Petra's Party

Petra had her official birthday party today, and one of the attractions that Auntie Nessa and Uncle Shannon got for her was an amazing blowup house that you can jump around in. It was awesome. I saw Petra get in there, jump, fall down, laugh and then get back up again. All her friends did it. It was awesome.

But here's the problem: I'm too small to do any of that. I'm not coordinated enough to stand up on my own and I'm small enough that I might be trampled.

So all I want for my second birthday party is one of those blowup houses. That'll be a cool checkpoint to see how much I'll have grown by then.

Appetite For Destruction

Mommy took me to the Discovery Museum again today. But this time, I was with my two girlfriends Reese and Olive. So yeah, you bet this was a prime opportunity to impress them.

But hot studs don't have to try to impress. They just impress. And I am a hot stud.

Case in point: We were playing around near some rocker guy who was watching his own kid. He pointed me out and said, "Yo! Nice shirt!" referring to my vintage Guns N'Roses Appetite For Destruction album cover onesie that my Daddy bought for me.

Reese and Olive saw it happen. It was noted. They were impressed.

That's how I roll.

Next Time, Ry

I had the opportunity tonight to hang out with my friend Ryan while Mommy and Daddy visited his parents. I haven't spent much time with him, and I really cherished the chance to get to know him.

So I was excited. I had plans of crawling around with him and maybe both of us using his cofee table as a drum set. This was gonna be good.

Mommy drove by Daddy's office to pick him up, but truth be told, it was getting kinda late. I'm usually getting ready for bed by seven, and it was 6:45. Then it took forever to drive from one side of San Francisco to the other. And then it took awhile to find parking. And by the time I was taken out of the car seat and walked to the house and let in, well, I was just 13% awake.

Oh well.

At least I didn't feel as bad, considering that Ryan was just 0% awake.

Next time, dude.

Giggliicious

Thia might not sound like the manliest thing ever, but I really like it when Daddy blows air on my back and on my stomach.

It gives me the giggles.

There. I've said it. And I'm standing by it.

Another Phelpsian Achievement

I went to another swim class today. I learned how to dive into the water. We call it "The Penguin". It's very fancy and I am now a professional at it.

And, most importantly, I also learned how to hold my breath and put my head underwater. Okay, you have to blow in my face first to get me to do that, but still, I'm eight months old. That's pretty impressive.

Take that, Phelps. Where you at?

Solidifying My Laugh

After months of trial and error, I've come to an important decision:

My official laugh will be three giggles, a loud inhale, five or six giggles, another loud inhale, three giggles, yet another loud inhale and a shreak.

Please adjust your anticpiation levels accordingly.

Advanced Bathing

Mommy and Daddy usually give me a bath in the kitchen sink. I sit in the basin, and they fill it up with water, and they give me a rubber duckie and I get all clean. It works for all of us, even though pulling on the faucet seems really appetizing (even though I'm not allowed to).

But I've gotten too big, which means I've become a big boy. And big boys bathe in the bathtub. Ba-Bam!

What does this entail? Well, they fill up a tub with water and bubbles. I sit down on some sort of mat. They give me a rubber duckie. So it's like the kitchen sink, except I can now move freely around. If I want to face Mommy and Daddy, I can. If I want to face the soapdish, well that's my prerogative. It's all about how I want to roll.

If I want to pee in the tub, I can. And nobody will know.

And I have.

Twice.

Swinger

Mommy dropped me off at Auntie Pua's place while she ran some chores, and that was a great opportunity for us to spend some quality time together. So she took me to Moscone Park and placed me in the swings.

I went back and forth, back and forth, and Auntie Pua pushed me.

I didn't cry. In fact, I put my brave face on. And occasionally, I threw her a smile. Yep, I was playing it cool, even when I swung so high that I had to soil my diaper just so I wouldn't sweat it. She can't see me sweat.

It's all a part of gradual flirting process with her.

A New Trick

I'm really getting used to my new crawling method. I'm breaking the speed limit whenever I get a head start. And I'm learning to make noises.

See, I used to sound like Mommy and Daddy's Prius, which means I was silent when I crawled. But that's no fun. And since the "rummmmmmrummmm" sound that other people's car makes is kinda advanced for me, I've decided to perfect something new: the crawl and fart.

Sure, you might snicker at the sound. I get that. And that smile might turn into a frown when the sound becomes a smell. I get that too. But if you think you can keep up with me now, wait until that that turbo boost I get from the propulsion of gas coming out of my booty.

You'll be left in my dust. Or digested yogurt extract.

Gravity

As many of you know, I'm a huge fan of standing up. But what goes up must come down, and falling down hasn't been easy.

But what I learned today is that my booty is meant for more than squeezing, pooping and shaking. It's also meant for cushioning.

So as long as I stick out my bum and let gravity take its course, I can go from standing up to crawling speed in record time.

Secret Plan

I learned something today: Mommy and Daddy don't like to wake up early.

I mean, they don't mind waking up to pick me up and bring me to bed with them. But that's about as far as their dedication goes. I'm expected to go to sleep between them and wake up at a respectable hour, like say 6:30.

But what if I want to wake up and stay up at 5:15?

Well, Mommy and Daddy barricade me between their bodies and put Noggin on the TV. So I get to watch the telly all by myself for an entire hour while they continue to sleep.

