My baby boy is 18 months old. The “is he still a baby?” phase has come and gone. My last 540 days {give or take a few} have been consumed by the care of this baby boy. And I couldn’t be prouder of the boy he is growing into.
Sure, he has a strong personality that ensures most things don’t go smoothly. And he misses his Mommy so much that he’s usually the only one being held when I pick him up from school, church, or let’s face it, anywhere. He always seems to be in need of a haircut, and my house always seems to be in need of a cleaning.
I’ve loved him since the day he was born, but he is now my buddy, my shadow, my life.
I love his enthusiasm to learn. His curiosity. The way he puts his hands up when he says “gone?” I love that laughing gives him the hiccups. That his lower lip has a mind-of-its-own That he kisses Lynyrd and stuffed animals with a loud “muah!” I love that he looks like my daddy, his daddy and his great grandfathers. His soft baby curls. His dimple in his chin. The way his ears stick out just a little bit at the top. His beautiful hazel eyes. His determination. His sweet demeanor that he gets from Justin. How he’ll try to say almost any word for me, whether or not it sounds close at all. And I love that I almost always can make out what he says. I love the way his belly sticks out like an old man. I love how he runs to me when he sees me from across the room. Like we haven’t seen each other in years. And I love the sound of his footsteps.
The day Justin and I brought James home from the hospital, my Dad said, “can you believe he’s all yours?” We are so blessed to have James. He is all ours. He is a gift from God. And we love him more than life itself. Happy 18 months, my Sweet Baby James.
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