I love how he prefers to put his foot up while eating, whether he's in the high chair or sitting on a blanket at the beach.
I love how he plows through the laundry as I fold it (and re-fold it, and re-re-fold it.) At first I was annoyed with Babyzilla, but now I'm so grateful that he wants to be with me, and I think it's good preparation for when he can actually help with the folding.
I love how he makes other people happy. I can tell that he brightens the days of the Costco employees who have watched him grow since he was in my belly. Paul, who's waiting for grandchildren, loves to play with his feet. Brenda, whose grandkids live thousands of miles away, always greets him by name. He's the closest thing to a grandchild that some people have right now.
I love how he wants to be like his mommy and daddy. He usually won't eat food unless he sees us eating it first. I can put a quesadilla on his tray and he'll just stare at it until I take a bite of my own quesadilla.
I love how he jams to beats. He'll be sitting in his high chair and, upon hearing Peter play drums in the other room, he'll look at me and nod his head and groove. It's the cutest thing.
I love how he knows his boundaries and pushes them as much as possible. He sits right by the line. He throws things over the line. He falls down to the ground with tears when I merely say "Remember your boundaries!" But he knows the rules and he obeys (most of the time. ;) )
I love how he loves animals and wants to pet every single thing with fur he sees, despite my best efforts at making him non-desirous of pets.
I love how he watches outside the window as Daddy leaves for work and comes home. I love it when he waves.
I love how he loves playing with his daddy. All Peter has to say is "Excuse me, little sir!" and Stephen will laugh, zoom away, and immediately commence a game of tag.
I love when he toddles or crawls over to me while I'm sitting down just so he can pull himself up on me and wrap his arms around my neck. His only purpose in all that work is to hug me.
I love how he's so snuggly in the morning and he lets me kiss all over his cheeks and neck. His eyes are usually still closed but his closed mouth makes a huge smile as I smother him with love. He's not aware of too much in the mornings, but he knows for sure that I love him and he loves me.
I love how he chows down on his food. This dude can maul a peanut butter sandwich, a sizeable pile of lasagna, or an entire banana without batting an eye.
I love how he practically does acrobatics while nursing. His wiggly and, at times, upside-down posture makes nursing in public difficult, but it's still quite hilarious.
I love how he loves the outdoors and always has. Previously it had been the only thing that could calm him when he was otherwise inconsolable. Nowadays he brings me his shoes or reaches for the door handle, and he throws a fit when we come back inside.
I love how he loves family. When my Mammaw picks him up, he rests his head on her shoulder and has the biggest, toothy smile for a long time. He loves her.
I love how his appetite for organic blueberries knows no limits.
I love how he is consistently amused during diaper changes as I express to him how miserably stinky his diaper is. He is proud of his stench.
I love how he looks in his little pajamas. Before he was born I had frequently imagined him running around in those tight little pj pants, his tiny booty cheeks begging to be squeezed. And, boy, do they get squeezed. ;)
I love how he completely ignores the toys he has and would much rather take all of Daddy's business cards out of the box or completely disassemble all the yarn pieces in Mommy's latch hooking kit. My heart is warmed by those kinds of messes as my curious little boy explores his world.
I love how he knows when I'm sad. Even when he was a couple months old, I was sobbing while he was nursing so he stopped nursing and looked up at me with the biggest smile. God really used him to remind me of His tender mercy.
I love how the moment he was born wasn't the magical experience some people describe, but when I saw him for the first time I kind of felt unsurprised. I remember just feeling like "of course that's him. I already know him. He's been mine for a long time." He isn't a cute widdle baby to pamper, he isn't a problem to deal with; he is my son and my friend (and hopefully one day, my brother in Christ.) I am called to be his mother, and I don't want to take that lightly. But I want to enjoy every day of it. And I most certainly do. :)
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My name is Hope.
I'm 26, married to a former skater dude, and raising little people ages 6, 4, 3, and squishy-baby. I like lime green and sarsaparilla, and I wear my Crocs until they melt. (Florida problems.)
Quick links to some of my posts:
Articles I've Written on Other Sites:
Youth Ministry's Family Blindspot - Christianity Today