4.01.2008

He aged 11 months in one day and other sappy stuff

Yesterday, I told my husband that my cell phone kept shutting off. I was convinced I needed a new phone. Then sometime after dinner, I discovered I’d been pushing the wrong button. I kept turning it off every time I thought I was locking the keypad. I’ve had the cell phone for over a year and locked the phone countless times. Dude. No really. Dude.

I wonder if I can blame yesterday’s mental defect on cold medication. And if I was unable to operate a cell phone, should I be concerned about the freaky stuff I might have screwed up at work in my overmedicated haze? Not that I get overly concerned about doing freaky stuff at work but it’s good to have a humorous little anecdote ready to explain it. Whatever.

In other news, a certain someone who I’m coming to believe needs to be my new best friend because she's always so sweet and nice happened to notice that I finally referred to my son as “the 2 year old” in my last post. I had been calling him my 18 month old for pretty much a year now. Except he was born 27 months ago.

As much as I would like to continue to call him my 18 month old until the end of time, forces beyond my control have flushed that plan down the toilet. Allow me to illustrate. Here is my 18 month old the day before Easter:

He’s so cute I think I need 9 more babies. And here he is on the merry-go round the same day:

Just look at those precious little baby hands holding on. Seriously. Do you not want to eat him alive? You do. You know you do. Stop pretending he’s not the cutest baby in existence. How about this picture of him clomping around the kitchen wearing his sister’s dress shoes on the wrong feet:

I demand you acknowledge his overwhelming cuteness right now or prepare to duel.

Right. So now look at my baby three days after Easter:

Um, yeah. That kid’s 2. What is the haps, people. I mean the cheeks are still there. And the pretty little eyelashes. And he definitely hugs like my baby. But come on.

After his haircut, we took this mysterious little stranger to McDonald’s to play on the playground and he toddled off wearing little Nike athletic pants with a football jersey-ish looking shirt. I swear to you I glimpsed my future in that moment. I told my husband it was a vision of him as a broad shouldered linebacker. The truth is a little of it was the running off into the world leaving me behind thing. My little baby. Sigh.

No more haircuts. That’s all there is to it.

5 comments:

Jerseygirl89 said...

He is REALLY adorable - and I'm not just saying that because my two year old looks like a blond version of him (really!) or because I am way too uncoordinated to duel.

no way said...

I love the haircute (that's a typo that I'll keep because it is appropriate!) but I feel your pain. I don't want him to get older FOR you, because it is a heartbreaker.

On the other hand, they are really pretty funny once they start talking in earnest.

Happy Working Mom said...

How cute!

It's amazing...my son's the same way! The minute he gets a haircut he looks years older!

Childlife said...

Oh, you... you made my cry again! What it it with those haircuts, I want to know? They're like instant vanishing baby cream... I've got a haircut due for mine this week and I'm thinking I'm going to require serious medication (like general anesthesia or something) to get me through it. Your last paragraph just killed me... melted me right onto the floor into a sobbing puddle of denial for the coming birthday at our house.

And you are absolutely right... your little guy is soooooo adorable! His little grin is just magic!

Thanks for the sweet words and the link too - that ALMOST made up for making me bawl my head off through the rest of your post ;)

Shan said...

What a cutie he is, but it's so heartbreaking how instantly a simple haircut makes them grow up.

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