Somehow, eight months has passed since they handed me that screaming newborn. And somehow, I can't remember what we life was like nine months ago before little Jacob came into our lives.
He's not content to sit on the creek bank and watch us have fun anymore. Whether we're splashing, or building, or reading, or dining, he's always right there now, always a part of whatever we're doing. Abby and Caleb still adore him, and still wonder when he'll be able to play blocks with them. Caleb is learning to share his trucks, and has even designated a few as "Jacob's trucks, and so he won't touch Ca-yub's."
My little guy is not so little anymore. Jacob was pushing 18 pounds at his most recent check-up, and he's finally starting to eat well. He still hates his bottle, but seems to be okay with chicken nuggets, olives, rice, pureed vegetables, bread sticks, animal crackers and homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream. He loves water, and loves sippy cups, but hasn't figured out how to make the former come out of the latter yet.
He's still a great sleeper, although his new skill of sitting up on his own is going to require us to adjust his crib pretty quickly. It catches me a little off guard to walk into his room to get him and find him sitting up staring at me over his crib bumper.
His efforts at forward motion are getting more and more focused, and I'm wondering if he won't bypass the commando-crawling stage altogether. On the rare occasion that an enthusiastic older sibling doesn't bring him whatever he's screaming for and he has to go get it himself, he seems to prefer to pull his knees up under him and push himself forward, as opposed to dragging himself on his belly like his brother and sister before him. He's also working on a pretty good seated floor-scoot that allows him to move a few inches in any direction by rocking his body back and forth while sitting up and sliding around on his diaper.
He knows his name, and always looks when we call him (unless he's chewing on something delicious). He also answers to Yacobi, a nickname given to him by the large Russian nurse who assisted in his delivery. After he popped out, she turned to us and said, "Is boy! He has name?" to which we answered that yes, his name was Jacob.
"Ah! We call him Yacobi," she replied, with enough authority that I feared they might write that on his birth certificate. "Yacobi is good name!" I was glad she approved. So Yacobi he became, except to Caleb, who likes to call him Yacobaby instead.
He's just as smiley as ever, and is still happiest when he's being held or played with. And I'm still just as smitten as ever with my youngest son, and happy to hold and play with him as often as possible.
He's still not walking, talking or using the potty yet, but I have a feeling the next time I blink he might be.
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