Sunday, February 21, 2010

Skidding Towards One.

My boy is almost 1. I cannot believe it's been nearly a full year since he last rolled and tumbled in my belly. Almost 12 months since the day he sent me flying into labor then stubbornly worked his way out, Super Man style. 365 days since the day he made me a mom of a boy.


At 11 months, he's the boy the sun rises over. He pulls up on things and stands on his own, surefooted and strong. On Valentine's Day he even took 2 or 3 steps between Darrick and me, then back, then forth, a few times in a row. He has not done it since, maybe because he doesn't have to. After all, he tears around the house on all fours, burrowing his face into the side of the couch or rubbing his head on the tile and laughing. He babbles all the time, often mimicking our inflections. His words are limited still: Mama, Dada, Nana (banana), Dod (dog). He may be saying 'Dider'(dih-dur) for sister, though we're not sure if that's our imagination or not.

He's eating solid foods and drinking from sippy cups now, though he still gets several bottles a day. Rohan took easily to finger foods, so save for a few things like yogurt, applesauce, and cottage cheese, he doesn't get much spoon-fed to him. He revels in a tray of bite-sized pieces before him, his fingers digging and diving, shoveling food into his mouth, down to speckle his belly, and onto the floor below. He LOVES food.

The other thing he loves? His sister. He is absolutely smitten with her, and she with him. There are days when I think how I would love another baby someday. And then, there are days when I see this intricate dance of siblings which my two are learning together, and I have a hard time placing baby three in the mix. Does he/she cut in? Join so that they stand in a circle, arms around each others' shoulders as they sway (reminding me of middle school dances, when the girls would inevitably end up on the dance floor together, swaying to the music and laughing in a world all their own)? Or is #3 left to sit on the bleachers, a wallflower and tag-along for life?

We're not sure yet where the next few years will lead us, and whether they will have us welcoming a third child into our lives or thanking the universe for blessing us with these two and closing this (baby/diaper/sleepless nights/pacifiers/nursing/formula) chapter for good.

Which is why I am holding on to these sweet moments of babyhood, where he is all big mitten hands and curious eyes and bedtime snuggles. I know the day will come when his silky soft skin turns rough, and callouses alter the landscape of his knees and hands and feet. I know he won't always be instantly calmed by me scooping him up to me and patting his back while we rock together. I know there will come a day when the sun does not rise just for him...a day when he no longer thinks it rises over me.

So for now I want to enjoy this sweet age. I want to stare into his baby blues and spend time pressing my face to his when he's warm from sleep. I want to hold his chubby hands as he walks next to me, still holding onto that tenuous connection that makes him think he is still a little baby and he needs me to keep him standing. I will enjoy the process of putting him to bed for every nap and bedtime that I am there for, because I want to be the last face he sees as he lets sleep close his eyes.

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