Later gators. On with the (picture) show.
Play play play. Such is the life of a 7-month old.
Thanks for the help with the laundry, dude. Dumping it on the floor (and then sucking on the towels) is precisely what was needed.
Watching dad baby proof. The seemingly endless task.
More play time.
He loves coooooookies. So: we've had some eating problems lately? He suddenly stopped eating, like, EVERYTHING that we tried to give him. Turns out he only wants grown-up foods. He even turns his nose up at soups and creamy casseroles, because they look suspiciously like baby food. We headed to the Merc and picked him up all kinds of yummy goodies for emergencies or when he eats dinner before we do (which happens about half the time; it's hard to get everything done by his dinnertime when I've got a baby attached to a hip and a dirty house to clean). He's stocked up on fruit chunks and Pirate Booty and fancy shmancy organic frozen goodies like raviolis and pierogies and fish. So don't feel too bad for the guy.
Not even in the Terrible Twos, and we're already pushing boundaries. He knows "no", and he definitely knows that applies to digging in the plant (and shoveling fistfuls of dirt in his mouth, BUT OH CASSEROLES GROSS NO WAY MAN GET IT AWAY FROM ME). So what he does now is get as close as possible to the plant without actually touching it, then sit there. Waiting. Goading me to tell him "no". Oooh, but it is such a fun power trip for him...
Pierogi Pete is still his best friend in the whole wide world, so at least something hasn't changed.
I would imagine kiddos do this to work on their balance skills? This weekend he wasn't happy just playing while standing up, no. He had to drop a toy and then leeeeeeeean down and pick it up. Then repeat. About 50 times.
Pirate Pirate Pirate Pirate. Apparently I was obsessed with pirates as well as robots before he was born, given the sheer volume of jolly roger apparel I bought then.
I am not sure what exactly is happening with the few wisps of hair he has, but dear son: I am sorry for what is going on with the top of your head. Because that is, like, some brutal old-man head there.
Bang out a tune on the ottoman, and he'll attempt to repeat it! It's like an non-electronic, non-flashing version of Simon.
I can keep him busy while I cook if I give him a pot lid and a wooden spoon to bang on it with. For now, anyway.