At nine months, Owen is a one-man wrecking crew. I’d put him in a playpen if I didn’t think he’d plow right through it.
He is now cruising, pulling himself up on anything, whether it can bear his weight or not. He thinks he can walk which causes considerable problems. He finds himself standing alone and then drops like Marie Osmond in Dancing with the Stars. (Yes, they have it here and I watch it religiously.)
He has sustained his first major head wound, a good bleeder on the eyebrow, crashing into his sister’s closet. Actually, it fits him in some way: The Brooklyn Bleeder.
He recently crawled into my bathroom, pulled himself up on the bidet, lifted the drain out and stuck it in his mouth. His mother screamed. This is a typical moment with Owen.
Luckily, he’s a very happy kid for the most part. He is fighting constant colds, mostly derived from his sister’s germ incubator (aka: nursery). So, he’s not sleeping well which means no one is sleeping well.
Owen constantly pesters his big sister, who is learning the old “shove-and-run.” He appreciates any attention from her, even if it is a kick in the side. He can take it.
Here are a few photos.
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