Our baby

No not another baby.
Our current one.
The last one.
Before I endured enjoyed pregnancy for the third time, we decided that we were so done.
And by we, I mean I.
And if there were any second thoughts about producing another pint-sized Pitts, Micah has definitely put that to rest.
Yes, you Micah, are the reason we have sworn off children.
Because the shear amount of patience and energy required to keep up with you has stolen my youth.
Changing your diaper is like performing an exorcism.
There is a lot of thrashing around, screaming, and clawing at the ground.
I need an old priest and a young priest.
As you pummel me with your tiny, but surprisingly strong fists, I basically pin you to the ground with my knees.
That's fun.
Nine times a day.
And when we aren't acting out the scene from 8 Seconds, you are climbing on everything: the counters, dining table, microwave, beds, bathroom vanity, siblings, every chair anywhere, coffee table, fine china (true story).
Standing your slippery nude body up in the bathtub only to loose your footing as I dove in slow-motion to catch you is what caused your chipped tooth.
I tell myself your curiosity and keen aptitude for complete destruction is the price I pay for having spawn a baby genius.
Isn't there a saying somewhere about geniuses also being slobs?
Did I make that up or hear it on Spiderman?
Anyway, in addition to leaving our house in shambles daily, and crying for most of your life, you are also very opinionated.
Can you eat an Oreo whole, without both sides being pulled apart so you can lick the frosting off first?
No, of course not.
Can you go to bed without having a full sippy of water tucked neatly beside you?
Wouldn't hear of it.
And my favorite is the tantrum you throw when I insist you put the Swiffer back in the broom cupboard in order to avoid popping everyone in the kneecaps. That and smashing our TV.
But despite all of your "charisma," I am madly in love with you.
Which is why I impatiently affectionately embrace your strong personality.
You are starting to talk.
It started slow.
Your first word was "sick."
And then "Daddy," "cheese," "trash" and "cookie."
I agree. Daddy is a cheesy trash cookie. Sick yo.
But now you have expanded your vocab to include "Mommy," "Hi/bye" and something that sorta sounds like "Ryan."
And you give most words a good attempt, with a sly grin.
And even though I could look up the word clingy in the dictionary and find a picture of your handsome face, I secretly love it, except when you pants me. In front of strangers.
Or leave a booger trail on my skirt at church.
And I love that your favorite stuffed animal, your "lovey," is a spindly monkey named Winky that was purchased at the dollar store.
Or that you stand faithfully by the door awaiting my return every time I venture outside.
And that you become frustrated when wearing onsies because you can't lift up your shirt to check out your belly.
And that when I give you Lucky Charms (I am a good mom), you pick out all the marshmallows and push whatever is left over across the table in disgust.
You are obsessed with your binky and I sorta am too.
It is one of the few things that makes you blissfully happy.
I will miss your rosy naptime cheeks when you grow. And your slobbery, wildly dramatic kisses.
A special emphasis on the Mmmmmmmmwaaaaah!
Micah, you are a handful.
But I couldn't imagine getting my hands on a more perfect baby boy.

 

xo Mommy