Seven months old

My baby boy is now seven months old. And I use that term, Baby, quite loosely, as he is clearly the size of a toddler. We got his updated stats at his six-month appointment last month - 22 pounds-7 ounces, 28 ½ inches long – Holding him steady in the 99th-percentile of all other boys his age. Um. Did you just read those numbers, y’all? TWENTY-TWO AND A HALF POUNDS. That I carry around all day, either in one arm or strapped to my chest. I am pretty sure I am the strongest woman alive.

And while he continued to hold steady at the top of his growth chart from weight and height, his giant noggin is still totally off the grid. And so under the suggestion of our pediatrician, Luke had to get an ultrasound done on his melon to rule out any sort of brain abnormalities. And I’m gonna cut the suspense right now and tell you that he is totally, absolutely, one-hundred percent fine. The kid’s just got a big head, as the ultrasound tech jokingly told Chris after she lubed up our son’s bald head with the goo.

And apparently my little man LOVES having strange women rub goo on his head. Chris said that while Luke was getting prepped for the ultrasound, he was so jazzed about his head massage that he squealed in delight and swung all of his limbs wildly in the air. He’s the biggest flirt in the world. And after laying down his swagger on the tech, she laughed and asked Chris, So WHY are you guys here getting him checked? And he was like, Well, the Doctor is concerned about his big head. And she answered back, Um. Yeah, his head is big. But so is the rest of him.

So after our doctor and a pediatric radiologist both viewed his brain-pictures, they unanimously agreed that Luke is perfect. He’s just got a big brain in a big head. And we are relegated to zip-front sweatshirts and cardigans as we enter the frosty season ahead, not to mention a Taylor-size stocking cap. And it’s easy to joke about it now, but we definitely prayed really hard during the week of his ultrasound. Because anytime someone thinks there might be something wrong with your kid’s brain, it’s super scary and makes you put things in perspective. But now that he has been checked we can breathe in relief, and reaffirm that we are indeed a very blessed family.

And those big brains have really kicked in this past month, with him starting to actually play with toys as opposed to just putting them in his mouth. And he’s also starting to produce those sticky-sweet, ear-pleasing baby sounds that fill the house with Dadadadadas and Bahbahbahbahbahs. Best noises in the world. If only he would start saying Mamamamama... Oh, then my heart would officially burst. I mean, with a face this adorable, my cuteness meter is already way past full.

He’s still not crawling, but has gotten so much more confident while sitting up. And I’m fine with him staying immobile for a while longer, because as I remember with Taylor, the minute they start moving the more chaotic everything becomes. Right now I am very happy that I can lay him on a big rug in the living room while I get dinner ready in the kitchen, knowing that the wildest he’s gonna get is rolling off the softness and getting too close to his sister’s toys. Yep. Once he starts harassing Taylor on a more constant basis, I have a feeling we’ll be eating more crockpot-style/no-fuss meals for dinner.

And he also made the big transition to sitting in the highchair for meals, getting his nightly dose of pureed goodness while hanging with us as we eat our own delicious food. And the first night we all sat there, I had to take a moment to reflect on how awesome it felt for all FOUR of us to be gathered around the table. It was almost like a little Amys-family initiation for our newest member. And we’re all thrilled about the new table-setting. Especially Luke.

And even though I feed and feed and nurse and feed this kid – I mean, almost 23 pounds! – we are STILL not sleeping through the night. And for a few weeks while battling sickness and funk, we were consistently getting up every two hours on the dot, with me deliriously rocking the little big man back to sleep, only to have him up again screaming a few hours later. Ugh. It got to the point where I just conceded that I will never, NEVER sleep ever again. And, DUDES! That stinks! Because sleep makes everything feel better, just as not sleeping makes everything a little big worse.

But then, after whining about this unfortunate sleeping pattern with a friend, she mentioned that she had the same problems with her son and had to finally put the ax on the around-the-clock feedings so he wouldn’t wake up just to get a boob. And I needed to hear this. Because at 23 pounds! he’s not going to waste away in hunger in the middle of the night. So we quit the latenight nursing, and while he definitely fought it and had to cry it out a bit the first few nights, he finally got it. And now we are, for the most part, only having to get him out of his crib once a night. And I’ll take that, because it’s a heck of a lot better than getting up four times. And the sun shines a bit brighter and the skies are kinda bluer as a result. Like I said, being well rested makes everything a bit sweeter.

So, Sir Luke. You are pretty much perfect except for this whole sleeping thing. And if you keep giggling and babbling and smizing at me with those big, blue eyes, I’ll stop complaining about being exhausted. I’ll just continue to fuel myself with coffee and cheek-smooches, and remember that I’ve got the best job, the best husband and the best kids in the entire world.