Eight months old. I can't believe it either. It's been an eventful eight months, yet it flew by like it was nothing. He continues to grow and blossom into the man he'll someday be. Being greeted by his sweet little smile every morning makes me glad to be alive and thankful to start another day.He's not really interested in sitting up, but I know he's capable - I've seen him do it more than once. He's perfectly content to lay on his back and ponder a toy. He's kind of crawling, although it looks more like an army crawl/worm/interpretive dance kind of maneuver, but it gets him where he wants to go. No teeth, yet, although they bother him from time to time. He loves to stand up and is able to hold himself up if you prop him up against something his height. He thinks it's funny to see his feet so far down and will giggle at the sight. He's quite the charmer and has a following of ladies at church that fawn over him every Sunday. Understandable - he's getting his fathers deep, brown eyes.
Robby, the eight-month-old.
