eight months

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Sweetest Soledad is 8 months old, and her name is entirely a mismatch. (A beautiful one. But still).

She is one of the most gregarious people I know, and she is unstoppable. She reaches and grabs and thunders after the things she wants, and she wants almost everything she sees.

She thinks it is hilarious to pat people on the head. Just lately, she is learning to wave and to play peek-a-boo and to dance along to music. Sometimes I think she has learned to give kisses, but it could just as well be true that she’s actually trying to eat my nose.

Every night at dinner time – and sometimes all evening long – she gets growly. “Why is Baby making that noise?” Alice will ask. And I don’t know. It is like no noise I have ever heard from a baby, especially such a sunny, grinning one.

The only time she is ever still, really, is when she sleeps. And then, I can’t help but notice how big she already is.

“She won’t do that much longer,” David told me the other day when she fell asleep on my chest. I guess not, but I wish she would.

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