You are two-and-a-half now — smack dab in the middle of the territory that lies between baby and big boy. I love how you realize that babies are different than you. But when you see J. drinking his milk out of a bottle, you want some milk too…in “one of those.” So I go to find you the sippy cup with the lid that most resembles a nipple.
I love how I can leave you playing upstairs while I run downstairs to schlep laundry. And when I return, I fnd you happily singing a song you made up about your sister and your dog. I love to hear you say, “M. is a gwate dog, Mom!”
I love tucking you in at night, hearing you say, “‘Night ‘night, Mommy,” after our stories and songs. Then without fail, you ask, “Are you goin’ downstairs, Mommy?” “Yes.” “Will you leave the door open just like that?” “Yes, baby.”
I love your hugs–arms flung with abandon around my neck–and your tender little boy kisses. I pray for your future wife. I know she will be someone special.
I am relieved to see “big boy” coming. I tire of the diapers, and the physical labor of lifting and hoisting. But I treasure the “baby” moments whenever they happen — rocking that heavy ‘ole big boy, who I can hardly cradle in between my two arms, who I struggle to lift to my shoulder, who will be the baby of my heart forever.
This post was written for MamaBlogga’s October Group Writing Project.