HEIGHT & WEIGHT
3o Inches and I-don’t-know-how-many pounds. I’d compare his weight to a large pumpkin. How much do large pumpkins weigh?
Grapes with a side of grapes, peas, asparagus, corn, curry, cheerios, strawberries, iced tea (oops), ice cream (double oops), any sautéed veggies, salsa, chicken, hamburger, bread, noodles, yogurt, cheese, anything on our plates, anything he’s not supposed to eat.
THROWS ON FLOOR
Eggs, avocado, bananas.
Evenings, swimming, water, cars, books, balls, babies, the garden trowel, dirt, rocks, bugs, trash, anything gross (yellow toilet water!), anything off limits (yellow toilet water!), anything unhelpful (unfolding all the wash), sleeping in, being chased, being naked, sharing his half eaten pretzel, snacks, dad.
Mornings, stop lights, being ignored, being restrained, getting a new diaper or a new set of clothes.
11 MONTHS WITH WAYLON
11 months later and we are still those babbling, giggling, overly impressed parents you avoid at the grocery store. Every milestone, every development, and we are jumping around shouting, “Our son is a genius!” It is so annoying.
It is also not uncommon to hear the following conversation:
Austin: Somebody has a poopy diaper!!
Me: Does somebody have a poopy diaper?!
Austin: Look who has a poopy diaper!
Me: Look at you having a poopy diaper!
It’s wild in our house.
Oh Senor Waylon, you plague me. You follow me around all day knocking over my books and pulling out my plants. I’ll turn my back for a minute and you’ve crammed five pebbles in your mouth. What is wrong with you? Why are you always eating pebbles?
I suppose I just need to face the fact that in less than a month you’ll be a bonafide toddler. It’s horrifying, really. The day I got pregnant is the day I started panicking about having one of you; a screaming, crying, snotty, irrational mess throwing tantrums on the bathroom floor. I don’t know what to do with you sometimes. You are mad, I am mad, and then the smoke detector’s going off because I forgot about the brownies and we all end up crying.
At least you’re a cuddler. Oh those morning cuddles. Lately you’ve been sleeping in until 9:30, wedged safely in my armpit and dreaming with your eyelids fluttering and your arms flung over mine. I don’t know anything sweeter.
Thank you for those cuddles and for being so patient with me. Thank you for your sloppy kisses and sing-song voices. Thank you for eating your vegetables and asking me to read books ten times a day.
You are loved.