Seven, eight, no nine!

I am in denial... You are all probably getting sick of my ranting about how quickly my children are growing up, so stop reading now. Someone asked me last week how old Mason was and I answered "Seven months, no wait, eight months, holy cow, he's almost nine months!" And sure enough, he turned nine months on Saturday. I went through his drawers and closets this weekend, weeding through clothing that he no longer fits in and I was nearly in tears. Not only will Mason not be wearing those clothes, but I don't need them for any of my children anymore and it is time to pass them on. Some other kid will get his cute little shoes and sweaters, and I will only have pictures to look back on. Boo hoo. As sad as I am that Mason keeps doing this whole growing thing, I really love this age- it's my favorite, in fact. He is so much fun to be around, and my child in particular is just as sweet as pie. If ever he is fussing, which isn't too often, all you have to do is look at him and he smiles. And recently it isn't just any old smile, it's this too big for his face kind of grin that makes his eyes squint shut. I love it. Can I tell you a secret? I really like it when strangers (and non-strangers) tell me how cute, sweet, fill in the blank, Mason is. Like when we're grocery shopping and I catch some old lady talking baby talk to him sitting in the cart while he gives her that signature smile and she tells me what a darling boy he is. I feel like he's made her day and she has just made mine. You really can't help but be happy around this babe. Except for one thing. It seems he is a boob hog. For months he would take a bottle no problem, but it seems there was a month or so when he didn't get one and when Jeremy tried to feed him one he looked as if he'd never seen such an item before. What was this thing daddy was sticking into his mouth? No amount of persuasion would convince him to imbibe. I tried the next day for an hour and a half, still a no-go. Finally last week he drank a sippy cup of juice- a small victiry, but we didn't hold our breath. The next day he drank formula, and we started with the hallelujahs! The next day again he drank the formula and we were certain we had jumped this hurdle. Not only could we wean him, but he was taking a sippy cup which meant one less battle down the road, no bottles to wean him from. And just as quickly as it came, it went. The next day he refused formula, no juice either. The next day we tried again, and I even let him try some chocolate soy milk, no, no, no. And here we are, with our angelic baby that will be nursing until he turns five. Oh well, he's worth it.