My boy, the sprout

My little boy was stretched out in his crib last night, fast asleep. “He looks so long,” I thought to myself. I went to chest of drawers and pulled out my trusty tape measure. Very carefully, I laid it beside him, the end at the top of his head, and stretched it to his feet.

Thirty inches.

It’s official. My little boy is about half my height already. I have very few years left when I’ll be able to say (as I do now), “I’m bigger than you, little one. You can’t fight me on this.”

Thirty inches.

At his last well-baby appointment, he was 27-3/4 inches. This means that in less than two months, he’s already grown more than two inches. No wonder he looks so scrunched up in his footed pajamas now!

[sigh] I guess I know where all the food has gone now, besides the dirty diapers. The funny thing is that just the other day, Cute Husband said to me, “He’s getting really pudgy.” And we all know that little children who are fairly slender under normal circumstances only start to beef up right before a major spurt.

So, my baby is very quickly outgrowing his “baby” status. He’s now pulling himself up on everything he sees, and he has also just begun to cruise. One day he’ll let go completely and discover he can balance himself on his two legs, and soon after that, he’ll discover his little legs can move much faster than Mommy’s or Daddy’s can.

But for now, I’m enjoying this in-between stage. He’s not quite a baby, yet not quite a toddler, either. The latter will come all too soon.


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