So, today is Andrew's nine month birthday. It seems hard to believe he was ever this little and placid:

Now, he seems biologically incapable of holding still for more than half a second (unless he's asleep, and even then he seems to like to wiggle. One of his favorite sleeping positions is what Dan designates the "stink bug"--that is, he sleeps on his stomach with his legs tucked under him and his bum in the air). At 21+ lbs, he's also no lightweight.

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Today, Dan, Andrew and I had the novel experience of being invited speakers to a distant speaking event: that is, we got to drive two hours to speak at a branch in Sommerset, PA. (The branch president asked our bishop to recommend a couple to come down and speak, and our bishop recommended us). Dan observed that this is something that would never have happened in Utah. It seems to have gone okay--no one looked too obviously bored and Andrew avoided any major blowups (or -outs)!

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After suffering for some months as Andrew's human jumping toys, Dan and I decided that we couldn't handle this anymore. So we invested in a Radio-Flyer bouncing pony (we're calling it an early birthday present to justify the cost). It took Andrew all of about five minutes to discover that not only could he bounce on this toy, but if he rocks hard enough, he can move the pony across the floor. . .

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This seems to be the day for disjointed blog entries. In my defense, I spend several hours a week talking to other people about connecting their sentences and writing stronger transitions between paragraphs and sections, so it seems only fair that on my days off I exercise my right to violate what few principles I know for good writing.

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One last comment. We think that Andrew might actually be beginning to understand that the random strings of noises he makes correspond with real-world meanings (well, some of them at least). Yesterday, as I was working on my talk for today in the bedroom, I heard Andrew (who was in the front room playing with his dad) emphatically repeating "mama, mama, mama." When I finally came out to see what the ruckus about, he beamed delightedly at me and stopped saying his new favorite word. The evidence isn't conclusive, of course, but it is suggestive that he might--might--have figured out his first word! (Now, if only I could figure out how to get him to say "Dada" when he wakes up in the middle of the night . . .)