You rolled over this week. It surprised the pants off your father and me (partly because I’m horribly negligent about giving you the proper “tummy time” that those dang BabyCenter updates keep instructing me to do, and also partly because I cannot believe it’s time for this stage). Related: why is rolling over a milestone? It was all so very anticlimactic. As soon as you learn to unload the dishwasher, Bee, that will be a congratulatory milestone. We’ll throw a dinner party. (You’ll do the dishes.)
But get this, little one. The whole rolling over thing didn’t even faze you a bit. It was just, “Hey, I’m a baby on my stomach and now, look! I’m on my back!” and then you stared at the ceiling to admire the view until your father and I turned you back over to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. And you rolled over again. And then again. And one last time before you looked at us like you didn’t really understand this game and you wanted to go back into the womb where no one cheered because you altered your bodily compass.
But that’s life, kid. You do weird things and we cheer for you.
And while we’re on the subject of milestones, Bee, you should know that we took our first road trip together yesterday. Just the girls. And this is huge. Because one thing you don’t yet know about your mother (but will find out so very soon!) is that she is 100% crippled with anxiety over you. So much in fact that she packed an overnight bag to the brim with miscellaneous supplies for a destination that was just 45 minutes away.
I started with the usual suspects, Bee. That’s all. Burp cloths, swaddle blankets, an extra set of clothes. But then there was spare room in the bag and my mind started filling that space with all of the things that could go wrong. What if we got a flat tire along the way? Triple A card. What if you peed into your nose? Nose Freda. What if your elbow got nicked while I was holding you in the wooden booth of the restaurant where we were meeting my sister? Elbow ACE bandage.
Bee, I am a crazy person. The contents of your diaper bag yesterday are exhibits A, B and C of that. But it’s just because I’m head-over-heels crazy about you. And sometimes I manifest that by trying to bubble wrap you over and over again until I realize that bubble wrap is a suffocation device. Maybe that’s why people’s kids live with them for 18 years. It takes that long to unwrap all of the padding we surround you with to protect you from the world. And even though I know you need room to breathe, I’ll keep plenty of bubble wrap on hand just in case you need a little more protection than you realize.
(Just check the diaper bag. It’ll be next to the elbow ACE bandage.)
p.s. Do the dishes, OK? Really.twitter, facebook, pinterest, stumble