That's how many months old Finn is now. Eight. Eight months. Some days I still can't believe he's that "old" already. He's so stinkin' cute and so very, very sweet. Finn is my happy baby. Not that he never cries, but it's just not a frequent thing. Smiling is a frequent thing. So is crawling now. Every day he gets better at it, which means every day he gets faster. Now I put him down in the middle of the living room and find him 30 seconds later in places like this:
This one is his favorite since we made a game of it. Now he crawls over there and I'll pull him away and roll around with him on the floor, tickling him. Once I let him go, he crawls back over, laughing the whole way, waiting for me to grab him again. If I don't grab him, he still likes to go over there because there are things he can grab and pull off the bottom shelf. So really, it's win-win for Finn.
Finn also loves to be tossed about and thrown around. He loves, loves, LOVES bathtime with his older brothers. He is so happy to just sit there in the water splashing and chewing on bath toys. He also likes to eat. Which you could probably guess pretty easily just looking at him, the little chunk. He gets excited when he sees his daddy, and likes to snuggle with his mommy (every once in a while anyway). He watches his older brothers with fascination and anticipation for the day he can join them. He has the best little laugh, and the most wonderful smile.
I think we'll keep him.