Max was 10 months old last week. I have decided 10 months old is my favorite age so far. He’s just so FUN all the time. He gets around well on his own now—he’s a speedy crawler (he crawls like a bull dog with a wide arm stance), pulls up easily, and starting to stand briefly on his own. Everything is interesting, and thus must be pointed at and identified. Most favorite are lights, ceiling fans, and trees blowing in the wind. Oh and animals, especially small dogs. He is delighted so often, happy as long as he has a playmate. Eats voraciously, loves water (especially when he gets to drink it out of a real glass), spends at least 15 minutes standing in his crib throwing stuffed animals and pacifiers over board before he goes to sleep. Comes flying at me to give me wet, open mouthed, gross but ever so lovingly meant kisses. Claps for himself, loves to high five. If asked where certain objects are, will go get them. Ten months is the best. I adore this baby.
Oh, the fun. The endless fun of babies. I’m in the cooing/giggle zone of newborns. And of course the joke-telling zone of toddlers. I’m pretty sure it’s all fun (except when it isn’t), amirite?