He has progressed from crawling to pulling up on anyone and anything he can -- oftentimes it's my legs as I'm standing at the kitchen sink. The thing he's having trouble with is getting back down. Sometimes he just falls on his padded butt and that's fine. Other times he is shocked to feel the back of his head hitting the floor. I feel really bad for him then. I do hope he masters how to get back down soon.
When I talk about him, I call him Joey; but when I'm addressing him, I find myself calling him Joe. I don't know why. All my other kids I call something ending in -y. But then there's my Joe and all the things that rhyme with it. Uh-oh, Joe! No, no, Joe! Say it ain't so, Joe! See how much more fun that is.
Right before we left to come here, I took him to the doctor and he tipped the scale at 17 pounds 3 oz. I forget his height, but he was something like 70th percentile for height and maybe 50th for weight.
As I type this he's on the floor next to me, trying to reach the fan cord that I put up out of his reach. Oh, Joe -- you're nothing but trouble but I love you so!