More and more these days, I'm taken aback when I look at Nathaniel. He'll look at you in a certain way, tilt his head just right and the next thing you know, you're looking a toddler in the face, no longer an infant. It really did happen all of a sudden. One minute he's throwing toys everywhere, the next he's picking up balls and putting them back in the bin they came from. One moment he's refusing all food, the next he's eating ALL day long, more food than seems possible for that little buddha belly of his.
For those who are counting, he's now 13 months old. I can still remember before I was a mom, wondering why parents refused to call a 13 month old what they really are: 1. It's not like I was going around saying I was 340 months old (you do the math). Now, however, it's more clear. I refuse to call him 1 year old because each month is so different from the next. I already know that he'll be such a different kid at 18 months than he is now at 13. 24 months seems so very far away. And yet, all of those months,their milestones, the significance of each one is supposed to be contained in the phrase, 'one year old.' I don't think so. One is such a small number and his has been such a big life to this point- 13 months of big living to be exact.
Honestly, though, I think it's also the fact that by keeping his number in months, rather than years, it allows me to hold on to that baby that I began with. That same person that we started counting out hours with: "Oh, he's only 48 hours old." To weeks: "He's 2 weeks old." To months: "He's 6 months old." I just can't make the leap to years now. I assume there's eventually a point where I will switch to years...perhaps at 2, maybe before, maybe after. I remember there was a point right around 12 weeks where saying his age in weeks became cumbersome and I just couldn't keep track anymore, so I made the switch to months. Perhaps the same will happen again.
This is where my mind rambles to this evening. Thanks for joining me there :)
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