Tomorrow Evan will be nine months old. I was sorting through his old baby clothes today, and realized that is a dangerous thing to do. Once the clothes are in the box, do not take them out again. They are so tiny. So cute. So sentimental – or is that just me? He was such a little baby just yesterday, it seems, so sleepy and helpless with those cute scrawny legs. Now Evan is crawling, following after Anna and Will, and pulling up on stuff, trying to walk. He puts everything in his mouth… except food, that is. Yes, my nine-month-old acts like I’m torturing him whenever I offer him solid food, which baffles me. (Anna and Will were eating all kinds of foods by this time in their development.) I guess my littlest guy has an issue with food transitions… taking three months to figure out breastfeeding, now three months of resisting solids. At this rate he won’t be ready for his traditional Schumacher Happy First Birthday Cupcake.
Evan is still so cute – cuter now, and more fun than when he was a tiny baby. Perhaps what makes me so sentimental is the knowledge that this phase, too, is fleeting. I can almost sense an older me watching me here in this time, more acutely aware of what is slipping away than I can ever be now. And I am telling me to stop and cherish and store up these things in my heart and take the time, but it is so hard in the midst of going here and there and fixing the broken toy and the hurt feelings and the spill on the floor. But this is where we live, in the midst of the mess. And life is messy, so that’s all we have and that’s where we must do our treasuring and cherishing. So there it is. Weird. Happy 9 months, little Ev!