Monday, January 4, 2010

There Can Only Be One

He discovered snow, as in, started to really "get it," when a storm blew in last weekend.

"No-man, no-man, no-man," he said whenever a snowman--or something like it--passed into his line of vision.

I find myself breathing him in and soaking him up these days, while he wraps his arms around my neck and surrenders to sleep; while he dangles his cup from the edge of his tray, threatening mischief with two ominous syllables ("Ba...boom!"); while he pushes my head toward Dave's to encourage us to kiss. (When he gets to the "my parents are gross" phase, that one will come back to haunt him.)


Will walked around my parents' living room today with a non-functioning phone.

"Hey-ooooo?" he said, the handset tucked in the crook of his neck.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Dada," he replied dismissively. He ALWAYS says "Dada," even if Dada is right there, in the flesh.


I'm 38 weeks pregnant today. I spent much of the day preoccupied with the logistics of fitting in that seven-mile walk, the one I'm counting on to induce labor the way it did with Will.

Please can this next contraction be a little less Braxton-Hicks and a little more UH-OH, WHERE ARE THE NEWBORN MITTENS?

And then I dressed my 15-month-old in a new pair of striped pajamas, and they were size 3T, and THEY FIT. (Because he is just improbably long, this kid--miles and miles of torso.)

I get to spend every day with HIM.

The seven-mile walk can wait.