How cool is that?

Now if I only knew how to work the remote, I'd might be able to watch something a little more substantial. You know, like ESPN. Or the NFL Network. Or the NBA channel. Or MLB TV.

Monkey

Before I was even born, Auntie Sue and Uncle Mike bought a monkey bean bag for me. For months, it's been sitting in my room, right next to my crib, and it's been as hard as a rock. But every so often, Daddy will sit on it, and before you know it, the bean bag became soft.

And, today, he brought it into the living room.

With my new crawling technique down, I'm able to get anywhere I need to at rapid speeds. And suddenly, this bean bag is now in my play domain, and, you know, I gotta check it out. Make sure it's a friend. Give it the okay to even be here.

So I crawled to it, grabbed onto the monkey ears, pulled myself up, stared at the monkey eye to eye and stared it down.

Then I fell down.

And then I pulled myself up again.

And then I fell down.

And then I pulled myself up again and realized how much fun this is. I mean, it's soft, it squishes, it's big enough to present a challenge...so I looked at the monkey eye to eye one last time and said, "Monkey, you can stay. You are my friend."

And that's how the monkey made it to my living room.

In case you asked.

Another Uncle Jack Connection

Today was Uncle Jack's party, so we all went to Gram and Grampa's house to celebrate. I got to spend some more time with Uncle Jack. We were both wearing newsboy caps. I had mine on because I look really cute in it. He was wearing his because I think he actually has a route around here when he visits.

Or so I'd like to believe.

Mommy and Daddy brought me in the hot tub, and I got to swim with my big cousins Dylan and Tanner. It was fun. What made it even more fun was that Gram bought me a green swimmy thing that keeps me afloat. So Mommy and Daddy have their hands free, which means they can tickle me in the hot tub. And, just as important, that makes me independent.

Or so I'd like to believe.

My Eight Month Birthday

Today I turned eight months old.

That's two-thirds of a year.

That gets me within striking distance of being a toddler.

So suck on that, newborns.

A Farewell to a Friend

My good friend Beckett is moving from San Francisco to Grandpa's hometown of New York. So although I will see him again, I won't have the chance to see him whenever I want. And that makes me sad. Because he's a year older than me and he's all been there, done that.

So Beckett, until we're both old enough to write letters or type e-mails or have Facebook accounts or to follow each other on Twitter, I'm just gonna have to learn from you whenever I see you, like three times a year or so. Until then, keep everything you're doing in your head and remember to tell me everything, mostly because I look up to you and refer to you for guidance.

Because I'll be listening.

Also, in New York, when you point with your middle finger, it's okay. People there do that all the time.

No Mo Commando

I've become very adept at crawling recently. But I feel like my form could use some work. I mean, if I were to join the Marines, I'd be able to sneak anywhere undetected, even a desert. But it takes a toll on my tummy, always scraping on the floor wherever my arms and legs take me.

So, with the help of late-night bench presses with a Beanie Baby, I've gotten my arms a little stronger, and my abs are now six-pack tight, and I've gone from Commando to Conquerer of the Pushup Position.

Which means that, when Mommy and Daddy are on all fours, we're all the same speed.

Advantage: Me.

Especially when I hit my Turbo button.

Lil Michael Phelps

Today I had my first swim lesson. Now, I've got loads of experience in hot tubs spanning from Novato to Tahoe. But this is the big time. I mean, it's like four feet deep!

Mommy got dressed up in her bathing suit and jumped into the pool with me. I had my trunks on with my swimming diaper and all my muscles pumping. I learned how to kick my feet and to extend my arms.

I'm not saying that Michael Phelps' 14 gold medals are in jeopardy.

But I do wonder where he was at eight months old.

Playing Ball with Gabby

One of the nice things about Tahoe is that we're surrounded my forests, which means that Gabby the black lab can run around wherever she wants. So I had the opportunity today to play ball with Gabby.

However, here's the thing: I don't have much of a throwing arm. In fact, all I can really do is roll the ball. But I look all around me and see all this space and I think that, when I do learn how to throw a ball, how much fun it's gonna be.

Until then, Gabby drops a ball at my feet, I pick it up, Mommy takes it away and wipes the slobber off of it and also off my hands and then gives it back to me and I roll it back to Gabby. And repeat.

Fun now, yes, but wait until I'm able to really let it go.

The Play Area

Mommy came home today with a new big gift for me, but for once, it's not a toy.

Instead, it's a place for me to play with toys.

Mommy and Daddy cleared out the dining room area (which, I'm told, was once the office) and laid down some soft interlocking tiles on the floor. When they were done, it made a huge square filled with different colors. And then, they put my toys on top of them. So I now have a comfortable place for me to play with my toys, fall down, crawl around on and, well, it's my spot. This is where I do what I do.

Score.

I can't wait to chew up every inch of it.

The Picture Book

Grampa bought me a picture book. I love it. It's got one hundred pictures in there, and he points to each one and tells me what it is. There's a photo of a penguin, socks, doggy, smile, lamp, chickens, rubber duckie, boots, computer, TV, broccoli, ducks, cow, horsie, keys, clock and a motorcycle that I've been informed that I'll never be allowed to ride.

Grampa asks me to kiss the other babies that are in the book, and I do it. I place a big fat wet one right on their cheeks.

Even on the ugly ones.