Age: 12 Months
Stats: Height 29.5 in (50%), Weight 22.8 lbs (42%), Head 46cm (45%)
Not walking on his own, but basically running while pushing a walker. And chairs. And barstools. And anything else he can scrape across the hardwoods.
Working hard on eating more than puffs and veggie straws. The struggle of mealtime reached a boiling point a couple weeks ago and we have been working with my OT brother and his fiancé ever since, trying to steer behaviors (Enzo’s and mine) onto a more healthy, successful course. We’re improving, for the most part. Enzo has been skipping meals and that stresses me to no end but I’m trying very hard to let go and believe everyone when they say He’ll eat when he’s hungry.
Relatedly, when I ask him to point to certain foods, he almost always does so correctly. That was super impressive to me the first time he did it. I may or may not have scared him in shouty excitement.
Otherwise he has been in a wonderful mood lately (knock on wood.) Sleeping great at night, sleeping IN until 8 or 9, and repeating Daddy over and over all day long because Dad’s the cool parent and I’m the one that tries to make him eat nutritious foods he’s not interested in.
When he does say Mama it’s in a super creepy Walking Dead voice that makes me laugh….and maybe wonder if I should be sleeping with one eye open.
He likes to play with kitchen items (usually more than toys), clap, hug, point, and occasionally “dance” (bob up and down). It’s cute as all get out.
And last but not least, he has, on occasion, done all the moves to Itsy Bitsy Spider. For which I was prepared to give him ALL THE AWARDS. Grammy, Oscar, Golden Globe, his wash the spider out motion wins them all.
After Enzo’s birthday party, my brother asked: How are you feeling, now that he’s one? I didn’t know what to say really. I feel so many things at once.
I feel like God dropped the mic after He made my son.
I feel like I could not be happier, and that makes me uneasy.
I feel like if this is how fast life is going to go from now on…I am not pleased. I have no choice, I understand that. But just let it be known, world. I AM NOT PLEASED. It’s so hard to properly appreciate the magic of childhood when the days rush in and out, like a whisper on a breeze.
I feel like I want another baby, but I also really enjoy sleep. And fitting into my jeans.
Sometimes I see people bite their tongues, when I joke about jeans and sleep. No doubt wanting to chide me for my selfishness. It is a joke, for the record. I know now that the struggle of the first three months won’t last forever, and I can claw my way back to my fighting weight over time. Even so, that doesn’t mean the mere thought of doing it all again doesn’t make me cringe.
But the more pressing truth of the matter is a positive is not a promise.
Just because we had one beautiful, healthy boy, doesn’t garauntee us the same outcome again. We will try of course, but we don’t expect it to be all blissful sunshine and ignorant roses now that we have Enzo. Instead I imagine it to be like what a race car driver feels when he continues to race after surviving a catastrophic wreck. Even though he has gone on to compete again, every time he gets in that car…he remembers the potential price.
So yes. We hope to be pregnant again. Soon. In the meantime when you hear me joke about sleep and jeans just know that I really do enjoy those things. A lot. But underneath that jest, is a knot in my chest. Shaped like a question mark. Made up of fear.
A positive is not a promise. I know that well. Better than you may think. So try not to worry so much about my biological clock that you are tempted to turn my jokes into serious conversation. What will be will be, it’s in God’s hands. In the meantime, laugh with me. And tell me how good I look in my jeans. ;)