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Eight Months Old

Ike’s 8 months old.  He’s getting closer and closer to that year mark when I am supposed to start referring to him as a toddler.  Or rather, no longer an infant.  I think I can still call him my baby for at least another 30 years.  Only one month more and he will have been out as long as he was in!

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At eight months Ike’s stats:

Weight: 19lbs 3oz
Height: 29 inches!
Hair Length: Approaching everybody-assumers-he-is-a-girl-even-though-he-is-in-head-to-toe-blue length with an adorable rat tail thing growing in the back all on it’s own.
Clothing Size: 6-12mos, or 9mos

Things Ike can do:

  1. Sit.  Unassisted. Faceplant and recover to a sitting position.
  2. Cruise. Mostly just around the playpen.  Laps – he works out.
  3. Roll.  Front to back, back to front, side to side, into a ball at the foot of the crib.
  4. Stand.  Assisted (much to his displeasure).  At an activity table, in the playpen, on the back of the couch, at the ottoman, the fridge, crib, etc etc pretty much anywhere.
  5. Hold His Own Bottle.   Handy, but sad at the same time.
  6. Kiss.  When shown the sign for kisses (if he’s in a kissy sort of mood) Ike will give kisses to me, daddy, sissy, teddy bears, and the baby in the mirror.
  7. Wave.  Hi, hello, bye, goodbye, all warrant crazy flapping of whichever arm is free.
  8. Talk.  Ike says “Mamamamama“, “nanananana” (we think this means no), “dadadada daddeeee“, and “xbox. watch tv” (yeah that’s a problem).

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Things Ike can probably do, but refuses to.  (Mommy angry, red face here)

  1. CRAWL! He can however somehow furious-flailing-inch-worm-scoot if given the right motivation (TV remotes work pretty well, so do iPhones).
  2. CHEW! Dude wants table food so bad, but will put entire brocolli floret into mouth and proceed to cough it right back up because “whut? I cannot just swallow like oatmeal? Wait HALP IT’S STUCK HALP HALP! Oh nevermind here it is”  He does however chew pureed chicken, whatever.
  3. Use a sippy cup.  He often inadvertantely gets juice/water from the cup, and then spits it down his shirt.  He will however drink from a regular cup if you let him.  “Can I have a sip of dat coffee mom? Oh you’re busy reading the paper, it’s ok I”ll do it myself

He’s kind of strayed from the “I must eat all da fuds” thing lately and is now much more “Gimma dat spoon so I can throw it on the floor or beat myself in the forehead with it” now.  If he would learn to chew, then we would be more inclined to give him table food, but ref #2 above.  Meh, he’s still all about the milk, so I’m not overly concerned.

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