Our gentleman has eased into mobility with disconcerting ease. None of us can keep up with him. The house has become a maze of makeshift baby gates, none of which succeed at their intended purpose. The implied neglect that comes for a boy with Sir O and the Captain for brothers makes for a tiny man who finds everything (except short tumbles down stairs) delightful.
"Look mom! I have the plug to the vacuum in my mouth, aren't I clever!"
"Wow, check out these library books Sir O left within my reach! The paper makes this awesome crinkling sound when I smush it!"
"Oooh, the Gentleman left the front door ajar again, think I can squeeze through it before mom catches me?"
Never a dull moment. Good think he's so squishable. Or I might realize how tired he makes me. I have lots of late night moments when I almost want to go wake him up so we can cuddle. I don't do it, because that would be ludicrous and self-defeating, but I want to. I have such a hard time carving out moments when I can soak in his little baby-man-ness before it's gone. But there are lots and lots of moments around here when each of my boys just about kill me with cuteness and I wish I could freeze them just as they are. But I can't, and I ought not to anyway. Whatever comes next will be wonderful too. And my greatest hope for this life is to see these tiny men grow into charitable, intelligent, entertaining adults. Actually, that may be one of my greatest hopes for far beyond just this life.
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