Wow, 8 months is a hard age. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, just stating a fact. I actually caught myself uttering the following words the other day, "Eight months makes newborns look like a honeymoon!" Whaaaa?? You mean as in sleepless nights and exhausted days? Continual feeding sessions and colic? To which I reply "Yes." Granted, just as the sting of labor and delivery fades away, so too might the chaotic feeling of those crazy first days. Maybe it seems easier because I am now almost nine months past the starting line and on to waaayyy different baby drama. Where my days used to consist of marathon feeding, changing, and small chunks of play time, they now are comprised of refereeing The Deuce so Abe doesn't bite his brother for the third time (that's right, I said bite) and living in a state of constant sing and dance. I am forever making sure they aren't chewing on electronic cords, rolling into the coffee table, crawling into the kitchen and under the table or even getting into their daddy's expensive record collection. All of that, and we're not even talking about leaving the house! LONG gone are the days of taking them with me for a haircut or a sizable grocery shopping trip, or even a quick lunch with a friend. They just aren't able to hack the time in the carseat "unattended," if you will. Now being down to two naps a day and napping solely in their cribs, they refuse, I mean REFUSE, being in their carseat (or momma's lap) when they are sleepy. They want their beds, their blankie's and a nice quiet room. Again, don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. I am just mearly reeling from the sharp learning curve that exists in the first year of child
wrangling rearing. It's a constant evolution and yet nearly impossible to know what's around the corner. It's a curve ball that makes tiny newborns look predictable and safe. And that curve hasn't even reached one. year. old. Yikes. Now that's a thought that makes me shake in my boots.