And with people food comes...

People poops! 

Jack loves his mama's milk, and I am delighted to provide it to him. 

He was exclusively breastfed until just about six months and, for those that don't know, the poop that comes out of an exclusively breastfed baby is actually not too bad, as poop goes.   Kind of yeasty smelling, yellow, runny, washes away, wipes off.

At six months, we started him on little bits of food -- some yoghurt, some banana, a little avacado.  A cheerio or two.  He still mostly drinks milk, but his range and volume of solids has increased.  And things have changed.

Oh my, have they ever changed!

First, he stopped pooping as often. He was a once-a-day guy until about seven months. Then it was every few days. Then he started pooping every four-five, sometimes six days.

Poor Steve seemed to get the bad luck of the draw in the diaper changing regard (even though I almost never engineered it to be his turn when the poop finally came), and confess that I resented his shouts of horror and begging for help when he was diaper changing. I confess that I rarely helped him, and if I did it was with much resentment. "Drama queen" I would mutter to myself. "Princess." I was really very ungracious. It really didn't seem that bad, even though he has been telling me that for the past few weeks, the poop has been taking on a most unpleasant texture and odour.

"Whatever you say, Steve. It's only poop."

You may see where this is going.

Today my choice was diaper change (which I knew was poopy) or litter box (also a known poop entity). As I abhor changing the litter box, and my sense of social justice finally reared it's ugly head, I opted for the diaper.

What a terrible mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

The first indication something was wrong was the smell. My darling little baby boy smelled... funny. Bad, somehow. Actually kind of gross. He hadn't smelled so bad since his cord stump turned into a putrid swamp of zombie-ness before it fell off.

Then I took his pants off.

The green streak up his leg wasn't completely unexpected since he hadn't pooped in two days, even given our awesome cloth diapers, but the smell had intensified. Badly. In preparation, I got two wipes out of the container (I generally pride myself on using one wipe per change) and had them handy. Then I unvelcro'd the top of the diaper. Jack reached for his penis with both hands.

Within a nanosecond, I had re-velcroed the diaper.

"STEVE!!!!!!!!" I screamed into the baby monitor. "STEEEEEEEEVE!!! I neeeeed you! HELP!"

My husband ran up the stairs, laughing. "Hold his arms," I told him. "Stat." Steve grabbed Jack's arms, weak with laughter. "I told you they were bad." "Shut up and hold his arms."

I wiped the leg first. Then I opened the diaper.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have never seen anything like it. It was a greyish green putty, smeared in a layer about a centimetre thick all over his penis, testes, buttocks and diaper. It had *chunks* in it. I'm pretty sure I saw peas, watermelon and zucchini. The image is burned into my retina. And the smell. Oh my goodness, the SMELL.

Have you ever attended a country fair sadly undersupplied in the porta-potty department? Where large, large men with unhealthy colons have voided their bodies of too many corn dogs and Those Little Doughnuts? And it's hot? Very, very hot? And the overused porta-potties are in the middle of the sunniest part of a blacktop parking lot?

It was like that. Only all over my baby's bum. And it was cold and windy outside.

I looked at this abomination of diaper-ness, and I looked at my two puny wetwipes. I looked back at the abomination, and grabbed a prefold from the shelf. I started taking big swipes at the bum, and grabbed another prefold. Worse yet, I couldn't even put the used diapers anywhere, since I needed one hand  to hold Jack's legs up and out of the detritus and other to wipe.

In all this, my husband was still laughing. Whenever he had breath to speak, he would gasp out something that sounded like "I told you so."

Gee, thanks.

Unfortunately, all the laughing got Jack right riled up -- he thought the situation was HI-larious -- so he squirmed and wriggled and twisted his little bum and thighs ALL OVER the dirty diaper. As fast as I wiped him clean, he rolled his bum, back and legs back through the mess.

Did I mention the peanut gallery Steve was still laughing? Yeah.

Finally I got the worst of it up (which is to say there was now just a film of disgusting smelly poop instead of a spackle of disgusting smelly poop), and, with two premium-sized prefolds AND my two sad little wet wipes now covered in that toxic waste, I told Steve to just hold Jack on the change table and I ran to run the bath.

