Nine Months

I will go ahead and say it before either of the grandmothers do -- yes, it looks like he has red hair in this picture, but I PROMISE it doesn't in person!  Not that I wouldn't love that (since I really only married Josh in hopes of having red-headed kids), but it just doesn't look red in person.  Sigh.

 

He wanted me to take this one as a study for his presidential portrait.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that it's not really his best side.
 

Patrick turned nine months old this week and is just a cute, fat, sweet little thing.  Cuddling with him would be lots of fun if he weren't constantly trying to gouge a hole in your face with his little index finger.  He definitely has poking issues.  But still, very sweet.

 

Also, he has very blue eyes.  But so did Walt as this age, and not so much now, so we're just enjoying them while they last. 

P's biggest development of the month has been on the eating front.  In addition to sucking down 6-8 containers of baby food a day, he's also broadened his horizons into finger foods.  Avocado, banana, cantaloupe, watermelon, green beans . . . oh, and fruit puffs.  I now buy fruit puffs by the case (not really, but only because they don't sell them that way).  I'm pretty sure that fruit puffs are to babies what Flamin' Hot Cheetos are to 12-year olds.  I don't know what the great appeal is (I've tried them and was underwhelmed to say the least), but the kid lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees the canister.  And he's improved his hit ratio (the number that actually make it to his mouth as opposed to ending up stuck to his slobbery cheek) significantly in recent weeks.  That pincer grasp really comes in handy sometimes.

 

You can check out P's official 9-month photo and compare it to his brother's.  (Yes, I'm apparently still amused by the dressing them alike thing.)  I think they continue to favor each other, but less so as Patrick's getting older.  And maybe the memory is just getting hazy, but neither Josh or I remember Walt being quite so . . . um, let's say, "spirited" as a baby.  Walt was a kid that you could leave parked on his changing table while you went to the closet for more diapers.  Or out to catch a movie.  Just really pretty chill.  The other day I took two steps to the crib to grab something and turned around to see Patrick rolling off the edge of said changing table.  I caught him about halfway down.  Yeah, we don't do that anymore.  It will be interesting (or more likely terrifying) to see if that plays out in his personality down the road.  Ritalin, here we come.

 

Now, Mommy . . .