Eight months' old today and we have a tooth! Just a millimetre or so of tooth, but a tooth nonetheless. A tiny little shard of white that you only properly catch a glimpse of when he giggles. And Samuel's been giggling lots today. I was squirting some suncream when the bottle made a funny noise. 'Splodge!' I said. He thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, so today I have mainly been saying 'splodge' over and over again, just to make him laugh and show off that toothy peg.
He's sleeping better and he can stay awake for longer stretches - two or three naps a day see him through just fine. His love of books shows no sign of abating and he sits enraptured when his dad reads him daring tales of aliens and witches. His favourite thing in the whole wide world is the cat, and he flaps wildly and shrieks with excitement whenever she walks by. He can play on his own and sit up without any help now. The only thing is, he doesn't like sitting very much. Too boring. Too stationary. He wants to stand and walk and bounce. He's much steadier when he's held in a standing position and I don't think it'll be too long before he tries to totter around. I don't think he'll bother with crawling at all, though, since he's about as keen on tummy time as I am on housework. But, my, he loves to roll himself onto his tummy. Generally he does this when we've just put him to bed, and because he can't roll himself back yet, we have to dash in and rescue him. He always gives us a big grin.
He's a bundle of energy. His legs are never still, his eyes are constantly darting around, and he chats away and grunts like an excitable pirate. I have no idea where it comes from because his dad and I are almost sloth-like in our dedication to sitting down in peace and quiet. Once he's mobile there will be no stopping him. It's very exciting. I think eight months is my favourite age yet.