Eight months

It's been a whirlwind of a month: first In-N-Out, first donut, first time meeting lots and lots of people, first time keeping a secret, first time being able to tell a secret: I'm going to have a new cousin this year!!!*  But this month I also experienced a midlife crisis in advance regarding my career.

As some of you know, I have had plans to be a spaceman for quite some time.  I even have the uniform.  It really seemed the perfect job for me because wouldn't you know, astronauts wear diapers too!

But then this month, I went on an airplane to California and it TOOK WAY TOO LONG.  Now, I don't know where California is, but Mommy says the moon is further.  I don't see how that can be, because if a cow can jump over it, surely it can't be *too* far away.  But just in case, I don't think I'll be a spaceman.

So then I thought, "Maybe I'll be a sailor."  Things started out pretty well on that front - after all, who wouldn't love a sailor with a bright blue cap?

But then I went overboard, courtesy of Uncle Andrew, and decided that maybe the sea is not calling my name.

Maybe a professional jockey?  That was a really exciting prospect at first, and I threw my heart and soul into being the very very best.

This is a face racing to win.  Or filling a diaper.  Whichever.

But my goodness, after riding hard for what seemed like FOREVER, I didn't move an inch!

Slowest. Mount. Ever.

I then considered a career in athletics, but then I watched the Super Bowl and it just looked too painful.

Oh sure, laughing at other people's pain is fine, but I'm just not cut out for it myself.

Professional eating?  I'd be great if only contests involved peas, squash, green beans, and carrots.  Man, I practically inhale that stuff.  And I have a great tolerance for mess, which is a must in the professional eating arena.

But it seems most people are interested in watching people inhale hot dogs, and Mommy won't let me try those for some reason.  There's also too long of a list of things that I don't like: pears, peaches, turkey, yogurt, applesauce.  Mommy thought my tastebuds might be broken, but it turns out I really like ice cream.

Maybe a drummer?

Too loud.  I just don't know that I could fit a nap in.  How about a burger flipper?

I accept French fries, though, thanks to my pal Grandpa.

Too hot, and I don't like meat.  Punk rocker?  I gots the hair for it:

We'll see if she still thinks this is cute in fifteen years.

Mommy wouldn't take me seriously.  She kept saying that I was so cute with a mohawk, and I don't think that's the statement punk rockers are going for.  How about a zookeeper?

Eight months

Eh.  I prefer to have others clean up after my messes, not the other way around.  Maybe a professional napper would suit me better.

Besides, I have two teenage uncles to join me in that career any time.

Mommy says there's not much of a market for that (and besides, I'm not really all that good at it anyway).

*sigh*  Fortunately, it's not all bleak.  Grandma seems to be convinced that I would make an A+ model, and I got in a lot of practice in California.

What makes me smile?  Knowing that Uncle Dave is gonna give me a cousin close to my age!

So there you have it.  I'm all set on a career (although a fire truck sped by earlier and so I may change my mind again).   I went swimming and have even met six out of nine (!!!) great-grandparents!  I mean, how many eight-month-olds can claim that blessing?

I guess it was a pretty good month.  :)

*[Ed. note: just to clarify, the new cousin is a California cousin, not a sibling to the twin cousins.  Don't start rumors, please.]