Lemon

Time flies when you're having fun.

Or in this case, when mum and dad are constantly that little bit sleep deprived.

Yes, Master M has clocked up the (Chinese lucky) 8 months and he's officially firing on all cylinders. Vital stats include:

Weight: 8.405kg (bit below 50th percentile)
Length: 71.5cm (just above 50th percentile)
Head circumference: 45.5cm (just above 50th percentile)
and err....
Testes: Descended.

He's also managed to pop out his 6th tooth (and 4th on the top) without us really noticing. (Well, if you don't count that one night when we missed 2.5 hours sleep from 2am onwards...) Which just means that... he's getting better and better at eating.

And boy, does he luurve eating. Don't worry, he isn't turning into Fat Albert (or at least, not yet), more a Gordon Ramsey; he has a definite array of foodie likes and dislikes, but will also have a chomp on anything not nailed down or able to fight back. His taste though, must be questioned.

Case in point. Mum and Dad, after a weekend of running about and generally being overly active and sociable, (hey, it is almost Xmas - but we'll get to that later), were knacker-bagged come Sunday night. Hence they threw in the culinary towel and bought fish and chips.

MMMMMMmmmmm..... f.i.s.h....a.n.d....c.h.i.p.s.....

They offered Mike a little grilled fish.
Look, smell, slight screw up of face....Chomp chomp chomp.
They offered Mike a chip.
Look, smell, slightly less quizzical look... Chomp, chomp, chomp.
They watched as Mike saw the lemon.
He lunged, grabbed, smiled, and chowed on down on the flesh and peel like some crazed lemon-loving version of the cookie monster.
Pulling it off him only had him screaming...
"GIMME GIMME GIMME!!!!" (or the 8 month old equivalent).

Go figure. (At least we know chippy night will stay cheap.)

Slightly more worrying was the trip to the beach to watch the big windsurf race of the season. Mike was less interested in watching the action than eating the sand. Dad just pondered if next day the boy'd be pooping glass... (he didnt).

On the developmental side the boy's had two steps forward. The biggest, clearly, is that he now, officially, knows his own name. Yes, 8 months in and the boy spins his head around when he hears "Michael" (or even "Mike") and sometimes even comes a running. (Or at least a bellyflop sliding.) Mum tested it numerous times by saying, in the same tone of voice "giraffe" or "bessa brick" or "speleotherm" and yes, indeed, he just didn't respond the same.

Housten, we have contact.

The other development is clapping, and to a lesser extent, waving. Much as he had already learned that those long fleshy things attached to his body could drag his body across the floor, cling to things when standing and grasp food (and in actual fact, theres been an advance there too; he's learned that if you open your fist when eating... THERES OFTEN MORE FOOD IN THERE!! ...amazing), he's suddenly decided that these things can also be used for fun. Like clapping along to the crocodile song, and, if the recipient is really really lucky.... waving and/or high-fiving on cue.

Given all the chrissy do's he'll be attending soon we expect him to be putting the fleshy things attached to his body to good use doing all of the above. Which brings us to the topic of an 8-month olds Xmas.

If one more person comes up and says "ohhh.... Mikes first Xmas... he'll be so excited/how wonderful/you must be so happy"...
!!POW!!! Right in the kisser.

He is 8 months old. He doesn't know his bottom from a hole in the ground and yet people think he'll understand what Santa, pine trees, tinsel (ok, yes, it does distract him somewhat during feed time), mince tarts, snow-in-summer, some religious dude and Myrrh (who the hell knows what Myrrh is anyway?) is all on about. Yes, we'll give him a pressie or three, but I'll bet you a Tosca he'll take one look at the pressie, one look at the wrapping paper,... and go the paper.

Well, only if there isn't any lemon lying about.




Postscript: Its bloody hard for a child to sleep (and person to write blog) if there's thunder right over your house. It was so much easier when he'd only experienced drought. I blame La Nina. Bah Humbug ...and Merry Xmas. Print this post