Eight

"Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers;
Blossoming even as we gaze." - Fiddler on the Roof, Sunrise, Sunset

My Maeve is eight months old today.

I wish you could see her right now, she's asleep on my lap in nothing but a diaper and babylegs, a soft blanket wrapped around her, and a pacifier in her mouth.  There was an intense spitup incident, which is why the shirt was removed.  But she's so cute like this, twitching her toes in her sleep as I type.

My Maeve can roll, sit up, crawl, pull herself up, bounce, and pick up things while standing.  She opens her mouth for food and swallows it.  She tries to hold her bottle, sometimes with hands and feet.  She waves at people, trees, cars, and Target.  Peekaboo makes her giggle, and she's starting to be ticklish.  She cries when I leave and has begun clinging to my legs. 

She cannot sleep through the night, clap, or blow kisses.  She hates being fed breakfast.  She says Mama and Dada, but not regularly with meaning.  She hates being strapped into the carseat, and is beginning to squirm big-time during diaper changes.  She is on-the-go, all the time, crawling in her sleep, and not taking no for an answer!

She gets so proud of herself, maybe she can see in my eyes how proud I am of her. Atta babe. 

'Scuse me, coming through, big 8-month old is very busy!