On top of it, you've made great strides towards sitting. The problem is, you seem to detest sitting. More than I hate Paris Hilton. You'll do it for a few minutes and then it's like you are trying to imitate a plank by flinging yourself backwards to move back into a laying position. It's like a little switch goes off in your head that says, "Okaydonenowlaydownrightnow". Me thinks you've been watching your momma too much. Laying is good, yes, and your momma enjoys it as much as the next first-time, overly paranoid, perfectionist mother, but there is a limit. You need to find a balance, Grasshopper.
You are now also indicating you may like to crawl soon. It started with you laying on your tummy and just kicking your arms and legs as fast and furious as they would go. You got no where but tired. Then you started with your little military push ups. But lately, you've risen up on those chubby little knees and pushed up on those lanky arms at the same time all the while rocking back and forth. Like a drunk intending on getting up off the ground to walk to his bed as the room swirls around him. Except your drinking is limited to formula. And the occasional shot of tequila before bed.
For the longest time I thought you had just given up on all development. That you were content to just lay staring at the octopus and turtle occupying your activity gym. That you felt silly activities such as sitting and moving were beneath you. And then suddenly, you just started everything all at once. Maybe that instant coffee we started adding to the formula has finally started to kick in. You have been such a fascinating, amazing boy to watch. I love when we laugh at you that you imitate us and start laughing right back. Which makes us laugh more because it's like you are trying to be cordial and polite by laughing with us to make us feel better. Which makes you laugh more and start hee-hawing like a donkey. Which makes me spit milk out my nose. Special times, Jack, special times.
I have come to look forward to our walks together during the day. On the breezier days, I love watching your tiny little wisps of almost translucent blond hair blow straight up towards the sky. Like audience members suddenly coming to their feet following a particularly moving performance. And when I peek around the front of the stroller, seeing you sucking the living daylights out of your seat straps, you smile the smile to end all smiles. It's like you are surprised and excited I'm there again. "There's that lady. Again. Huh. She's funny enough. Now where's that puffed wheat?" And at the end of the day when your dad comes home and grabs you and bounces you across every surface in the living room, that smile returns. Your mouth becomes the thinnest little line and your cheeks puff off the side of your face and you end up looking like a little barbell has been inserted into your mouth.
My baby boy. I still can't believe it's true even as I sit here and stare at the words. My. Boy. I end each day with a strange mix of joy and sadness as I watch you change. For all the happiness it brings me to see your new toothy smile, a part of me saddens knowing my boy with the gummy little smile is now gone. For as excited as I am as you work on becoming a mobile little being, I long for the days of just a few months ago when I could just hold you and hold you and hold you and you wouldn't fuss for anything more. It's all happening far too fast, Jack. I love it and hate it all at the same time. I guess that's the wonder and joy and sadness of being a mom. I love you baby boy.
Love,
Your Momma
