I seem to have blogged primarily about Little Man's problems. The torticollis. The brachycephaly. But for the most part, having a baby is pretty darn fun. You get to watch your little one make discoveries, like when Little Man found his feet. And he smiles when he's happy and is beginning to say dada and mama—and perhaps he'll know what those words mean someday soon.
There is a look of pure joy on Little Man's face when he's in his exersaucer. He jumps up and down and almost cackles in enjoyment. I so wish I could get him a jumperoo... but, alas, the torticollis prohibits that (per his physical therapists). But he sure does love to jump. I'm sure he'll be jumping all over the place when he's older.
It's so hard to believe at times that seven months have gone by. My baby boy doesn't really look so little, since he's a big fellow at 22 odd pounds. He's wearing 12 month clothing, too. He WANTS to crawl. He creeps backwards as he tries to get to toys or other objects he wants (our TV remote) that's in front of him. And he's clever, too, as he rolls around the crib to get to a toy. He's figured out how to get what he wants.
I know one cannot spoil a baby, but it's become apparent he's playing me now. He knows too much... he knows he can get mommy to do pretty much whatever he wants. But I want to foster independence and I'll let him play by himself in the pack-n-play in my office while I attempt to get some work done.
His smile cheers up everyone who meets him. I think Little Man inherited that from my grandfather, who he is named for. Grandpa always smiled—and so does my son.