Watching my kiddo grow is bittersweet. Every time he does something by himself, I swell with pride – like him grabbing his step stool by himself and hopping up to brush his teeth – as evidenced above. At the same time, I feel sad. I feel so sad for the tiny little baby that he was – when he really and truly needed his mama.
When that kiddo reaches up for my hands – either because he knows he has to (like walking down a lot of stairs), or because he wants to (the last 30 minutes of our car ride home from Atlanta ) – it is the most amazing thing, but I always catch myself thinking – one day he will not need to hold my hand.
When he doesn’t feel well, or just needs a snuggle or a book read, he’ll climb up onto the couch and then onto my legs. He’ll sit there with me, and he’ll let me shower his little cheeks with kisses, all the while giving me a little smirk some times, just knowing that one day he won’t have to endure it (HA, that’s what he thinks).
He’s starting to speak in a few phrases: Saying bye to “lella” and saying I don’t know when we ask where his ball or shoes are. He’s starting to pick up on words faster and faster every day — soon he’ll be saying his ABCs or counting to ten. He’s starting to learn the characters in his favorite movies – Anna, Olaf and Elsa. He can shout Elmo loud enough to turn heads in Target (he did this when we were in the checkout lane when he spotted Elmo on his diaper box – I couldn’t help but laugh, which just made him do it more).
He can tell you when he wants a “banan” or an apple – or even applesauce. He can say “macs” when you put the plate of mac n cheese in front of him. He knows all about “shocks” and “shoes.” He knows that when he wants to brush his teeth, he just motions like he’s brushing his teeth and says “teef.” He can give hugs and kisses — some prompted, some are not. He can say “oh, no!” and “uh-oh!” with the best of them!
I love watching him grow – nothing makes me happier than to see him learning and starting to understand the world around him. I also love nothing more than when he succumbs in my arms and falls asleep, just like he used to all the time. I don’t know if I could have cherished those times anymore, but always keep finding myself wishing I would have.
This month, Sheffield will be twenty months – and then in four short months, he’ll be 2. As one of my fellow a-hole bros says, “The days are long, but the years are short” – sometimes I wish I could stop time (even when he’s throwing the biggest tantrum ever, because you cut up the “banan,” but he wanted it in one giant hunk), but I also can’t wait to see what kind of man he grows up to be.