Remember Ian in the NICU? Tiny Ian inside an isolette with leads attached to monitoring points, an IV in his arm, and a tube down his throat? Yeah, dude got over it. At his 9-month appointment last week, premie Ian weighed 22 pounds (85th percentile) and was 29 inches long (80th percentile). Yikes.

Ian – 8 months old

Given his size (and mine), breastfeeding him at this point is a pretty hilarious affair. I lay the top half of the baby more or less in my lap and the legs just dangle off to one side or the other, kicking and squirming away. Also he’s so much more alert now. If I try to feed him while we’re out, he has to stop often to look around, grin at me or random strangers, maybe yammer a baby word or two. I support and encourage public breastfeeding, and I do it routinely. However, I’m more than a little shy and self-conscious and prefer to limit the amount of time my nipple is exposed. Ian, naturally, is indifferent to my plight.

Ian – 8 months, Maya 2 3/4 years

We discovered that if you buy summer clothes at the end of summer, they can be had for a song. I had found the hat and linen shirt for Ian a while back but just couldn’t justify the cash outlay. In August, it turns out, everyone thinks summer is over (not in Texas, of course – I bet we still get a couple more weeks of summer even this late), so I was able to not only acquire the cute outfit, but get two different sized hats so I’d be sure to have one that fit him.

Maya with sticks, of course

I probably sound like a broken record, but any photos that were captured are a testament to Sean’s patience. Maya continues to shun the camera, and Ian’s moods shift with the breeze, so getting children that are both happy and in focus is something of a chore. Here they are in all their fedora-ed glory.