As of today, I no longer have an infant. And according to all of my baby day-to-day apps, I no longer even have a “baby.” Charlie woke up this morning as a one-year-old. I officially have a toddler.
Second and third: ALSO FEELINGS!
The best news for my mental health is that he can no longer die of SIDS. But I did recently read that he’s statistically much more likely to have a tragic injury as a toddler, because he has all this physical and athletic ability and zero judgement. For example, the other morning, he dove off the guest bed, forehead first, even with his dad and grandma sitting on it with him and actively tending to him. He decided he wanted to get on the ground and that this would be the best way to do it. He now has a big ol’ bruise on his forehead, but this has not stopped him from trying to jump from additional beds and couches forehead first. I’ve caught him by the ankle at least three times since then. His fine motor skills have also come a long way. He found a spot in our bedroom where the door frame doesn’t go all the way to the floor, and he’s used his newfound ability to grasp small objects to dig out loose bits of drywall and place them in his mouth. I’ve kept him from successfully swallowing any, but he’s working on it.
I don’t know how to take care of and keep up with a toddler. In terms of childproofing, as Andy put it, we’re always fighting the last battle. As soon as we put up a gate, he learns to climb up the gate, and so on. Fortunately, neurotic hyper-vigilance is one of my strengths, so he’ll probably be fine.
My toddler visited me at work today so we could have lunch together for this momentous birthday occasion. He probably drove himself. Tomorrow he’ll graduate from college and marry a nice girl from Philadelphia.
LIKE THE SANDS THROUGH THE HOURGLASS OH MY GOD.
Seriously, guys. I haven’t even come to terms with the fact that I was pregnant yet, and now I don’t even have a baby. I have a toddler.