My hair is coming in nicely, and I admit my curls give me that jaunty, self-confident air. I have that natural 50s wave but without the Brillcreame. My skin is nice too… from all the fresh air.

 

 

I’ve mastered my move with the ladies. When we go out to restaurants, I can work the whole room: I catch their eye and then dramatically cock my head to one side and smile. My own natural ruffie… women of all ages just melt for me.

  

I’m standing almost on my own… if I balance against the couch, I can stand for quite a long time before toppling over.

 

Mommy usually surrounds me with pillows, but Daddy thinks it’s time for me to learn how to fall naturally, since we’ll be moving into the house soon. I have to get used to hardwood and cement floors (and people say living on a boat is dangerous for a baby).

 

I’m also sitting nicely in a high chair:

 

I’m so close to crawling now. I can get up on hands and knees and rock back and forth, move backwards, or do a 360. 

 

I just haven’t moved forward yet. I’m now rolling over from back to front while sleeping, ending up face-down snoring into a puddle of spit. I feel just like a man!

 

I’m getting pretty adventurous with the solid food, and my favorite meal is spaghetti with cheese. But when the three of us are steaming away in our hotbox of a cabin in the middle of the night, with our own sweat dripping down as condensation from the hatch, there’s still nothing quite as refreshing as a tall, cool glass of milk. I demand it usually twice each night, screaming at 1am and again at 4am. Daddy wakes so startled and disoriented he often bonks his head or spills the milk all over the sheets. During the day, I hold the bottle by myself:

I’m discovering that there are other refreshing drinks besides milk: