This month I was reminded just how quickly you’re changing. You and I had a little adventure this month taking another couple flights to and from Nova Scotia to visit all the grandmas (and everyone else) that love you out there.
First of all let me say that your grandma at the lake has been talking you up to everyone and anyone that would listen. She kept telling them how awesome you are, what a good boy you are… you know general grandma bragging stuff. But even she couldn’t believe just how mild tempered and sweet you really are. You knocked her socks off!
We were only away for eight days but I was worried that when we got back your dad wouldn’t recognize you because you learned so many neat tricks while we were away. You not only perfected your pulling-yourself-up onto boxes/coffee tables technique, but you also learned to pull yourself up onto the couch all by yourself. It was seriously cute to see your little chubby legs shake as they mustered the strength to push your body up to standing.
You learned how to get down off the couch (feet first). You learned how to get under the coffee table. And you started walking – putting one foot in front of the other while someone held your hands. That’s quite a week! And you were so proud to show them off to Dad, after a big hug, when we got home. I was pretty proud too.
There are certainly times when I look at you and I still see you as this tiny little baby boy. In many ways you are. Like when you slept in my arms on the plane on the way to Halifax. You looked so peaceful and angelic in your cozy little jammies all snuggled up close to me.
Other times, and you’ve been like this since you were born, you have this look on your face like you have something important to say -if only you could get those lips to work – and you seem so grown up. Or like earlier this month when you started babbling in sentences. One night you said something and your dad and I turned to each other and said, “I think he just asked us a question”. Your intonation was perfect. We told you no, you couldn’t have a Gin and Tonic. Those are for mommy and daddy. And on our flight back home you squirmed and squirmed and couldn’t sit still until the turbulence hit, and you somehow knew that I needed a hug and you held me tight and got me through the rough patches.
And I’ll always get you through the rough patches, too. Unless it’s turbulence. You’ll have to ask your dad about that.