8 months.

but the next baby born was truly divine,

a sweet little child who was mine, all mine

and this little baby, as everyone knows,

has ten little fingers, ten little toes, 

and three little kisses on the tip of its nose

from the book ten little fingers and ten little toes

(one of our favorites)

(and one of my favorite good-weather songs...

destined to be a favorite of yours, too!)

parker, parker, parker.  i don't even know where to begin with you, kid!  i'm up to my elbows with pure love for you and everything you!  whooped!  totally whooped on you!  you are growing bigger by the day... you've got to be toppin' the scales around twenty pounds these days, i think... but so help me, you still fit in the carrier and get nestled in it frequently!  you have opinions these days (opinions!) and let us know what they are.  you play happily on the rug in the study with spoons, spatulas, colanders, pots, pans, magazines, blocks, books... your favorite toys really aren't toys.  lately we've been building a little tower of blocks and you crawl over to it, knock it down, and we all clap and cheer for you.  you sit back immediately, upon hearing our cheers, and look at each one of us with a big smile on your face and then (and then!!) you started clapping yourself.  the other morning, in my sleepy state, i looked at wide-awake-you sitting up in bed between daddy and i clapping happily.  it's your newest trick and it's totally delicious.  even in the wee hours of the morning.

we just started bike riding and you are silent as a mouse on the back of mama's bike... riding along holding the bar, thinking it's just about the coolest thing ever.  i wish i could watch you the whole time you're sitting there, but eyes on the road!

and crawling... oh my do you crawl.  getting better and faster by the day.  and you find every little speck of dust or dirt on the floor and touch it with your pointer finger, trying to get it in your hand.  you don't have the pincher grip down which is just as well--it shouldn't be in your mouth (or on the floor, i guess) anyway!

baby boy, i love you so much.  i whisper this in your ear on an hourly basis, but it's good to write it here too.  thanks for being my guy.  happy eight months!

{this time last year--crazy!}