Every damn thing you do is perfect and adorable!
Throw all the DVDs on the floor and roll around in them like Scrooge McDuck,
Feed the dog chocolate,
Smack Daddy in the face with a remote,
Awwwwww … you’re such a cute freakin baby!
While all the first-time moms jingle car keys in front of their baby saying, “come on… walk to Mommy,” I’m pushing you down on your bottom. Don’t walk. Babies don’t walk!
And while I bitch and moan about being so tired, I have to admit something. When you cry at 11:15pm, 2:10am, 4:48am I get out of bed kinda excited to snuggle you for a minute and then stare at your fat baby cheeks after I lay you back down, sound asleep.
I’ll squeeze you into your 9 months clothes and carry you around in my ‘baby kangaroo’ pouch. Shit, I would still swaddle you if it were physically possible.
Until now, I rolled my eyes at my mom for always having this soft spot for my little brother. There’s a light in her eyes when she talks about him and a nostalgic smile when she says, “but he’s The Baby“. I would shake my head and think, “He’s almost 30 damn years old, he’s not a baby!” Oh but how wrong I have been. He IS the baby. He is her baby. The last one is always The Baby.
The older kids leave an image in your mind as their ‘kid self’. You actually have trouble when you close your eyes and try to visualize their baby days. The baby though? I imagine as years pass I will have trouble seeing her as anything but a chubby cheek, babbling, sticky hands, piece of perfection.
In 4 years when I have to walk away and let her go into her kindergarten class, I’m pretty sure I will be like the dad in Finding Nemo. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Because there’s no problem if you don’t. We can wait …. 5 or 6 years.”
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