One double-dose of bubble bath and two very wrinkled baby feet later, I was pretty confident he's clean. I do, however, still feel like scrubbing my hands with the barbeque brush and I may have to bleach the bath (to say nothing of my sinuses. And my eyes.). I haven't even considered what to do with the diaper (tongs and a bonfire comes to mind), and Steve (who mercifully stopped laughing) tells me this is the new normal.

Normal? This? And he potty learns WHEN? What did you say? WHEN?

The heck with starting solids at six months, I'm not giving him another solid until he's THREE YEARS.

So, to all lovely mothers just champing at the bit to feed your little angel his or her first mouthful of sweet potato at six months and two minutes old -- don't. Just don't. For the love of little apples, wait as LONG AS YOU CAN before introducing solids. I recommend middle school at the earliest.

Trust me. 

In our eighth month together...

In dark hours, I feel you breathe beside me, deep in sleep.

Pale morning light cools your skin to porcelain, so much like mine.  The blue line of your eyelid flicks with a pulse matched by your throat as you nurse.  Your cheek flutters -- a hummingbird wing -- you suckle for comfort, and I am comforted at our connection.  Soon you will wake and you will exercise your will, assert your independence, and I will celebrate your confidence.  But not now.  Right now, we are one.  

Afternoons bring staccato feet drumming my thighs and belly as your body's drive to move is slowly stilled by your mind's desire for rest. And milk.  And my presence.  And you sigh, and still, and sleep.

This is our respite from a day of activity, your "ah!" and flashing smiles for strangers, your determination and my laughter.   This is a time just for us, where you are still my baby, and not the little boy we have dubbed 'our gift to the world'.  Jack, I miss you when you belong to everyone.  

When you nurse, though, you are an extension of me, attached to me.  I slow my breath to slow yours, calming both of us.

We slide into sleep together, your hand tracing mine. Your inquisitive finger presses the ball of my thumb, touches my wedding ring, my wrist my breast my face.  Your ear.

You hold my hand with yours, your tiny, perfect hand.  You nurse, and sleep, and your hand falls away. 

Your gossamer hair against my arm smells metallic, bright, golden.  It stirs and moves with a life of its own, lifted by the cherry-blossom breeze from the open window.  It tickles my nose when I bend to kiss your head, damp with sleep.  I breathe in how we smell together; milk and honey.

Hunger sated and with a full measure of comfort, you roll to your back, cheeks flushed and mouth pursed in the memory of nursing.  I watch over you, a lioness with loving arms. 

Your mouth reaches for me, blind and needing, as you sleep.  A rising panic makes your languid motions urgent! frantic! until you latch -- aaah  -- and slip back into the bliss.  This is bliss.

This is more than I could ever have imagined.

That something so simple -- feed your baby -- could be such a profound expression of intimacy and love is something I could never have expected.

I would do anything to protect you, and us, and the nursing that helps make us an 'us'.  I am fierce with passion for this.  I am sabre-toothed in my defense of our need to nurse and be nursed, for us both to be nurtured at my breast.  

You have made me thus: a mother.  By nursing you, I am provider and provided for.  I am blessed, anointed, baptized in milk.   In this bed, I participate in an everyday miracle.  I believe. 

And still you sleep beside me, drinking in love.  

Thank you.

In my defence, you are keeping me busy!

In fact, as I write, you are wriggling your way over to the dvds on the shelf and look very much like you are going to pull one down for a taste.  Or all of them for a taste.  Oh, first you are going to taste Daddy's birthday card. Again. 

Which is all my roundabout way of explaining, dear Jackie, why your seven-month letter is coming at almost exactly at seven-and-one-half months a few days before you turn eight months old.  Bad mama! 

The past six weeks two months have been a rollicking adventure of milestones and development, and the ride is not slowing down one whit.  As you have now pushed yourself backwards under your swing and will be clamouring shortly for rescue, I will be brief. [Ok, this is not entirely accurate, two weeks later.  The swing went on Craigslist and you required rescuing before I could finish this post. Right now you are sleeping on your sleeping daddy on the couch. Seriously, seriously cute.]

You can push yourself around backwards.  This is cute, and not nearly as scary as the next trick -- crawling.  You can already get to hands and knees pretty much at will and you rock back and forth in preparation for the next stage, as if you are a little toy car getting revved up to be let go, zooming across the floor.  We MUST get a baby gate.  Seriously.

You have two teeth.  The first popped above the gum line at Mt. Baker a few weeks ago and the second followed a few days later.  They are now readily visible when you smile.  I call you 'Sharky' because of your terribly sharp chomping which you do on our fingers at every opportunity.

