I'm Just Too Close to the Project

You know how when you see someone every day, you can't tell how much weight they are losing until a mutual friend says, "Did you know that Billy Joe Bob lost 100 pounds in six weeks; isn't that amazing?" And then you feel bad because you didn't notice, so you never said anything nice about it.

When I told the girls at the front desk this morning that T Junior will be a year old in just a couple of months, they were shocked.

"He looks so small."

I was confused by the comment. Small? Sure, he's not a cute chubby baby with marshmallow man rolls and pinchable chipmunk cheeks, but he's waaaaay above average in height. He's a noodle.

Unfortunately, they misread my face (which, by the way, never lets me get away with ANYTHING). I think they thought I was offended because they were trying to justify their comments: "Wait. How old is he? Yeah, I guess he looks like a 10-month-old;" "Well, my nephew was walking at 8 months, so..."

They really didn't need to say these things. Silly. It's just different perceptions.

I am with T Junior every day. To me, he's starting high school next week. To them, he's an infant. And, actually, I'd like him to stay that way, thank you very much.

Last night, when he refused to nurse before bed, I felt panicky. My baby! I kept trying to make him eat, but he wasn't interested. He wanted "buh" (books). When Mr. T came in the room to say goodnight, I softly exploded. It was a controlled cry because I didn't want T Junior to pick up on how rejected I felt, but there were tears and, yeah, there might have been some snot.

"He's just full," soothed Mr. T. "He had a big dinner. It doesn't mean he needs you any less."

Today, after I left the doctor's office, I remembered something another mom shared a few days ago. She said that when her son, now 3, became a toddler, he seemed so old. A big boy. But she told me that she recently looked at some pictures of him at that young age and realized: "He was just a baby!"

T Junior's doctor gave him the all-clear for whole milk this afternoon, which means he doesn't need formula at day care anymore. The mom part of me is sad about this transition. The normal part of me, however, is celebrating because do you know how much formula is? It's crazy expensive.

"He can pretty much have whatever you guys are eating," his doctor told me and Mr. T. "Cottage cheese, pudding, ice cream."

Ice cream! Mommy's favorite! Maybe that will fatten him up so he looks his age.

Worked for me...

He's testing out those spaghetti legs of his.
Don't worry, the fireplace is completely off.