One!
I blinked, a year went by, and this tiny baby turned one.
Most of this year was a blur. I envisioned my last round of babyhood would involve lots of quiet savoring of fleeting moments. It wasn't that kind of year. I hope I cuddled and squeezed him enough.
All that time Fritz didn't spend in peaceful cuddles with Mom? He spent it being the neighborhood mascot and the beloved baby of the extended family. He's the first of our kids to be perfectly cool with being handed off to grandma or grandpa or a host of other adults (or Henry). He often had half a dozen kids run into his room to get him up from nap. He went to a kite festival on a frozen lake at a couple weeks old, ate cheerios off of all kinds of surfaces in public places, and went to bed to the racket of 3+ other children screaming. We often marvel how different his first year was from Henry's first year.
We celebrated his birthday (combined with our holiday cookie party, because no one needs an extra event in December) with the extended family and the usual cast of friends.
Fritz took his first few unassisted steps on the day after his birthday. Now he's up to six or seven steps and is remarkably good at standing up without holding on to anything. He loves to walk as a parlor trick and will push against my legs as he stands up so that I'll back up a couple of feet, then he toddles to me and falls into my chest with great big smiles. When he's actually trying to get somewhere, he drops to all fours.
Henry demonstrated his signature running leap onto a soft surface, and now Fritz enthusiastically flops onto beds, beanbags, and pillows. Big brothers are the coolest.
He still only has a few noises that may or may not be words: "ot" (hot), "izthzth" (izzy), "a-da" (dada), "i-da" (heidi). Generally, he growls like a golden-curled gremlin, yodels, and blows raspberries.
He has six teeth, the smoochiest cheeks, and an awesome fat guy laugh.
Changing his diaper is like hog-wrestling. The kid is built like a brick and flails around like an enraged animal and it's impossible to control him. None of the other kids has fought diapers this hard, for this long. The sooner Ingrid can potty train him, the better.
The transition to one nap is pretty well complete. He gets cranky around 10am but we can usually push through with some outdoor time or stories in the rocking chair. While the kids were on Christmas vacation, I was feeding Fritz lunch at 11:30, putting him to bed between 12 and 12:30, and he was sleeping until almost 3:00, which is a great schedule. Except for the fact that Heidi is now back in school and has to be picked up at 12:15 and if I put a tired baby with a full belly into the car at noon, it's all over. Grandma is coming over to nap-sit for awhile until we can push Fritz's schedule a little later.
Bedtime with him is blissful. He transitioned to cow's milk in his bottle without comment (after the abrupt transition from nursing to formula, still WTF?). He's equally happy with me or Karl. When I put him down, we cuddle up in his chair and read books while he drinks his bottle. He hands it over when he is done, then I zip up his starfish suit, he curls up sideways on my chest, and we rock until he's asleep. His sleepy weight is so warm and soft and satisfying. I often get weepy that these will be the last days of rocking a baby to sleep.
Of course, Fritz takes advantage of my sentimentality. He periodically regresses until we're rocking him for 45 minutes in the middle of the night and/or awake before dawn for weeks at a time. We finally resorted to another round of cry-it-out training last week. I had to explain to Henry why I kept referring to "breaking the baby."
The last year was unquestionably the hardest year we have had, for reasons directly and indirectly related to being 34 weeks pregnant when we moved to a new city and having a baby that did not sleep. I frequently worried that we had bitten off more than we could chew with four kids. But at the end of that, we have this exquisite little person who delights us all with his fat-guy chuckles, hockey hair, gremlin noises, and bedtime cuddles. He's everyone's favorite. He brings out the best in all of the other kids. Our set feels perfectly complete with him.
Most of this year was a blur. I envisioned my last round of babyhood would involve lots of quiet savoring of fleeting moments. It wasn't that kind of year. I hope I cuddled and squeezed him enough.
All that time Fritz didn't spend in peaceful cuddles with Mom? He spent it being the neighborhood mascot and the beloved baby of the extended family. He's the first of our kids to be perfectly cool with being handed off to grandma or grandpa or a host of other adults (or Henry). He often had half a dozen kids run into his room to get him up from nap. He went to a kite festival on a frozen lake at a couple weeks old, ate cheerios off of all kinds of surfaces in public places, and went to bed to the racket of 3+ other children screaming. We often marvel how different his first year was from Henry's first year.
We celebrated his birthday (combined with our holiday cookie party, because no one needs an extra event in December) with the extended family and the usual cast of friends.
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| Cousin squad (plus honorary cousin Rachel) |
Henry demonstrated his signature running leap onto a soft surface, and now Fritz enthusiastically flops onto beds, beanbags, and pillows. Big brothers are the coolest.
He still only has a few noises that may or may not be words: "ot" (hot), "izthzth" (izzy), "a-da" (dada), "i-da" (heidi). Generally, he growls like a golden-curled gremlin, yodels, and blows raspberries.
He has six teeth, the smoochiest cheeks, and an awesome fat guy laugh.
Changing his diaper is like hog-wrestling. The kid is built like a brick and flails around like an enraged animal and it's impossible to control him. None of the other kids has fought diapers this hard, for this long. The sooner Ingrid can potty train him, the better.
The transition to one nap is pretty well complete. He gets cranky around 10am but we can usually push through with some outdoor time or stories in the rocking chair. While the kids were on Christmas vacation, I was feeding Fritz lunch at 11:30, putting him to bed between 12 and 12:30, and he was sleeping until almost 3:00, which is a great schedule. Except for the fact that Heidi is now back in school and has to be picked up at 12:15 and if I put a tired baby with a full belly into the car at noon, it's all over. Grandma is coming over to nap-sit for awhile until we can push Fritz's schedule a little later.
Bedtime with him is blissful. He transitioned to cow's milk in his bottle without comment (after the abrupt transition from nursing to formula, still WTF?). He's equally happy with me or Karl. When I put him down, we cuddle up in his chair and read books while he drinks his bottle. He hands it over when he is done, then I zip up his starfish suit, he curls up sideways on my chest, and we rock until he's asleep. His sleepy weight is so warm and soft and satisfying. I often get weepy that these will be the last days of rocking a baby to sleep.
Of course, Fritz takes advantage of my sentimentality. He periodically regresses until we're rocking him for 45 minutes in the middle of the night and/or awake before dawn for weeks at a time. We finally resorted to another round of cry-it-out training last week. I had to explain to Henry why I kept referring to "breaking the baby."
The last year was unquestionably the hardest year we have had, for reasons directly and indirectly related to being 34 weeks pregnant when we moved to a new city and having a baby that did not sleep. I frequently worried that we had bitten off more than we could chew with four kids. But at the end of that, we have this exquisite little person who delights us all with his fat-guy chuckles, hockey hair, gremlin noises, and bedtime cuddles. He's everyone's favorite. He brings out the best in all of the other kids. Our set feels perfectly complete with him.
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