Lukas turned eight months old on January 16th. At this point, he’s solidly halfway to nine months, but shhh. Who’s counting?
Everything seems to have happened at eight months. He crawls now. He pulls himself up (but only next to this one side table…it must be a special table). Lukas pulls open a kitchen cabinet door and, if I’m extremely lucky, practices opening and shutting the door, a look of wonder on his small face. If I’m not so lucky, he rummages inside, emerging triumphant with a cooling tray in one small hand, a white trash bag, or a pair of yellow kitchen gloves. Electrical outlets are a thing of beauty to be touched reverently, even though Mama says, “No” firmly and rushes to move him. His stash of brightly colored toys will only entertain him for so long—some days, it’s like he doesn’t even know they exist. Why play with blocks or a snazzy Vespa, gifted by your godmother, when you can tug on the dining room curtains or attempt to scale the fireplace ledge?
Lukas loves to eat (loves it). If he has to wait an extra ten minutes for a meal, you’ll find him shoving food into his mouth like a starved animal. He always makes a funny face when we introduce a new food (it's hilarious to watch), but gamely tries everything--and almost always ends up loving it. At the top of his list are bananas and peanut butter & jelly smeared on whole wheat toast, but he just as happily devoured tonight's dinner of spaghetti squash. The wash machine here is a stackable unit and Lukas adores sitting on the floor, watching the colorful diapers spin round and round, soapsuds flecking the glass. Any time I press “Facetime” on my phone and it starts ringing, he looks at me excitedly, then glances quickly back at the screen, waiting for the mystery person to appear. Will it be his cousin? Possibly his friend Henry? Or maybe Mamele (Grandma) and Vukas (Grandpa)? He can’t ride his Vespa by himself yet, so the next best thing is Drew sitting at one end of the room, me at the other, and we zoom him back and forth. He holds on tightly, smiling as he’s propelled from one parent to the other, and back again.
Eight months is a crazy age. Lukas usually doesn't stay where I leave him and so, every fifteen seconds or so, I’m going from the kitchen to the living room, checking to see what sort of mischief he’s getting into. But at the same time, it’s such a FUN age. We introduce new foods, new experiences, new toys, and he’s able to appreciate them. He chatters to himself, crawls to one of us when he wants something, and smiles so happily when I come to get him in the morning.
He's a pretty cool little dude.