Enoch's Nine Monthiversary, Belated (And A Few Bonus Photos)

It has been a hard month.

Among other hardnesses, Enoch has had the most grievous time teething of any baby yet. Those four top teeth were his personal torment (and mine) all this month. Finally, finally, one of them poked through a few days ago and the rest will hopefully follow suit. In the meantime, he hardly slept during the day, needed a constant bedfellow at night, and had a Very Hard Time existing without being in mama's arms. But this, too, passes, just like all the good and beautiful things you wish you could freeze in time. 

Despite his miseries, Enoch continued to grin his snaggle-toothed grin to light up the house whenever he could manage it. He excels in his role as Professional Doughboy of the House. He loves being social and playing with his siblings, loves going outside, and HATES being on his belly. He's just started butt-scooching into all sorts of mischief (attempted plant-eating, successful potting soil-eating, finding all the outlets and cords, etc.), but he still caterwauls if you so much as suggest crawling. He loves our (new!) kittens. He eats like a man. He fiddles with his tongue incessantly (teething, of course). He loves jokes and games and is loved by one and all. 

You're the cutest, little Doughboy. <3

(A video from before he learned to scooch on his own, which is a very recent development...)

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Enoch's Eight Monthiversary

I've been hit hard with the beautiful and terrible pangs of parenthood lately. The big boys are getting So Big, and when I stumble upon old photos and videos it's heartmelting and awful all at once. These days, these precious days, run like water through my fingers. And these children are not mine to keep. That's the whole point, really. They are not mine. It is already a weight I feel on my chest now and again. Older parents might shake their heads at me and exchange knowing glances. Just you wait... 

I know, I say. 

I am waiting. And trying to remember the shape of the water even as it runs.

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Enoch turned eight months old a week ago. I took the pictures on the day, but they're late in going up. What a boy. He is fat and jolly and sings when we sing and chortles while he does his best to get us in all those classic "getting" games. He growls ferociously as a regular means of communicating. He sits up on his own and plays with gusto, examining in great detail anything within reach, and he can pivot and scooch a bit on his bottom. (However, he still thinks being on his belly on the floor is a real persecution and has not yet demonstrated any desire to do any of the normal baby mobility things.) Eating, though. EATING. We've never had such a child. He's always yumm-ing and yelling through meals and is an exceedingly vocal eater. He kicks his feet. He yells frantically when it doesn't come fast enough. And he can down a rather shocking amount of food for his size. (Rundy thinks it won't be long before we have to buy a whole cow just for him.) He laughs until he gets squeaky. He whack-whack-whacks to show love when he's fetched from bed. He has a deep and abiding friendship with our cat, Nia. He says ma-ma-ma all the time (but I'm not flattering myself). He is very social and loves just being with his family. With people in general. The best sort of comfort for a boy like Enoch is simply being with you. And so as he works on growing all those teeth (four more on the way), he's been our constant little bedfellow. Not the first. And perhaps not the last. We are glad to have him. Rundy and I both have the indomitability of time on our minds. Babies are only babies for a blink.

I'm glad you're still a baby, Enoch.

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(Don't be fooled by the first few photos. His real feelings about being on the floor on his stomach come out in the subsequent photos.)

But he loves being outside!

And he loves his Tadhgie.