My littlest boy is 8 months. He is now very curious and seemingly has some sort of paper radar. He loves it. It wears me out. And though his curiosity leads him all around the house, he’s still content to lounge on our lap. (I’m actually typing this with him snuggled up on me. Sigh.) I don’t remember having an 8 month so willing to just hang out on us. His family fan club of five showers him with more attention and kisses than I thought was possible. He’ll eat whatever is on your plate, minus any avocado. He’s crawling and cruising and stood up on his own. Once. And it scared him so he screamed. He’s a delight.
October was full of birthdays for seven year olds. Of cider doughnuts to celebrate the season opening of West Palm’s green market. Of children scheming and planning Halloween costumes. Of boys dressed up as Percy Jackson, Draco Malfoy, and a pumpkin. Of a girl dressed up as a fairy. Of afternoons spent in the backyard running and playing. Of gardens growing. Of trips to huge Ikeas. Of ambitious spray painting projects. Of exterior paint samples, after exterior paint samples, after exterior paint samples. Of a baby Asa who is as joyful as they come. Of older brothers who have discovered the fun of the duet. Of pumpkins carved. Of first immigration law classes finished. Of the realization that this might, indeed, be the fastest year there ever was.