My Big Boy
One of my favorite parts of our daily routine is sneaking into Henry's room to check on him before Karl and I go to bed. When he was little I would lean over the crib rail and kiss his belly and smell his baby smell. Now I go in and stroke his hair and chuckle at whatever ridiculous sprawling posture he is sleeping in. I love that we have made a home for this little person where he feels warm and safe enough to sleep with such reckless abandon.
I wasn't supposed to lift anything heavy for two weeks after Ingrid was born, so I had to forgo my nightly Henry-check for fear that I would wake him up and he would want to be picked up and cuddled. Last night was the first night I went to look in on him and this is what I found:
A great big boy. One who picks out his own non-matching, seasonally inappropriate pajamas. And loves his loveys (pictured here: tiger, blankie, George, choo-choo pillow, pup, baby #1, dinosaur, and baby #2).
Until Ingrid came along, I still thought of Henry as my baby -- just a continually-evolving version of the snuggly nugget we brought home from the hospital. People at work would ask how the baby was doing, and they meant Henry. Then we brought baby Ingrid home and it became clear that Henry is not only way too heavy to be considered a baby, but he is increasingly a real person with a personality all his own.
Henry seems totally unfazed by the fact that he is not the baby of the house any more. I, on the other hand, am having panic attacks that he is going away to college awfully soon.
I wasn't supposed to lift anything heavy for two weeks after Ingrid was born, so I had to forgo my nightly Henry-check for fear that I would wake him up and he would want to be picked up and cuddled. Last night was the first night I went to look in on him and this is what I found:
A great big boy. One who picks out his own non-matching, seasonally inappropriate pajamas. And loves his loveys (pictured here: tiger, blankie, George, choo-choo pillow, pup, baby #1, dinosaur, and baby #2).
Until Ingrid came along, I still thought of Henry as my baby -- just a continually-evolving version of the snuggly nugget we brought home from the hospital. People at work would ask how the baby was doing, and they meant Henry. Then we brought baby Ingrid home and it became clear that Henry is not only way too heavy to be considered a baby, but he is increasingly a real person with a personality all his own.
Henry seems totally unfazed by the fact that he is not the baby of the house any more. I, on the other hand, am having panic attacks that he is going away to college awfully soon.
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