He jabbers. He army crawls with great efficiency, propelling himself forward with a vigorous left-armed lunge. He pulls himself to stand with reckless abandon for life and limb. Pretty sure he's going to be my heart-attack boy; he has absolutely no body awareness and forgets to hold on to whatever is keeping him upright when he gets distracted (which is often). He has become obsessed with walking and goes ramrod straight when you try to put him down to give your back a rest. He has six teeth in his little mouth and--unrelated, really--has decided that food is delicious rather than an assault upon his person. He continues to have a passionate love affair with lights (the higher the wattage the better, unfortunately); love is blind, as they say. He regularly gives Munchkin the Cat practice with being long-suffering. He still can't figure out how to get out of a sitting position.
Pip, you are our clumsy little sweetling, the best there ever was.
I forgot how hard it is to attempt posed photographs of a 9 month old. They all turn out like this...
...or this.
Blurriness is inevitable.
And my not-too-great phone camera doesn't help. (But hey, it's quick and convenient. And that's no small thing.)
Peekaboo Baby.
Somebody got jealous that he wasn't the center of attention. (That's one large 9 month old.)
And here's a bunch from earlier in the month to round it all out.
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