You taste EVERYTHING.  Every object you come across is lifted (if possible), turned, examined intently (with your little duck lip sticking out in concentration) and tasted.  These include and are not limited to: the buttons on my sweater, the cat's tail, daddy's steel guitar (with teeth clicking on the metal), any carpet you are placed on, your coat, the granite countertops at Ikea, my toes, my wallet, my debit card (handily lifted from my wallet), your seat belts and whatever else you grab/we give you in desperation to keep you occupied for another 20 seconds.

Food has been interesting.  I am a lazy ardent breastfeeder, so your diet is virtually 100% breastmilk, on tap.  This is normal at your age, and since I'm lazy prescribing to baby-led weaning, food is for fun and texture at this point, not for nutrition (that's what the boobs are for).  No purees for you!  And no preparing/spoon feeding/cleaning up puree-covered walls for me!  Since we are going for fun foods, you have been eating a range of delicious things.  You like raspberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and toast, any kind of cheese is a BIG hit, and you sucked back two slices of spicy Genoese salami at Costco.  We actually had to go back to the sample guy for another slice.  Awww our little blond, blue-eyed Italian shows his true colours! Sometimes you hide food in your cheeks for later.  That's always fun come nursing time.

"Why is this piece of half-mascerated steamed carrot on my boob?"

You are talking up a storm.  You are speaking fluent 'Babyese', and we don't understand a word of it, but you obviously believe that you are speaking a complete and many-nuanced language and your descriptive powers are amazing.  We are actually surprisingly good at translating your Ahs! and Ers! into the mother tongue, or at least you appreciate our efforts.

For the past few days, your naps have been all over the place.  Mostly far, far away.  You are working on so many skills -- walking, crawling, communication -- that it wires your brain and you can't sleep even when you are so. very. tired. 

You have also begun to 'request' to be nursed upstairs in bed no matter where we are.  It doesn't help to explain to you that London Drugs just doesn't have a bed we can nurse in -- you are insistent! Arching! Take me to bed to nurse! Only nursing in bed + shortage of beds at major retailers = eating less during the day (though that ipod Touch Addiction is mighty handy for surfin' and nursin').  In compensation, you are eating about five fifty times over the nighttime hours.  Thank all the little gods we co-sleep, though your Daddy has on at least one occasion been pushed right out of bed. 

*thump*

I'm ordering a nursing necklace to try and keep your attention long enough to get some milk in you during the day.  Cheerios are fascinating and tasty and look fine on my boob, but I'm getting a little tired of the afternoon pump because you can't be bothered to slow down enough to nurse -- or we don't have a bed handy.

Diapering has also become something of an ordeal adventure as you've mastered the whole rolling uphill thing.  Daddy and I miss the days when we could leave you on the change table to run and grab something and not worry about a *thump*.  Frankly, I miss the days when I could grab a wipe without having to simultaneously pin you with a fancy wrestling hold while trying to keep your hand off your poop-covered privates while keeping your diaper in place with a fourth hand and trying to free the music mobile from your other hand so that it can make the music it needs to TO DISTRACT YOU.  Ahh let it go.  We do love the All In One Monkey Doodlez (I should buy stock) as it is only one layer of diaper to put on and therefore only requires two extra hands instead of four.  Made in Canada with super velcro for the win! Go Canada!

I've been attending a 'Mamas Unfolding' group put on by the same people as we did our pre-natal classes (Dancing Star Birth) where one of the mamas did the prenatal class with us.  Her little guy, James, is working on walking (so scary cute!).  You watched him and that night showed us that your mad standing skillz have translated into mad walking skillz!  Of course your balance is non-existent, but the leap to one-foot-in-front-of-the-other has been made.  Dear god.

Since I need to start working on eight months ASAP, I will close this one off with a bunch of random photos.  Quick, before you wake up. 

You love hiking.  When the MEC baby backpack comes out, you jump with joy.  Which makes hiking even more fun -- nothing like a wiggling 20lb backpack to make daddy grateful for a hiking pole.  Here we are at Lynn Creek.  Truth be told, you find the label on the Jackpack just as interesting as the scenery.  Mmmm... tasty label!

