My baby is now seven months old, and has just crossed several important milestones specific to that age:
1) She began to crawl.
2) She is starting to sit up.
3) Her first tooth is finally cutting through.
Don’t crawl away from me, child!
She’s putting everything she can find into her mouth (read, baby-proofing is back on),
She loves objects that can be used to make noise,
She rolls everywhere,
And chews on everything.
Evelyn is baby number three, so between her easygoing nature and my general level of experience, this transition into crawling doesn’t faze me anymore, logistically-speaking, but it’s still a little bittersweet. This is why:
Hey son, what’s with the fratboy look? It’s not beer, it’s an eggplant! Or “egg-or-plant,” as he calls it.
“Mommy, is this my egg-or-plant?” Hilarious.
It wasn’t that long ago that he was Evelyn’s age. But it’s been a while.
Same with Josephine:
Is this the little girl I carried?
I sure am taking the time to savor this stage – I know from experience that it’s as fleeting as the strawberry season or the first green. Literally!
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What beautiful children! It goes by far far too quickly. The name egg or plant is perfect! Children seem to know what things are called. We simply did not know until they told us. My two year old says muddles (puddles) and jumperoos (kangaroos). Then I can’t help thinking, why were they ever named anything else.
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