11 months

Roman is 11 months old. He can take a few staggering steps here and there, and cruises along the furniture and between objects he can grasp, but is tentative about walking on his own. He's becoming a master imitator and can make fart noises, fishy faces, and moo like a cow (just to name a few things...these are all in his board books, btw, not usually things uttered by me on a daily basis. Well, at least not usually). His new trick is pushing an object - a bowl, a cup, a block, a toy car - around the house (I should really put some swiffer mops on his knees and hands to get the floors clean). His adoration for his older siblings - particularly Anika, as she doesn't have the same propensity for injuring him as Reni does - continues to grow, and to hear him giggle as they're playing, or giggle when you swoop in to pick him up, or giggle at Elmo or Cookie Monster, is a complete bad-day panacea. He is darling and sweet and funny and mischievous and a terrible, TERRIBLE sleeper. Up several times a night and if we make it until 5 a.m. before he's awake for the day, I count that as a win.

He remains my music aficionado and resident dancer in training. Any sort of song, even a ditty from a toy or a commercial, sets him bouncing and giggling.

He's figured out how to open cupboards and drawers, lift the toilet seat, and open doors that aren't latched shut. He is so adverse to eating baby food that one night a few weeks ago, he refused to eat a pureed vegetable soup because it didn't appear to be big people food. He kept looking at us, examining his bowl, and looking at us again, as if to say, "why the heck are you guys eating baby food?" I finally got him to eat something by handing him a hunk of baguette and a large wedge of parmesan cheese.

Here's his fishy-face. Practice for future selfies?