I’m 9 now, guys. You know, the age where you babble and drool a lot? Yeah, it’s not that different from 8 now that I think about it.
You know what they say about your 3/4 birthday… Seriously, do you? I don’t. I’m a baby. And that doesn’t even seem like a thing.
Here’s the news from my 9-month appointment with Marshall (which is what Dada calls Dr. Marshall):
- I’m 9-month old tall, fat, and head-sized.
- I’ve been clapping at a 10-month skill level since I was 7-months old, players.
- I have the vocabulary of a 1-year old.
- I have the handsomeness of Ryan Gosling and the charm of George Clooney (Marshall didn’t actually say this, not with words, but he certainly implied it with his eyes and eyebrows).
Here are some other updates:
- I can say Mama, Dada, and RyRy.
- I can stand in my crib and sometimes even sit down. If I can’t, I casually mention, “hey, I’m stuck standing in here”, which sometimes comes out as, “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” according to some sleepyhead complainypants.
- I can crawl from the middle of the bed to the edge of the bed-cliff almost as quickly as Mama can run over yelling, “Don’t do that!!!” or something equally dramatic.
- I have a tooth (bottom front right).
- I lost Zed the zebra pacifier and then everyone ran around like they were Parker Posey in Best in Show looking for Busy Bee, until Mama ordered a new one off Amazon Prime, and the new one is named Murray (after Bill Murray, because the zebra has “Stripes”, get it?).
And of course, we still have to do The Shoot. This month’s debacle went down a little something like this:
What’s this now? The best way to investigate, as everyone knows, is to place it clumsily in your mouth. Seriously, drool? Now? I’m in the middle of something here.
Sweet Baby Shadow, this is very good. Like boobs good. Mama, did you know about this? Like the whole time? YOU’VE BEEN EATING MY BIRTHDAY CUPCAKES, HAVEN’T YOU? Pooh, you hearing this?
Just gonna go ahead and help myself to some… what’s this? Do I eat this, too? Okay, so I just figured out the cupcake thing, and you think we’re still gonna do the whole shoot, but sans cupcake, lady? Really? This from the woman who almost cried when the cupcake place was closed on her birthday so she couldn’t get her free cupcake? I’m gonna sit here and smile and be all, “I love not eating delicious cupcakes because I’m just a stupid baby!”? Not today, lady, not today.
You’re so lucky I’m a professional.
Bert has given me a new nickname: Georgie Burgles. Should we change this to bertandburgles? Nah.