Our baby is nine months. It's such an enjoyable time - this transformation from infant to toddler, in which he's eager to move, exploring every corner of the house, learning so fast I can hardly catch my breath. We've made it through the difficult early months and emerged at the other end (alive). Six teeth are through. The nights are better. A routine is in place for eating, napping, bathing, playing.
And we could never, ever have anticipated this child who's rarely still for more than a second, already climbing onto furniture, tugging at sleeves and pants, grabbing objects at every chance, lunging forward fearless and with no regard for where he might land, chuckling sweetly all the while. His energy and luminosity is contagious. His smile is so wide, so bright, it's almost alarming.
There's no better thing in life than his brother. With a glint of determination in his eye, he'll propel himself across the room, over toys, over dog, over whatever is in the way, to get to Matthew. To be a part of whatever he's doing.
And on his face, a twinkle, a spark, a look of mischief that's always present. Something that suggests he's in the throws of something. Good, bad, trouble - something.
Rarely stationary. Which, though he seems to love the camera, can make picture taking a challenge.