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Eight months of Biscuit!

2009-02-11 - 7:47 p.m.

My little man, Iím sorry itís taken me over a week to write about you turning 8 months old. Itís 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 didnít 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 didnít help that we were showing the house on Thursday either, or that your daddy also got very sick. Other than a trip to your Nanaís on Sunday, I didnít 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.

Youíre still not quite back to your normal self, but youíre 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 didnít 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 donít have teeth; she got her first two at 6 months. She hates getting water in her eyes and didnít 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 isnít water or breast milk; she at least had accepted chicken and sweet potato baby food by now.

You arenít crawling yet, but the enthusiastic rocking you do forward and back on all fours make me think itís 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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