9 months in, 9 months out

Today, my lovely Lumpy, you are 9 months old. That's very old indeed. Virtually grown up, really. I expect you'll be wanting to borrow the car keys and stay out all night drinking with your friends soon. Well you can't. Not till you're a year, at least. Call me strict, but there have to be limits.

Good blogging mummies, I know, write special posts to their babies every month. As far as I can remember, the last one I did was at 12 weeks. Um, sorry about that. I'll do better in the future, promise.

It's fairly amazing how far you've come since eighteen months ago, when Mr Badger refused to believe me when I emerged from the toilet and waved this in his face:


Before long, I looked like a python that had swallowed a pig without chewing:

And then I was mooing in a car park, just before you plopped out into the the waiting hands of a conveniently placed midwife:

And then you spent the next 9 months eating everything that came near you (BOOB, cats, household electronics, soft furnishings, parents, tables, etc. etc.), leading to the mighty figure that is MEGA BABY.


Okay, so you can't quite crawl yet. But, man, crawling is for babies. You've got all the other essential skills mastered: sitting up (preferably on top of Mr DaddyBadger, to keep him in his place):


Bouncing (in '70s-stylee velour stripy tracksuit, natch):

Levitation (spoooooky. Okay, not really.):

And, of course, flirting (with shop assistants, little old ladies, other babies, lampposts, and, most often, cameras):


My amazing little man, I just can't wait to see where you're going next. Hopefully not up and running and on a collision course straight into our wine rack. Not until you've learned to use the corkscrew, anyway.

Nothing I can say can sum up quite how fabulously brilliant you are. From your pinball, jackpot-winning smiles, to your uncontrollable, cackling laugh, to your special extra-slobbery, somewhat bitey kisses. How did I ever get so lucky to be your mummy?

Best baby in the world ever. Fact.