11 months

 Jesus. that was fast. 

This morning as I was getting ready for work, I put Rowan in his baby stockade so I could get dressed. He was fussy as he has been this whole week after VomitCon 2011. I don't blame him--I've not been feeling all that hot, myself, and it's just hard when you're trying to do twenty things before heading out the door at 7am and you can't stop and cuddle him like he wants so you're scurrying around and he's making increasingly loud pissed off pterodactyl noises. I was in the kitchen simultaneously trying to fix him a warm bottle, make my hair look less like a troll doll and feed Mama dog at the same time while Rowan's voice was now reaching previously unheard decibel levels when Hopper shuffled into the room, threw his arms up and said, "Rowan! You are so CUTE!"  

He is. He really, really is.