We checked out some Olympic venues.  Stroller = snowplow if people = snow.  Way to get us to the head of the line, baby! The energy downtown was pretty darn cool and you loved it and the people loved you.  Beth and I stood in line for over an hour in the Bay Olympic Superstore lineup, where you decided a snack would be nice right about now... so we nursed in the lineup, Beth pushing the stroller and me walking and nursing.  Too bad breastfeeding isn't an Olympic sport.  Go Canada!

Hiking at Cypress Falls in West Vancouver.  The closest we could get to Cypress Mountain during the Olympics. You loved the rushing falls. 


You do love your daddy's music.  Three... two... one... turn and EAT GUITAR!

You also love your pasta.  This was your first (but not your last) trip to Anton's Pasta Bar.  You like chorizo sauce on your pasta.  Someday you will be able to eat a whole plate, I know it.  Go  Quattrocchi metabolism!


Grandpa Rod and Nana Tracy were in town for a few days over Spring Break, which was awesome.  I was so relieved that you took to them like you had seen them every day (instead of not since Thanksgiving).  We went to a Sledge Hockey Game and you were RAPT.  You watched the replay, you cheered at the goals, you ate Greek food afterwards and barely stayed awake on the bus on the way home -- just like the rest of us.

Go Canada!

Go Canada!

Go raspberry pancakes! 

In a few minutes, we're going to pack up and go to Grandma Gayle and Grandpa John's house for  dinner, which will be followed by Easter brunch tomorrow and maybe some birthday cake for mummy and Auntie Lisa.  Mmmm... cake.  Maybe we'll let you have a little taste... or maybe I'll pick up a little salami for my little Sharky.  Go Italy Canada!

I love you, Jackeroo.  You are the awesome-est. 

Mama

Almost six months...

Hi Jackeroo!

Tomorrow you will be six months old.  You are currently napping in your swing, so I'm going to make the most of this respite to write your letter.

You are generally napping more, so you'd think I'd have more time to write, but no -- you prefer to nap in our bed, with me lying beside you, so you can take a sip whenever your sleepy self decides to have a snack.  This is lovely (and man am I well rested some days!) but not so conducive to writing. 

Last night Steve had Simon over for music, and you stood in your exersaucer for over two and a half hours listening to the music.  You crowed and sang and played with your sippy cup, and on at least one occasion, you licked your dad's steel guitar.  Mmmmm... tasty, tasty guitar!  When the evening was winding down, you started shouting at me (also a new development) and when I picked you up, you were soaked.  Even your socks were wet!  Who knows how long your diaper had been saturated, but Mr. Picky, who usually complains at the first sign of dampness, didn't care a whit so long as the music was playing. 

We've known for a long time (since before you were born) how much you love music.  A few weeks ago, I went to move Steve's guitar from the couch and as soon as you saw me pick up the instrument, you started jumping and crowing -- play mummy! play!  I had to apologize... sorry, baby -- wait for your daddy to come home.  When we arrived at the Vancouver Folk Song Society event last Wednesday, you actually shook with excitement when you realized where we were.  I guess time will tell if you decide to play an instrument (as opposed to tasting them), but chances appear good.

You are now 18lb, 10oz, and are about 29" long.  I have started buying 12 month clothes for you.  They are a little big, but better that than too-small 6-12 month shirts.  Interestingly, you are still in 3-6 month pants, and size small Bummis diaper covers, which you should have grown out of at 15lbs, but you have your dad's slim hips (certainly not mine!) and long body (mine).   

You have your dad's hands: strong and gentle.  I hope this is a sign of the man you will become.  You like to stroke my hands while you nurse, or run your hands over my shirt, or reach up your hands for me to kiss.  The purpose behind your tiny hands is impressively large: you reach, grab, turn, grapple, lift and constantly explore.  Anything small enough to lift is brought to your mouth for a taste and a gum, which is why I was wiping tiny pieces of cardboard from your face, hands and shirt the other day.  Mmmm... tasty, tasty cardboard!

You have also experimented with more... conventional solids.  You have had yogurt (your favourite), apples (mostly stolen from me and gnawed during co-op meetings), avocado (which you had in your ears by the time you were done), banana (not such a fan) and raspberry with yogurt (big hit).  Oh, and chicken which you mostly shredded and congee which you mostly hated.  You would like best to be eating whatever we are eating, whether it be Thai Red Crack Curry, Chinese hot pot, Miniwheats or any other thing that approaches our mouths.  In time, Jackeroo, in time! For now, my milk is your primary food and All That Other Stuff is just for fun. 

