Oh, this baby is growing much, much too fast for me.
He might be our last, and I don't want him to grow too quickly. Already we have one who is days away from being four and one who insists she'll be six on her next birthday. (I'm inclined to believe her, on some days.)
So I'm putting down some rules for you, Thomas.
(I mean, for me.)
Not so long ago I found myself wishing he were older. If only, I thought, he could giggle. If only, I thought, he could sit. If only, I thought, he could play with a toy and let me have a moment away.
And so he giggles and sits and plays. But he also: wakes up at night, jams rocks and grass in his mouth with the same enjoyment as people food, and is prone to crying so sadly when plopped on the floor.
(Editor's note: "wakes up at night" should be changed to "wakes up all night long." You know, truth in blogging and all.)
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