David is 20 months old. Twenty months. It’s a milestone I never thought we’d reach because, even though these months are flying, now that I’m pregnant I count my life in weeks. David will be about 21 and a half months when Baby Krieger gets here, which, now that he’s 20 months, sounds so soon.
This month was a big month for David. It was maybe, in a toddler’s economy, the biggest month. This month, David met Elmo. I’m not sure how or when he saw Elmo for the first time, all I know is that suddenly David started asking for Elmo. This might also be a good time to
The funny thing about these updates is that the tone is totally set by the week the update happens to fall on. For example, this month has been amazing. Then last week, David started growing fangs. Some people call them incisors, but these are fangs. All these teeth? They aren’t worth it. Not one bit.
This is the difference between a baby and a toddler. When you have a baby, and the baby falls a few inches off the couch, you have a panic attack, call your husband in tears, and write a blog about it. When you have a toddler and the toddler smacks his head into a cinder
December has been hard on David. Balls, by far, are his favorite toy, and all December he’s been told that he can’t touch the balls that are glittery, shiny, lit up, made of glass and hung on trees at his eye level. He’s broken two ornaments so far. Neither of them were ours because David
David just turned fifteen months old and, I don’t know, this one might not make it into the baby book. This month we’ve coined the nickname Grumpelstiltskin because it’s cuter than any other expletive that comes to mind when he’s scratching his eyes out because we’re changing his diaper. I’m blaming all this moodiness on
I’ve been counting down the days to David’s fourteen month birthday for a while now. There isn’t any sort of milestone or celebration, but I went over my texts this month and my plan happens to reset on the same day as David’s fourteen month birthday. For a while now every text I’ve sent or
I know, I know. I’m almost half-a-month late with this one. If I had been this late with his one-month update, that would have meant I had been procrastinating for a third of his life. But now that we count his age in years, two weeks seems like nothing, because nowadays two weeks seem to
A professor in one of my writing classes once told me you should never use cliches, and if anyone has ever said it before, it’s a cliche. But in this case, I have to. WHERE DID THIS YEAR GO? To be completely honest, sometimes I feel like this year has been a thousand years long.
Every month after I write an update I’m haunted for days by things I wish I’d included. Last month I forgot to mention that his favorite place to be tickled is his thighs and that at bedtime, instead of hugging me and leaning into my chest as I sing a lullaby, he now hurls his
David turned 10 months old, um, four days ago. This is the latest I’ve ever been with a monthly update, and it’s a far cry from when I wrote his one-month update three days early. I like to think the change is because I’ve stopped wishing the days away and started enjoying, no, savoring time
Since sharing all his business on the Internet has already bought David, at the worst, years of therapy and, at the very best, lots and lots of eye rolling, I’m just going to go ahead and throw caution to the wind here. Internet, I give you David’s most noticeable development this past month: We’ve introduced
Last Monday while I was busy polishing my “Mother of the Year” trophy, David fell off the couch. Actually, I was right there. My hand was on him and he lunged off the couch head first. Doesn’t that make it worse? If I can’t keep him on the furniture while under my complete supervision, then
Last night when I reminded Tom that today was David’s seven-month birthday he said exactly what I was thinking, “No way.” Way. The calendar doesn’t lie. Some months have seemed to drag. Like month 3. Or month 5. But this one came out of no where and popped us on the noggin. Babies are fickle,
This month almost killed me. I know I’ve said that before, but this time it was for an entirely different reason. This time I’m beginning to realize that when you decide to have a child, you’re signing up for thanking Jesus every night that you made it through one more day. I’ve stopped waiting for
This month almost killed me. The sleep deprivation beat me to the bottom of a hole and had me begging for mercy. I had lunch with a friend one day and had the following conversation: Friend: So we traded in our car for a Pittance. Me: A Pittance? Nice. And who makes the Pittance again?
David is four months old today. After spending so much time waiting and wishing for the big three month milestone, it seems four months came in a flash. Is this what moms talk about when they say babies grow up too fast? Or maybe it’s just the Christmas season. Yes, that must be it. He’s
We did it. We survived the fourth trimester. Our baby is three months old. Oh, David, don’t look so surprised. I’ve been waiting for this milestone. Anticipating. Dreaming. Imagining. There’s lots of hype about having a three-month old. First I read my sister’s take on three months. Then I stumbled across rumors on the Internet
Our little guy is two months old. Well, maybe I shouldn’t say little. He does weigh 13.2 lbs, wears 3-6 month clothes, and is in the 90th percentile for height and weight. When people see him, they always guess that he’s 3 months old. (At what age does that stop? When I look big people
What a difference a month makes. Four weeks ago today I was very grumpy, very pregnant, and relatively certain my pregnancy was a permanent condition (which I think every woman starts wondering somewhere around 39 weeks). (grumpy? yes.) I was particularly irritable toward people who suggested I eat at a certain restaurant, see a certain