Why, hello, Mr. Tater Tot!
Tomorrow you will be nine months old. Yes, I said tomorrow. So why am I writing this today? Well, mister, tomorrow is my birthday and I’m turning twenty-nine and I’m having a bit of a weird panic attack about it, so I’m gonna need to focus on that. And wine. Lots of wine.
Back to you, my lovely little boy. This month we began to see glimpses of the terror that will surely be our future. You’re moving, like really, really, moving, and I’m not sure what the heck to do. You went from scooting to crawling to standing to climbing on to stuff to opening kitchen drawers and smashing your fingers in just a few short weeks. And can I tell you what the most annoying part about all that is? I have to vacuum ALL THE TIME. Between the dog hair and the teeny, tiny crap that Lucy has amassed all over the house, it’s basically a death trap. So most evenings you will find me with the broom and the vacuum, with a crazy glint in my eye, as I try to make the house baby safe. You’re still alive, so I guess I’m succeeding so far.
We moved you to a new daycare this month, the same one your sister attended for years prior to elementary school. They decided to open an infant room and as you were on the waiting list for a toddler spot when you were older, they called us to give us a first shot. You should have seen me when I got that call, Tater, I was so happy. This place is where Lucy made her best friends, learned so much, had amazing teachers…when I drop you off here, I can imagine your future. I see you running around the playground and strutting around in the Halloween parade and meeting Santa for the first time. Being a working parent means you really take the “it takes a village to raise a child” mentality to heart, and I have so much trust in these wonderful people that are taking care of you every day. Within a week, the cold that had been plaguing you for weeks cleared up, you were napping again, and you were happy at the end of the day. It is glorious.
This month was also the first time I was really tested as a parent with a sick kid. What started out as a small cold turned into a full blown flu, with vomit and diarrhea and fevers and lots and lots of tears. Yours. Mine. Lucy’s. It was horrible. Holding your sick, sad body while you moaned in pain, knowing there was really nothing I could do, and hearing your sister throwing up in the next room. And then as she started to get healthy, the bug got me too. Your dad was away for work, and I have never felt so alone. Usually I am the experienced mom in the crowd, with people coming to me for advice. But those few days were the first since Lu was a babe that I was truly frightened and worried I was doing it all wrong.
Luckily, we all slowly recovered and Daddy came home. I got to sleep and snuggle with you more than I have since maternity leave ended months ago. And ever since, you’ve been more likely to snuggle up for a nap or just some cuddle time…which, you know, I’m okay with.
I love you, Tater. Please don’t grow up too fast. If you don’t want to walk for a few months, I’m totally cool with that.
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