Nine months of Meemo, Nine months of Eamon

Nine months ago, I didn't know what we were getting into. Eighteen months ago, I was positive I didn't know what I was getting into (and I was right about that...).
Now, we have boy. Such a boy. He took his time coming into the world, and tried to do it backwards, but now... Headfirst. All the time. He's forgotten how to scoot backwards. Which means he gets stuck sometimes, a little human "c" of unhappiness. But lean him over a step, turn him upside down, or leave something in front of him that can be knocked down, and he's ecstatic. Even better, run a cat past him, and watch him scoot by at top speed, giggling to chase.

I never realized how hard this headfirst plunge would be. I want to protect him from every hurt. Every bump hurts me, even with his confused look as he clocks himself on the underside of a coffee table. For the fifth time. And now, he's challenging gravity at every turn. For now, we're keeping a hand on him, letting him fall gently. At least until he learns to tuck his head. But we're trying to let him learn at the same time. I can see this is going to be a hard balance to strike for a long time to come.

In the last nine months, he's changed so much. The grumpy old man is gone. Mostly. Take away his toy, scare off a cat, pull him backwards from his objective, and you see a flash of him. It's more of a stern, suspicious look, akin to this one. Now, it's more smiles. And waves and fist-bumps (not quite claps yet). Throw in entertainment from Dad, and you get belly laughs. The quiet cry is gone, too - now, a truly upset Eamon is a loud, sad being, oscillating between crying so hard he won't breathe and tearing your heart out with sound. But usually he's quickly soothed, happy to be held and bounced. Regardless, he has his own personality, his own wants and desires.

Milestones:
17 lbs today, with nappy. The rest of the well-child visit is getting delayed due to an ear infection.

Hair: Still blond/reddish. Eyes: still blue with brown centers. Sometimes greyer, sometimes browner.

Four teeth - two top, two bottom. Two more top ones on their way in. It's been a long couple of months in teething land.
Eating- just about everything. Due to his speed and my lack thereof, Eamon discovered corn chips this weekend, well ahead of the allergen-based schedule. Greek yogurt, mashed potatoes, Noodles carrots - all good. Nectarines and peaches? Even better. Milk and water come out of bottles, cups, and sippy cups.... depends on his mood. He'll empty his own sippy at daycare, but wants me to give him a glass and hold it while he drinks.

Eamon is still babbling, to himself and others. "Dada" is still the preferred word. He waves now, and has picked up the sign for "milk", but has yet to use it in a reasonable way (usually uses it right *after* he's eaten - advertising, perhaps?).

The army crawl is still the favored mode of transportation. He has pulled up a couple of times, but doesn't yet see its utility. I'm okay with that.

And, thanks to his OCD mother, his hair may have gotten a little trim last night. Just the back, where it was heading for the Bozo look. The mohawk lives.