Yesterday, Jon and I were cooking and cleaning up the kitchen while we all watched Frozen with one eye. At one point, I looked into the living room and Harry was there with a stack of pillows he had pulled off the couch and a bowl of snacks and just like that, he looked so old. I watched him climb up onto the chair, grab a few toys to play with, come back for a banana chip, and watch the movie and thought “He’s not a baby anymore.”
Shortly thereafter, Harry’s teeth started hurting, he had a fever, and he was experiencing his very first diaper rash – all at once. Mere minutes after thinking he was getting so old, I found myself trying to comfort a very upset baby who refused to let me put him down. Just now I put Harry down for a nap, still suffering from teething and the rash, by rocking him with his head on my shoulder, singing the song I hadn’t sang to him in so many months.
I love to see his adventurous spirit take flight and watch him explore and discover. But, no matter how many couches he can climb up on, no matter how many two word sentences he can put together, no matter how many self portraits he takes, for now at least, he’s still my baby and he still needs me from time to time.