Before RB came along I said I prefer older kids, ones I could converse with. Realistically from 6 or 7 years old. I’ve never been overly enamoured by babies. Without the ability to chat, and reason, I found them a bit boring. I get they’re cute, for five minutes. Then they just do the same nothing, on repeat.
So I couldn’t be more surprised that at seventh months old, RB has so much personality. A whole adult serving of personality.
He doesn’t speak words but he speaks and we have conversations. He squeals, then I squeal, he smiles and squeals louder. Then I make a different noise, he watches, absorbs it, then smiles and squeals again.
He’s an excellent flirt. When he meets new people he knows how to win them over with his gummy grin. He flutters his eyelashes and maintains eye contact. And then he beams and reels them in.
And he takes in everything. He’s always watching, absorbing, then eventually, practising. I can feel his brain whirring. It’s incredible to watch. And it seems the more he sees, the more he learns, the more he has space to practice, the happier he is. It’s as though he’s not learning how to be a person, he already is one, he’s just learning how to express his personality.
I know I’m blinded by love. Inevitably I see more in him than others do, but still, I couldn’t be more enamoured.