We recently introduced you to the swings in the little park by our house.  The first few swings were a little eyebrow-raising for you, but you got the hang of it in about 2.2 seconds, and now you LOVE the swings.  Woohoo! you say!  Only you don't say "woohoo" but more "aaaaieeeeeeee!!!!!" in tones that could bend metal.

As much fun as swinging on your own is, you like swinging with your daddy the best:

 

  

"Aaaaieeeeeeee!!!!!"

You are becoming more communicative by the second.  You tell me you want to lie down for a nap by refusing to nurse on the couch or in your chair, and yet you are all smiles and turning over to root when I place you on the bed.  You have gone beyond arching your back to be picked up to now stretching out your arms to us.  You "mmmumamamummmmmumumumbabamamumummum!" which I usually find excruciatingly cute, and other times excruciatingly exasperating (when I'm standing right there), but I know it is all about you learning to communicate, so that's ok.  Also ok is the new shouting, which you do to get my attention, and then you put on whatever signal you use to get whatever it is that you need: if you want to play, you smile and flap; if you're wet, you complain; if you're tired/bored/lonely, you cry out to me.  You have started to babble, which is awesome!  You talk to your toys, the dog, and us, especially when you are at eye level.

You love going grocery shopping (and will maybe tolerate Ikea -- note to self to take you to Ikea) now that you can sit up in the baby seat in the buggy, which is great timing, since we had to replace your infant car seat with a convertible seat.

Oh, and that new carseat? In our new car!  My paternal grandmother amazingly and unexpectedly sent us some money -- enough to pay off my student loan.  Since your education is already being saved for, this has freed us up to buy the very necessary family car.  Even though I've loved my Toyota Echo, the new Honda Fit is freaking amazing!  We are on track to being completely debt-free inside of two years, if we I keep my shopping nose clean.  No credit card debt, no student debt, and a new car paid off.  Crazy, huh?  Someday this will be relevant to you, baby boy, and I hope we are able to teach you the lessons of fiscal responsibility at a cheaper price than I paid for them.

In short, you are an amazing baby, and I'm loving all the changes even though they are coming so fast it makes my head spin.  It's a great ride, this 'mummmummmmaamamamum', and I never want to get off.

And speaking of a great ride, the sun has appeared, so let's go down to the swings.  Hopefully it will be just like this:

I love you little man.  Don't grow up too fast, 'k?

Lots of love always from your mummmammmamamumum

Five months and counting

Dear Jackie,

A week and a bit ago, you turned five months old.  I would have written sooner, but you have been keeping me busy!  For starters, I had to order a new car seat last week.  You are huge -- 18lb, 2oz as of two days ago.  You are 28.5" long, which is great except that the car seat limit is 29".  Hmmm...  hopefully you don't grow the next 1/2" before Sunday, when your Grandpa John will hopefully help me install the new carseat...

Good lord, little man -- where do I start?  You have pulled out all kinds of new tricks since I last wrote.  Let's see if I can remember a few of them.

1. You roll.  Seriously, we know you can do it -- rolling was your special gift to us on Christmas morning.  Sure you had rolled before (such as off the couch), but those rolls could always be explained away by gravity assist, or by a helping hand to get your arms organized.  Christmas rolling was all you -- yay Jack!  Incidentally, you have only rolled back to front and show no interest in rolling front to back.  AND you haven't rolled a heck of a lot since Christmas... but that's ok.  We know you'll get there in good time -- probably sooner than we're banking on.  Which reminds me -- time to shop for a baby gate, 'cause I would hate to time that wrong. 

2.  You kiss!  For the first little while, I thought this was just random baby slimings, but no -- you give open-mouthed cheek-kisses and they are awesome (if sticky).  With all the kisses you receive, it should come as no surprise that you have picked up on this trick early.  You are a happy, loving little guy and it is a privilege to hang out with you every day.

3.  You jump.  You like to stand on our laps and you jump with joy.  I felt both feet leave the ground lap yesterday! We have an exersaucer from our neighbours and you LOVE it.  I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be a Jolly Jumper, but you don't let that detail stop you from bouncing away in it.  You're a very physical boy: you love to be pulled to a stand and thank goodness you don't have the strength to do this on your own.  You can just about sit up on your own though only for a few or ten seconds before you slowly topple onto your face.  Fortunately you like this, or any other motion that involves diving forward, preferably onto pointy and/or impossibly hard and/or insecure surfaces. 

