Monday, December 8, 2008
I can't believe my baby boy is about to be one. It seems like yesterday that you were born, following two weeks of bedrest. You were the second baby of 2008 in our county (even got in the paper) but your dad always tells people you were first.
I'll get straight to the point...mommy is a pushover. I never believed in the whole "Mama's boy" thing, but I do now. You make the slightest peep and I'm there. At your service, sir. What can I get you sir? A bottle? A cuddle? Rock you to sleep? A lullaby? An intricately choreographed tap dance routine for your viewing pleasure? Right away sir.
You have an easy smile, a laugh that won't quit, and this happy, joyful squeal that would make anyone want to join the party you're at (usually with a phone, remote control or some other electronic contraption).
These days, you like balls. You can play a form of rudimentary catch where we sort of toss (ok, roll) the ball back-and-forth. Your dad has already deemed you a superior athlete. So much for not living vicariously through your children...
You also like toilets -- no surprise since farts, poops, burps, and the like still send your parents into Beavis and Butthead territory. If you could, I know you'd jump right in...just like it's your own miniature pool. For now, when my back is turned, you settle for splashing your little hand around in that lovely, clean toilet water. Yay! Great news for a mommy who thought the Anal Retentive Chef actually had some pretty decent ideas.
You and your sister have sown the seed for a loving (physical assault can sometimes be sort of loving right?) relationship. These days, a lot of times either you're in her business without her approval or she's in yours without your approval. But, then there are those sweet moments...wait, I just lost my train of thought...
Oh well, trust me, you guys have sweet moments.
My favorite, though, is when you're so happy to see me that you bury your head into my shoulder and then try to bite my nose. I know what you mean. If you could, that would be a smooch. I squeeze you, cover your face with kisses, and then bend over so you're upside down. I blow on your neck. You laugh and laugh and laugh. Every part of you is laughing -- even those two lonely bottom teeth, your curled-up toes, your fingers grasping my face.
I know you have to grow up, but please don't do it so fast. Please?