Back Home Again in Indiana
8 months is rough, yo. You realize your mom’s half idiot when it finally hits her the end goal is 12 months, not 10 (I realize the real goal is to keep him alive for more than just the one year, but it starts over at the year mark), and just as you’re coming to terms with that, you get evicted from your daycare class and are forced to spend your days with the grown up babies.
But 8 months isn’t all bad news bears: you drop your dream feed so you no longer wake up in a puddle of pee which is a nice change of pace. You’ve also become quite gifted at rolling back to tummy. So gifted, in fact, that you’ll even do it immediately after being rolled to your back after getting mad about being on your tummy. And, of course, you’re still winning the solid food battle. #teambottle
At 8 months you have definite opinions about who should be holding you [Dad – even if you do (unintentionally) yell “mama” in the car in between “pbbbbbbths”s], people walking towards your face (hilarious), and sitting (“Look how skilled I am!”).
The most impressive part of 8 months, though, is you’ve already decided your career path: rockstar.