My small dude has been a man-child since he was born.
He got teeth at three months.
He crawled at five months.
He walked at SEVEN months. And by walked, I don’t mean took a step and fell down. I mean WALKED.
Remember the dancing baby in Ally McBeal?
Yep – just like that.
That baby-stage you love – LOVE…you know where your little one is old enough to sit up by themselves on a blanket and reach everything around them? With Delaney that stage was heavenly – I knew she couldn’t go anywhere.
That stage skipped Coop all together.
Our pediatrician was slightly ominous, “One of these days you are going to come downstairs and he will be on top of the refrigerator. You must baby proof like you have never baby-proofed before.”
Comforting, truly.
So, with a toddler and a walking baby, life was supersonic. I never, repeat NEVER, felt like I had the chance to simply relax. Someone was always getting in to something.
I was always fearful my daredevil would take a nose dive down the stairs, put a fork in an electrical outlet, or, as my pediatrician warned, climb on top of the fridge.
But none of those things happened. And I’m lucky I had women like these who understood the chaos and helped me to embrace it.
