Big Fat Baby

 This past week, my big fat baby (my new term of endearment for him) turned 11 months old.  This means, that a year ago today - he should have come out.  He will be 80, and god willing if I am still alive, happy, and know what's going on, I will still be mad at him for sticking around in the belly for so long.  With every flower that blooms or every birthday we celebrate for friend's kids, I am still annoyed and remember walking around, as big as a house, with a 10 pound baby freeloading in my tummy.  My stomach, that has stretch marks so bad it looks like I was clawed to bits by an african tiger, also remembers this guy being in there.  It looks like a deflated yet stretched out beach ball, still, and I am 10 pounds thinner than I was a year after Joel Andrew was born!  But enough about me, this post is to be about my baby.

Big fat baby sounds mean, but it isn't.  It is appropriate.  He is actually not fat at all, just massive.  At 11 months he is approaching 27 pounds, is in 2T clothes, is just a few, very short inches smaller than his brother.  He is big.  But he is all muscle or strength.  Try to take a toy away from him, just try.  The baby comment also goes two ways, as he cries like a baby if something happens to him, to which I reply: "ya big fat baby."  Waaah, I bumped my head.  Waaah, I woke up.  Waaah, I want more cheese.  Everything has a whine or a cry.  But if his brother pounds him into the ground, almost nothing.  Hmmm.  Maybe actor part two on our hands.

He is cute.  So freakin cute.  But his new favorite thing is throwing things out of containers.  Which is not cute.  I guess it was cute in Hilton Head.  Nana and Pa would put him in the red wagon and he had a ball.  Literally, he would pick up the tennis balls that they would line the wagon with, and he would throw them out, forcing someone to run after and get them for him.  We would do this, for hours.  But, this does not work so well, in say, the supermarket.  He and I went yesterday and the kid threw anything he could get his hands on out of the cart.  But, he is so cute, that everyone walking by would say: "Oh look at that little guy, he is helping his mom."  I am not sure where they got helping from.  But perhaps it is these fun shenanigans that keep me in my pre-pregnancy pants.

His personality is shining now every day.  Sometimes it is more whining than shining...  But hey, look at his Mom - what do we expect?  He really is a love.  But he is trouble.  Lately, he likes to go into the bath toys, and take the fishes - little plastic fish that are meant to line the bathtub to prevent slipping.  He takes them, and he walks (yes he is full on everywhere walking now - like he owns the place too) - anyway, he throws, just the fishes, not the other bath toys, but just the fishes, into the toilet.  Joel Andrew never threw anything into the toilet.  My husband says James throws the fishes in because of all the Finding Nemo we watched when James was a baby.  It is engrained in him, all drains lead to the ocean.  He is trying to give them their freedom.

Anyway, in less than a month he will be one.  He will be smashing the cake, and eating it.  He will be walking around outside, and starting to say words. He will be drinking milk, from a sippy only. He will no longer need his food cute into too tiny pieces. He will hopefully be sleeping a little later, but will continue to sleep like a champ. We will have made it.  Past the crazy bottle washing, spit up happening, laundry every five minutes, food mincing, organic incessantly buying, sleep deprived stage.  We will have already given away the exersaucer, infant bathtub, walker, 95% of the clothes pre 2T.  My boys will be two running, crazy, laughing fools.  I am super excited.  I will not miss the baby stage but look back on it as a fun time, in very small bursts.  But the necessary work that needed to happen to have two awesome kids.  Why am I writing about them?  It is my day off!  I am going to get them, lets go to the park...