not a baby anymore

Dear Baby G;

My dear third baby, my precious wee man, here it is two weeks after your first birthday and I still haven’t written your special happy birthday post.

Life keeps intruding. Sometimes, by ‘life’ I mean ‘small screaming toddler who is cutting both canine teeth’. The days pass, busy, hectic, and suddenly I realize that January is almost over.

This was you, the day you were born:

And this was you, on your first birthday:

I look at that face, and I don’t see a baby anymore. You are a full-on toddler now, always in motion, careening around the house on some mysterious errand. The end game is almost always your brothers’ room; you have an uncanny ability to know when that magical door opens, and like lightning you’re in there, tasting their Lego and pulling Ron’s clothes out of his storage cubbies.

The only recognizable word you have is “Mama” – usually wailed at full volume, with extra vowels. You wave hello and bye-bye very enthusiastically, and you have no problem making yourself understood. Want a drink? Stand by the fridge and yell (waving empty sippy cup optional). Want your dinner NOW? Sit in your high chair and yell. Need a diaper change? Tug on a handy adult pantleg. And yell.

You yell a lot.

I’m not going to lie, your yelling this past month has caused some stress around here. You’re cutting your bottom canine teeth, you see, and on really bad days your gums are so swollen and purple that I could cry with you. One finally peeped through yesterday morning, and today you were calmer. You laughed more, and so did I.

You have the best laugh.

It’s a totally all-consuming thing, and you have a pretty well-developed sense of the ridiculous. It’s never been hard to make you giggle; funny faces, tickles, the smelly-feet game – you love them all, and even other kids have been known to comment on what a great laugh you have. Anyone hearing laughs too; it’s impossible not to. It’s infectious.

Every night after your bath, you want to play peek-a-boo. You grab a corner of the towel and cover your face, giggling quietly, while I say “where’s Baby G? where did he go?” and then you whip the towel off triumphantly for the big reveal.

You love music. You love it so much that I’ve temporarily taken leave of my senses and bought you ever so many toys that play music, just so I can watch your adorable little bent-knee bouncing dance. You try to sing along, too. Your songs all go “da-da-da-da-da” and are sung in a sweet, soft voice that you don’t use any other time. Sometimes when nothing else works, a song will bring a smile.

Every night at bedtime, I sing “Hush Little Baby” to you. You hold your favourite soft blankie under your cheek and drowsily suck your thumb. Sometimes you’ll reach up to touch my face, play with my hair, pat my mouth while I’m singing. I put you down awake and you drift peacefully off to sleep without a whimper; something that amazes me every single time, as I’ve never known a baby to actually do that.

Your favourite things are your family, anything very soft, the dog, the cat, and the singing soccer ball you got for your birthday. (Hooray, hooray, it’s time to play / let’s roll the ball / and cheer today!) You dislike waiting two minutes for your dinner to cool off, when Mama leaves the room for any reason, and getting the shampoo rinsed out of your hair.

You made our family complete, and we all love you so very much.

Happy birthday, G.

Love, Mama

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