Moving. Baby C is the move and she hasn't looked back. Which is a slight problem, given that backwards is the only direction she's mastered. Her legs aren't in the game yet; she basically shoves herself along until she hits a chair or the wall. She spends a lot of time backed up into the furniture these days. We really must childproof soon.
Eating. Why they call it blowing raspberries, I don't know. But if you replace "raspberries" with "rice cereal" or "avocado" or "banana" or "apples" or "squash", you will have a good idea of how mealtimes are going around here. Forget taste. Food is mostly tactile experience for the 8-month old. She likes to squish it between her fingers, then mash it into her hair, then cram what remains into her face, where some of it might land in her mouth, which she likes to forcefully expel onto whatever is unfortunate enough to be within raspberry range. My floor and her high chair are covered in the cement-like remains of her meals. NASA could use dried brown rice to keep tiles affixed to the space shuttle.
Sleep. Baby C is remarkably bright-eyed. My sleep deficit, however, rivals the national debt. This morning, I ran the coffee maker. Without coffee in it.