If you're ever so inclined as to read this here blog and wonder why I didn't write about your babyhood in such excruciating detail as I did about your sister's, here's why: I am always holding you. Because you are only happy when I'm holding you. Wait. Sometimes you're happy when you're crawling around but only if I'm right with you. If I leave the room, even if I go into a room that is next to the room that you're in and you can SEE ME, you are not happy. And by "not happy" I mean you scream bloody murder and spill tears all over the floor. And I'm flattered. Really. I love that you love me and need me and want me so much. But the holding of you? Doesn't leave much time for blogging about you. And I want to blog about you, here, on the blog. I blog about you all day long in my mind, cataloging every little thing you do, the funny looks you give, the way you've just learned to shake your head no (which is so cute today but probably won't be cute for long because once you start telling us no you'll never stop until you're 36 and you can finally admit that your dad and I were always, OK almost always, right and you are sorry for having said no and doubting us all those years. whew!). But by the time you're in bed and I have a few not-holding-you hours before I go to bed my arms, honestly, are too tired from holding all 21 pounds of you to type (not really, just kidding. no, not kidding. it's true. OK, not true. really kidding this time.).
You are so different from your sister. Although you were both the exact same weight at birth you now, at 11 months, weigh as much as she did when she was 18 months. I know that boys are generally bigger than girls but it cracks me up when you nurse and cuddle up to me because you're so big that I have to wrap you around my body and you're just my tiny yet gigantic baby all at once.
You're smart, oh so smart. You remember things like what it means to be in the doctor's office. You're fine in the waiting room but once we enter the exam room your eyes dart around and within seconds you start to cry. You know they mess you around in there and you don't like it one bit. And lately you've decided that you don't like diaper changes or getting your jammies on for bedtime. I'll be holding you in my left arm and reaching for your jammie drawer in my right and you'll start to cry. I'm not sure why because after jammies it's stories and nursing which you love but boy, you're not into putting on those jammies! And, the shaking of your head that I mentioned earlier? It's awesome. I know you're communicating with me, that our conversation is truly a two-way street and although you're telling me, "No! I don't want slimy baby food. I want chunks of real, honest-to-goodness, flavorful food, lady!" I'm loving every second of it.
Speaking of food, you love real food, never had a desire for baby food, and I can't believe I'm OK with feeding you big pieces of stuff like broccoli and chicken and peaches and pears, especially since I was so scared of doing that with your sister. But you're good at eating it. You take it in stride and ask for more and you want to try all sorts of new foods, you want to eat the crackers and chocolate and chips that your sister or dad or I eat. We feel bad that you can't yet. But one day soon, you will.
You always have a serious look in the photos I take of you which is so cute and funny and reminds me so much of your dad. You study things: leaves, grass, dirty socks, computer cables, carpet fuzz. But you have a great smile and a completely goofy side to you too. I'm just not a good enough photographer to catch those smiles yet. So when you see your baby photos (all 18,000 of them) remember that you did smile often and much and I really tried to capture it. Because your smile, your spirit (strong-willed, smart and sweet) captures me every single day.
I love you and I promise to write more about you here if you promise to never stop wanting me to hold you. Because my arms will never ever get too tired for that.