Happy 8 months, Small Son

Elliot is 8 months old today.

Eight months since he decided to ruin any Valentines day plans Ross and I may have had for the foreseeable! Where has the time gone? Eight months ago I was dazed, a bit shellshocked, cradling a small creature who looked not disimilar to a tortoise, heaving into a bowl every time I breastfed from the nausea-inducing afterpains (they don’t tell you that the afterpains are SO. MUCH. WORSE with the second bambino), and sitting down on a soft chair, always very carefully, always with a cushion.

Eight months ago, Baby Son looked like this


And now he looks like this

Awwww!  Cheeky little face.  He stands, he cruises, he crawls.  He likes eating (especially pancakes, and almost anything he can feed himself) and he’s still breastfed at least five times a day.  I’d put money on him walking by Christmas, but no one would bet against me.

No teeth yet, which, considering how much he still wants to nurse, is probably a blessing in disguise.

He finds his sister hilarious, but if you make aeroplane noises at him, his little face crumples and his eyes go all teary.

Actually, Ruby was the same… does anyone else have babies who don’t like aeroplane noises, or are my kids just weird?

Happy eight months, little boy. Stay your cheeky self…

…But stay the hell out of the crockery cupboard.

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