At seven months, our son has developed quite the strong will. Since he can't talk yet, he just screams when he doesn't get his way. And his way, these days, consists of getting into absolutely everything.
He crawls. Well, mostly, he slithers, but it still gets him pretty far, pretty fast. It's a little disconcerting that he can now slither out of my sight. In the past week, I've caught him splashing in the dog's water bowl, emptying my beach bag, pulling pots off my baker's rack, plucking books from his bookshelf, trying to put his finger in the one outlet we don't have covered and strewing our, uh, I mean, mostly my shoes all over the room. He has a prediliction for anything hard or pointy. And when I redirect him, he howls. It's a loud, angry, red-faced fit that usually elicits a "tough cookies kid" from his father and I.
And, wonder of wonders, he now has slept through seven of the past eight nights. The one night he didn't sleep was the night I announced to some girlfriends that he had been. Apparently, the little beast could hear me clear across town and decided to teach me a lesson.
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