Seven months old last week, my little Bobby Bear (actuarially, he’s now trending to 1 instead of 0). Yes, already. Happy, giggly, lovey, squirmy, vocal, bouncy, curious, tickly, strong, blue-eyed, beautiful baby boy. He’s grown so ridiculously fast since my last posts from a 5-month old, toothless infant cooing happily like a rooster in his crib;
to a 6-month old, 17 1/2 pound, 27 inch little boogie boy (he just loves a good dance party and thinks Mommy is pretty darn funny when she does some raving in the kitchen) with 2 bottom teeth and army crawling decisively around in circles on the basement carpet;
to a chatterbox of an energetic 7-month old who prefers standing to sitting (in fact, he just pulled himself up on the couch today by crawling up a pillow) and being held on Mommy’s hip to jumping solo. When he’s happy, which is most of the time, Tickly Bobby will charm you with his flirtatious, coy, dimply little grin. When he’s upset (about, say, being put down for two minutes while Mommy prepares his bowl of homemade purees), the universe will know. From the moment he exited the womb, we’ve never been concerned about Screamy Bobby‘s vocal chords (just ask the lady in Target who accosted me for letting my child scream for a few minutes while I made my way to the checkout line, as she was certain something was wrong and he needed to be comforted, and implied with her caustic remarks about my nonchalance that I was a terrible mother for not doing so). Thankfully, it doesn’t take much but a hug to make the shrieking stop.
At 7 months, Bobby is flourishing. He’s already said his first word “Hi” and possibly a few others (I’m convinced I can hear “Mama” through his wails as he follows me pleadingly across a room; “Jack” when the boys splash in the bathtub together; and a girlfriend mentioned she was sure he said “Dada” and “Doggie” while she babysat him last weekend). He responds to his name and also his brother’s name (if we call “Jack”, Bobby will search the room until he sees his idol). Although not the sleeper his brother was at the same age, he still gives me a solid 10-11 hours at night and wakes up in his crib content to coo (or, in Bobby’s case, moan like a satiated camel) for long stretches of time (usually long enough for a shower) with his little blue bear and doggy before we peek in and brighten our day with his morning smiles. He’s still nursing full time, which I adore and plan to continue as long as he doesn’t bite me, lift my shirt on his own, or shout the word “mine”. He still barfs perpetually, but poops infrequently. He switches between breast and breast milk in a bottle without flinching and my freezer stash remains intact. Bobby also eats everything I give him. I’ve managed to make all of his food, save some baby yogurt and one jar of Gerber meat just to introduce him to it, and he’s now a master at spoon feeding and rice cracker mess-making.
Like most 7-month olds, Bobby puts everything he touches into his mouth. He also diverts his attention from toy-to-toy quite rapidly unless it’s something extraordinarily delicious like the ears of his brother’s favorite brown dog, or his Lamaze moose. He passes his toys from hand to hand and pounds them on the table when he’s sitting up. He’s also more compact and more mobile than his brother was, which frightens me into thinking he might be walking within the next two months. After Jack started walking at 9 1/2 months and was running by 1, Kent and I swore we would discourage our second child’s mobility. But Bobby just does it anyway, darnit! He was rolling at 2 months, scooting forward at 5 months, crawling (essentially…he still prefers his chest on the ground even though he is fully capable of lifting it) and sitting on his own at 6 months, crawling over obstacles (like, Daddy) and pulling himself up to standing at 7 months. It’s amazing to watch his determination and the way he curls his toes to dig into the carpet so ferociously. I’m grateful for the Ergo to get my baby cuddle time, because Bobby is the strongest, squirmiest little thing who does not enjoy sitting still.
What’s amazing to me is how much different Bobby is from his brother. When I look at Jack I often feel like I am gazing in a mirror and I’m smitten with the fruits of my own reflection. When I hold Bobby to my chest and he stares up at me with those piercing blue eyes, I continuously fall in love with a pint-sized copy of my husband. I adore them both equally, yet so differently.