Poor Brooks.  He's getting the least amount of blog fare written about him.  And his story deserves to be told:

I am Brooks and I am nearly 8.5 months old.  I have barely two teeth.  I sorta crawl.  I don't really choose to roll over much and my wonky back-of-head shows it.  But I try to stand up lots, which frustrates me because I often end up on my back and rolling over is so...much...work.  I use words like bababababa and dadadadada and I just found zzzzzzzzzzzerbert, so I practice a lot and get my shirt wet.  The milkmaid is sometimes dismayed by my lack of baby chubbiness and says something semi-resentful under her breath about giving birth to my gigantic body... but no matter. I own that woman- she and I are like *this*.  She thinks I am the cutest thing EVER.  I like the mushy food she makes me in her fancy, blade thingy. But I get T.O'd sometimes when the food stops being scooped out of the little bowl... "all done!" is said with a smile.  But this makes me super mad and I know she's holding out on me.

The taller, yet shorters are my favorite also.  They are taller than me and shorter than the milkmaid and they are HILARIOUS!  Sometimes the milkmaid gets mad at them because they are like living, breathing YOLO advertisements.  Death wishes have they... but they love me.  Sissy especially knows how to make me smile.

And then there's the big dude.  He's my best buddy and he does all kinds of crazy tricks that make me laugh. Sometimes he calls me Stormaggedon and reminds me that bow ties are cool.  Not sure what to make of that.

Now, let my handsomeness wash over you like a spring rain