Seven month birthday

The jump from six months to seven has been another huge leap on the journey from baby to little boy – in terms of weight, if nothing else: my right arm is about twice the size of my left from carrying him! Fig isn’t crawling yet, but almost daily, his motor skills and ability to interact improve. And the gorgeous weather means we’re out every day, and Fig can do what he enjoys most – LOOKING AT STUFF AND THINGS AND PEOPLE!

Fig hates being in his car seat, which is understandable – in this weather it’s very hot, and he desperately wants to look out the window. When the three of us are out, I always sit in the back with him so at least he doesn’t feel isolated as well. Obviously, the way round this is to let him drive…

We’ve been out loads, and keeping him out of the sun is so hard. I slather him in Factor 50, and then use parasols and muslins to try and keep him in shade.

He prefers to be in the Babybjorn, but unless it’s cloudy, it’s too hard to keep the sun off him. Clouds aren’t enough to keep us in the house, though, and as long as he’s hatted, we sling him up and set off.

He’s a real boy, in every stereotypical sense, so inevitably, daddy throws him around and rough-houses while I sit and tut. Fig loves it when Saul does superman with him.

It’s double the fun if he’s outside too. He genuinely loves being outdoors. When I carry him down in the morning, as long as it’s fairly warm, I’ll open the back door, and Fig starts laughing and kicking as soon as I put my hand on the handle. I can then sit him in his highchair looking into the garden while I get breakfast ready. If it’s really nice, we eat outside, which saves on clearing up the floor, and Fig couldn’t be happier: food + outdoors = heaven.

He laughs a LOT, and in the last couple of days has actually started making himself laugh, which is one of the cutest things I’ve seen. On the changing table, for example, he’ll hit the mobile and then chuckle. It’s like he doesn’t even need me to make him laugh any more! So independent…

He plays peekaboo by lifting a muslin up in front of his face, holding it there while we say “Peekaaaa…” then dropping it while we go “…BOO!” and he laughs so hard… then does it again. And then again. And just today, he figured out that it’s really funny to look at people through one of the rings from his Rock-a-Stack.

He sleeps on his tummy now, which I hate, having spent so long reading that babies must sleep on their backs to avoid SIDS, but I guess he’s old enough now, and anyway, there’s nothing to  do about it – if I roll him onto his back, he just rolls onto his front again.

And then he sticks his bum in the air and sleeps like a little frog. What a pudding. And just so we always remember him at this age and this size, we had a fab day out at Blaze Farm a fortnight ago and decorated a small mug at the Potty Sheep (Fig is obsessed with cups, as I’ve mentioned before) with his handprints. In theory, it’s to be his first proper mug. In practice, it stays on the mantelpiece.

By his eight month birthday, he will be sleeping in his own room, the first real wrench I’m going to feel. So for now, I’m just going to keep loving waking up to his gurglings in the next-to-me cot and the excitement he shows when he’s lifted onto our bed for a pre-breakfast playtime.

Happy seven-months-already, my little baby boo.

 

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