hates getting water in her eyes and didn�t really warm to bath time for a long time; you splash away, heedless of the spray you send out covering your face. She was best soothed by letting her suck on one of our fingers; you hate having anything jammed in your mouth. You continue to reject all food that isn�t water or breast milk; she at least had accepted chicken and sweet potato baby food by now. You aren�t crawling yet, but the enthusiastic rocking you do forward and back on all fours make me think it�s not far off. You can still only scoot backward by pushing off with your hands, but you are starting to figure out a bit how to aim your feet in the direction you want to go and then twirl your body around to face your desired object once you get within striking distance. A birthday card of your sisters met a sad, soggy, gummed fate because of this newfound ability of yours. I am typing this by reaching across your slumbering little body right now, which is sprawled across the breastfeeding pillow like a baby bird getting too big for its nest. Your cheeks are pink and fat, and sometimes your hand twitches and brow furrows. I love having you here, so close to me, though I plan to gently transfer you to bed soon. Sleep tight, my beautiful little boy.
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