My little guy is eight months old today. He sits up, sleeps through the night, eats ridiculous amounts of pureed fruits and vegetables, sleeps through the night, says “da-da-da,” rolls across the floor to get things, has a bottom tooth, sleeps through the night, takes three daytime naps, and finds his sister terrifying (maybe it was the time she jammed her finger in his right eye socket and joyfully declared, “Eyes!”).
Did I mention he sleeps through the night?
We’ve moved and I’m consumed with all the details involved with that fact. Arranging furniture. Organizing closets. Finding my new favorite grocery stores. Visiting Target a zillion times. Hanging pictures. Learning the new stove and microwave. Updating our address with the cell phone company, banks, bar associations, Netflix, car insurance, college and law school alumni groups, etc etc. The busyness is compulsive. Then I catch a glimpse of my men on the sofa and think, “Learn how to chill, Bethany.” So, if you’ll kindly excuse me for a bit, I think I will.
After pouring over family albums on both sides, we think we’ve finally located K2’s closest physical match.
The other baby is not me. It’s my younger sister, Evie.