10 months. TEN MONTHS! My son is ten months old now.
It struck me tonight, that this time last year I was nearly 50” around (I’d grow another 5” in the coming weeks), started wearing my husband’s flipflops because my feet were starting to swell enough my shoes no longer fit, my nursery was put together…but panic was starting.
What if I wasn’t a good mom? What if I screwed him up royally? What if there were complications? What if my husband didn’t find me attractive after the baby?! What if? What if? What if?
All moms do it. All mom friends tell them not to. Because, lets be honest, it takes quite a bit to be a bad mom; we’re supposed to screw them up; there are ALWAYS complications; your husband will find you sexier than before – it’s this weird caveman-hormonal-instinct thing.
I went through every phase, three times over. The fact that I had SEVERE post-partum depression helped nothing. I even understood why lions eat their young, some moms in extreme cases have resorted to brandy and Benadryl so their kid would sleep, and why – regardless of what you do – that the mom guilt is inevitable.
So today, as I was writing an email with the baby gate open so Damian could roam our open but small house – the cat food and water safely on the counter, the gate at the stairs, and the bathroom with the litter box blocked off (not that I’ve had to learn these things in the last few weeks…ahem…) – I glanced over to see my little man standing on tip toe at the high chair smacking the seat and looking at me expectantly. I blinked for a moment, then signed “eat” while asking the question and this little “baby” squealed with delight as he bounced up and down as much as his motor skills would allow. My god, I realized, he’s not an infant anymore. He’s officially NOT an infant!
I’m not completely delusional. I mean, he’s been crawling a few weeks now, he eats table food, he’s furniture walking, knows where his toys are, has started pulling books off the shelf and dropping them in my direction while staring at me so I’ll read them, has become VERY vocal when he has pooped, and for the most part sleeps 11-12 hours a night.
I think it just shocked me because he wasn’t just curious about the chair, wasn’t just climbing to stand, and wasn’t moving on to the next thing after the novelty wore off. He waited. He got to where he gets fed, and waited for me.
A little later, he did the same thing. But this time when I didn’t respond soon enough, he crawled to the shelf with his snacks. I watched this play out and got up to start dicing chicken when I heard a small crash. As I came around the counter, my son had figured out the plastic container that holds his sweet potato puffs and dumped it on the floor. But, the part that made me laugh out loud was that he promptly sat down amidst the Os and began double fisting the snack while shoving handfuls in his mouth. I let him. I was getting the chicken ready.
I’ve heard SO many moms make the comment “Oh! I wish he would just stay a baby forever!” but honestly? I don’t. I’m SO excited for this new phase. This is my sweet spot! This is where I was trained for four years, this is where I understand the littles, and this is where I can actually play with my kid. The discovery, the games, the communication, the development. Yea. I’m stupid excited, because my kid isn’t just smart…he’s pretty damn funny too.