Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Eight Month Old Adventures With Grandmother
I can't believe how much Owen has grown in eight months. I mean- really? Eight months ago he was to be commended for his ability to find the tit. And pee and poop. And oh, you know, breathe.
And here he is, less than a year later, sitting up, pulling up, crawling, climbing, chortling, laughing, holding out his arms for who and what he wants, flirting, singing his Owen song, eating real food, and driving a tractor.
Okay. He's not really driving a tractor yet. I just wanted to know if you were paying attention.
But since today was a bit of a special day, I took a lot of pictures. And that would be different from every other day how?
Oh hell. I don't know. But anyway, here he is, doing cute things and making cute faces and being an eight-month old boy which hardly seems possible. But here's the proof.
Lily's contest thing has the theme of "behind bars" this week. This was the best I could do. He had a good time posing.
The requisite Owen and Elvis stare down picture. And you have to be brave to stare that rooster down.
We were sharing fruit with the chickens and Miss Penny REALLY wanted that fruit. She saw some go into Owen's mouth and she was trying to figure out how to get it back out. I swear.
I know. This is almost sickeningly sweet. He's the one who pulled that sheet up over himself.
Snuggle Fabric Softener- give me a call. Or better yet- Seventh Generation. Y'all are woefully lacking in a cute mascot.
Just...a precious baby.
He addresses the masses. Of chickens. I think he is blessing their hearts.
This is Owen trying to see me around the camera. This expression is SO Owen.
In the bathtub getting all the strawberry/melon/grape juice off him.
And to get some perspective- this is what he looked like eight months ago:
Ah well. When you consider that nine months before that picture was taken he was two-cells big, it's not THAT amazing.
Except that it all is.
And the most amazing part of the whole dang miracle of it is the way he's managed to capture my heart.
They say that babies teethe on your heart and I think that's true. He's gnawed on mine so thoroughly that he's softened it up to the point of ridiculousness. To the point where whatever that boy wants, he gets from his grandmother.
And THAT, my sweeties, is why grandchildren are so damn spoiled by their grandparents.
It's our teethed-on soft hearts.
And God. It is splendid.