Thursday, May 9, 2013
Funny How Things Change
I remember when Alana was a baby I was always in a hurry. When will she roll over? When can I feed her solid food? How soon till she sits up? Will she ever crawl? Come on and walk already!
This sense of urgency was not only unnecessary, it was idiotic. What was I so impatient about? What was the big rush for her to grow and get into stuff? Somebody get a time machine, go back to 2006, and slap some sense into me. Not too hard though, I bruise easily.
Now I'm on my third kid. He can crawl. He can kneel. He can get into things. He can leap tall buildings in a single bound...well, not quite yet on that one. Witten is now more than capable of becoming Monster Baby Extraordinaire. Not only is he capable, he is willing and he is enthusiastic about his role as trouble maker.
My house is baby proof in the laziest sense possible. There's just not that much stuff down where babies can get it. Because I don't want to pick it up. I don't keep any chemicals/cleaning products in low cupboards, they're all higher than even Alana can reach. I don't really go all Extreme Babyproofing and put bumpers on every corner and a lock on the fridge and toilet (although my fridge has a built in child proof feature, plus really high handles). We do have plugs in the outlets, but my monster baby can remove them. Great. Those are useful.
With my first baby I never took any time to appreciate her babyness. I wanted her to be born two years old, ready to talk and play. With my second baby I took a little more time to soak it in, I was in no rush for her to grow up. She took her time, but I was never opposed to her getting bigger. Now, with my third (and final) baby, I refuse to assist him in any growing up/learning to get into stuff. I am often tempted to hold him and squeeze him and pretend he's a newborn who just wants to sleep on my chest, but his status as Super Buff Muscle Man baby with nearly 7 teeth make that tricky.
Witten is crawling, terrorizing things/me, sitting & playing with his toys or whatever is within his reach, and feeding himself finger foods. Somebody tell him to knock it off, this isn't funny anymore. I will not admit that in less than two months he will turn one. I will not acknowledge it, even though I've already bought his birthday invitations. My last baby. My handsome guy. He is forbidden from growing up, and although its extremely dysfunctional he is free to live in my home where I will cook all of his meals until he is 40 years old. He doesn't need a wife and a grown up life, he's my baby.