4. Speaking of diving, you have started to lunge at things you like.  Just like those first few days of breastfeeding, when you would dive onto the boob like a petite animal, grunting and snorting with hunger, you dive onto things you want.  You have dove onto your dad's lap, Sophie la Giraffe, my boob, the couch, a book, Sarah, and anything you think we are eating.

5. Ah, yes -- the eating.  I had determined to be a good little kellymom.com devotee and make you wait until six months before starting solids.  I know they have good reasons for this, and I respect their knowledge.  However, I read Dr. Jack Newman's opinion that some babies are developmentally ready for solids before six months, and watch the baby, not the calendar.  Since I also have huge respect for Dr. Newman, and Jack was watching me eat yoghurt with a look of wonder like I was performing magic, I offered him a little bit on the spoon - jackpot!  You were SO HAPPY and made 'put a worm in HERE' birdie faces frantically, I fed you some more little bits, which you continued to be SO HAPPY with. 

Since then, you have tried plain yoghurt (you liked this a lot), banana (not so happy with) and egg yolk at Bon's Off Broadway (more enthralled with the eggy spoon than actual eggs).  I want to do Baby Led Weaning and will be trying to offer more of the finger-style foods than spoon-foods, but I guess I'm just not that organized... well, that and you were wildly uninterested in picking up banana than picking up a spoon. 

This list does not include all the items which you would like to have eaten which I didn't let you, including but not limited to ham, Thai red curry, miniwheats, Steve's homemade bread with honey, tea, lemonade, cow's milk, and chocolate milk. 

Ah yes, the chocolate milk.  Every so often (ok pretty often), I buy chocolate milk in those little one litre jugs.  I know Jack has seen me drink from one, but not recently (as in, not in the past week or two).  I had one last night for a co-op meeting which Jack and I were attending (where I go, my breastfed baby goeth also), and I put it down on the table while I was taking Jack's coat off.  As soon as his little arms were free, he launched himself at the table, grabbing the jug handle while making enormous birdie faces.  If I hadn't snatched it away, I swear he would have ripped off the lid and started chugging.  I felt badly drinking it in front of him, so I didn't get to have any until he fell asleep and I was able to lay him on the couch.  In the meantime, however, he had figured out that people were drinking from cans (we don't have many cans in our house) and practically mugged my neighbour for her lemonade.  Silly baby!  Fortunately you are adorable and nobody minded.

Speaking of meetings -- thank you!  You were so good last night, I suspect people think I drugged you.  You played with Sophie, then your moose, then the keys.  You stood on my lap and talked happily to my neighbour (trying to convince her to let you have some lemonade), you fussed a tiny bit but then you had a snack and a nap, you woke up happy and then hung out and ate Sophie some more.  Amazing!  You show more patience in a co-op meeting than many of the Board members do :- )

You are talking up a storm, by the way.  You tell us stories with perfect sincerity and obvious belief that we understand every word.  You crow, and laugh, and turn your head when you hear your name.  You are amazingly responsive and you love just about everyone.  We're still waiting to see you 'make strange' but other than occasionally needing your mama, you seem to be just a happy little person. 

Except for the teeth.  While no pearly whites have appeared above the gumline, baby Tylenol and homeopathic teething drops are your friends.  It is a testament to your good temper that we are completely surprised when you suddenly burst out crying; on the upside, when this happens we know exactly what the problem is. 

After five months, we finally have the hang of nursing lying down.  My back hates it a little, but I love -- seriously, I LOVE -- waking up with you all snuggled up to me.  Maybe we are more tired, maybe you are less noisy and flail-y than you were when you were new, but now we all sleep pretty well when I bring you to our bed in the wee hours and nurse us back to sleep in the soft dark of our bedroom.

Small fry, you are the best baby ever and you are turning into a little boy right before our eyes.  You are growing so fast it is crazy!  I need to go through your clothes and pack up the six-month sleepers and wash all the nine-month ones, and I need to remember every step of this amazing journey we are traveling as a family. 

Right this minute though, it is late, and I need to go upstairs and check on you as you sleep.  In a few hours, I will collect you from the crib and bring you to sleep safely between your father and I, surrounded by love.  And the cat.

With love always,
Mum