I feel like the little dude is at a lovely stage at the moment, and I’m really trying to cherish it. His sleep has gotten better (still plenty of room for improvement, but it’s manageable now). He is eating solids with enthusiasm, giving me a chance to leave him for longer periods, but breastfeeds several times a day as well and is still a cosy bundle to hold on my knee as he has his milk. He is big enough to play with – he even initiates games, mainly dropping things so that I’ll pick them up again. Small enough that I can carry him on my hip and wander about with him without him wriggling to be released straight away. Big enough that I can put him down and let him crawl and explore. Small enough than I can easily scoop him into my arms and give him a little toss in the air. Big enough that he knows the people he sees regularly; small enough that he quickly comes to trust and accept new people.
Today we went to story-time at Te Papa (there is basically only one thing to do in Wellington on a wet day). It’s super cute, they read the kids a story and then pull open a curtain and there’s a whole play area behind it with a miniature treehouse and a slide and lots of tables with things on them for the kids to investigate. The little dude went down the slide several times, with me lifting him to the top then holding both his hands the whole way down (it was a short slide). There was an older girl at the session, 16 months, and she confidently climbed the steps to the slide and went down all by herself, then joined her four-year-old brother at the playdough table, she took books off the shelf and “read” them to a stuffed toy (“Book! Book! Book! Book!”). In short, she was not a baby, she was a toddler. By my next birthday, the little dude will be a toddler! That was a phase I looked forward to while pregnant, and before having children. I’ve spent a lot of time with toddlers through babysitting and part-time creche work while at uni, and toddlers are great. But seeing this girl, I didn’t feel excited for the next phase, I felt aghast that I would lose my baby so soon.
It’s the first day of December, this year is almost over. How can the months go so quickly when the days go so slowly?