Overnight, my baby has become a full-grown kid. His fat belly slimmed down to merely pouchy, his determination in all things is uncompromised (I think I’m putting that nicely). He plows ahead with reckless abandon (straight into the corner of the coffee table, unfortunately) and cackles with achievement when he tops the staircase.
And he has suddenly realized that his Daddo is a very cool guy.
The other day, I was too slow to retrieve Sylvan’s apple from the fridge, so he toppled over backwards in his most dramatic way and wailed uh-oh my Daddo! Apple! Daddo!
Today, he cried for ten straight minutes while Daddo was out planting cantelope in the garden. Tears pooled up under his eyes and coated his eyelashes. Uh-oh my Daddo! Uh-oh!
I made pizza for dinner, and he only tugged on my legs once, because he was busy chasing after Daddo.
I brought out my knitting, and he didn’t try to grab the needles out of my hand. (Maybe that means more knitting-related blog content coming your way soon! Maybe I’ll finally finish that first pattern sitting on my hard drive!)
We’re settling into a whole new phase of life. Mama still has the best cuddles after a hard headbonk, and I’m still the one who will hand out extra snacks and risk a sippy cup of milk in the carpeted living room. But Daddo is already the model, the person to be like, the one with the most fun things going on.
I can’t tell, over the internet, if these incidents sound sad. It is the end of an epoch. But really, I think it’s time to celebrate. Daddo supported me well through a year and a half of baby time, the hard work that is breastfeeding and shepherding a babe through lots of firsts – sitting, standing, walking, ear infection, allergic reaction, and most blessedly of all the first full night’s sleep for all of us. Now it’s my turn to support, to take back some of the mundane house tasks so that I can take pleasure listening to my guys bond over something in the other room (I can tell it’s going well by the crazy giggles).