Last week I woke up to find that someone had stolen my baby and replaced you with a little boy. A little boy on a mission to get off of Mama and Papa’s laps (although I’m not sure you’ve really thought that one through) and put anything and everything into your mouth. If you could slow down a little with the growing up, that would be nice, because I don’t have anything to wear to your wedding.
I’ll never forget buying your first stuffed animal, a frog from Ikea, and your first toy, a little cow from Target. Since then, baby toys have taken over the house, multiplying like dandelions. We have enough baby toys and baby equipment to furnish a daycare, and yet I can never seem to find a burp cloth when I need one.
Last week I set you on the floor for “tummy time” in a desperate attempt to get hair to grow on the back of your head. Unfortunately, it doesn’t grow fast enough during the forty seconds you tolerate being on your stomach, so you still have a bald spot. Tummy time began as normal, with me telling you that this time you will love being on your tummy, really you will. I set you down and suddenly, before I could grab the camera or Twitter about it, you rolled over. Just popped right over. As if to say, “Thanks anyway, Mama, but I prefer being on my back.” You have since obliged us by repeating the feat each time we get bored with what’s on tv. I wanted to videotape you and put it on You Tube, because I’m convinced that it would go viral and get a million viewers, but I’ve since found out that this is what babies do. I can’t wait to see what comes next! Walking at six months? Potty training at one year? Piano playing at eighteen months? I’m sure nobody has ever felt this way about their baby before, but I am pretty sure you are a genius.
Yesterday you turned four months old, and it was also the one-year anniversary of when your papa and I found out I was pregnant with you. I will never forget that day, and the happiness and excitement we felt. I also felt fear, because I knew having a baby would be a lot of work, and that you would take over our lives. You have taken over (not to mention your stuff!). I toss you on the bed, my roly poly boy, and take off your clothes, and smother your baby belly with kisses. As you laugh and grab hold of handfuls of my hair, I realize that while our life has certainly become more cluttered (with bills, dust bunnies, and dirty diapers), it has also become more full.