Last night I was sitting on the floor and Rohan crawled over and climbed up my arm so he was standing, holding onto my shoulder. I grabbed his chubby little hands and manuevered myself so that he was in front of me instead of next to me. And then...I let go.
And he stood, chubby kneed but sure-footed, a big bright smile crinkling his nose and scrunching up his deliciously fat cheeks.
It only lasted maybe a second before he wobbled like one of those Russian Matroyshka dolls with the rounded bottoms. (and no, I didn't know what they were called until a friend told me...thanks, friend!)And he fell with a sort of a thud that only a chubby diapered baby can make, onto that round little bum of his. And he laughed.
And then we tried it, over and over. And time and again, he stood for long enough for me to drive Darrick (sick on the couch, one arm over his face, moaning) crazy by whisper-yelling, "LOOK! LOOK HONEY! He can STAND!"
And then I had the overwhelming urge to never let him stand again because holy shit he's not even 9 months old and after standing is walking and then running and then my life is over.
But for now: Go Romo!