I finally have in my hot little hands all the latest family pictures from our recent photo session with my fantabulous sister.
Which means I will be torturing your eyeballs often with pictures I didn’t take.
It also means I’m inspired to write down a bit about the kids as they are captured.
Let’s start with the youngest, shall we?
This is the look Finn wears most often: disdain and confusion. He’s not sure how he got stuck with our crowd. He can never understand why we aren’t feeding him right-this-very-second. Give him a cigar and a snifter in his hand, we’ve got a young Winston Churchill.
He is 8 months old now and he just started crawling. I am remembering all the parts about this little season that are terrifying. (WHAT is in his mouth? HOW MANY did he eat? and my favorite: WHERE IS THE BABY?) He’s highly energetic and rarely sits still. I’m rather surprised Abbi got a picture that wasn’t blurry.
This is what he looks like when he smiles. The heavens open, yes? He’s very charming. Just like his daddy…
Because he is my seventh child and I am tired, he eats pretty much whatever. Today he experienced his first Oreo. He was extremely disappointed when it was gone.
Who can blame him? I feel that way often about my own chocolate stash.
Finn has a distinct morning ritual. He wakes up and we snuggle down in my warm bed for the first feeding. He’s still and quiet on the first side, but that second side must be caffeinated. He starts flailing, usually scratching me in the process. His latest habit is to enjoy the sound his flat little palm makes against my collar bone. “Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack.”
He never misses a swallow, just smacks me and keeps on eating.
Then he will very suddenly decide that he is done and shove himself violently away, sitting up in the process. He immediately stares at Andrew’s (still sleeping) head and “calls” his daddy. “Eh… Eh… Eh.”
If Andrew doesn’t respond, he starts with the smacking only this time it’s to the side of Andrew’s head. But as soon as Andrew grunts back, “Eh,” Finn’s face breaks out into a grin and he bounces a little in glee.
The two of them have enacted this little scene since he was about three months old. We think it’s because he’s a genius. More than likely, it’s because he’s the youngest of seven and he likes to interact with his pack at all times. Either way, it’s pretty cute. (Except the violence to my person. I could do without that.)
He’s my first child to prefer a pacifier. It helps him think. He’s very philosophical.
After three girls in a row, getting to enjoy another boy baby is fun, but a bit of an adjustment. Already, he shows great daring. He’s got more bumps and scrapes on his head than all of his sisters combined. He wants to be tossed in the air higher (playfully), tickled harder, and his response is just as boisterous.
Having three boys under two was tough on my mama heart. Having my seventh child be a boy, too?
It may well kill me dead.
But, oh, it would be a mighty good way to go…