Doo doo doo, oh
Doo doo doo doo doo doo (oh)
Doo doo doo, oh
I know that those lyrics pretty much give away the whole post, but I’ll go ahead with it anyway.
It was only two years ago that we had a tiny Cool Baby who smiled toothless grins and made sweet-smelling poo (a benefit of nursing). Eventually, the baby started crawling, then walking, but he was still wobbly and generally wordless. Now, there’s no question that we have a boy on our hands, and I’m accepting that with a little reservation. It’s because I really love the baby part of Cool Baby. In the last couple of weeks, we’ve realized that there are areas in CB’s life where he has to leave babyhood behind.
CB is one of the last (if not the last) of his contemporaries to be potty-trained. I felt a little better when I heard about kids who weren’t potty-trained until they were four, but it’s time to get CB out of diapers. Soon, life will be too hectic to deal with soiled bottoms.
For all of CB’s life, we’ve helped him fall asleep. When he was young, the cry-it-out method didn’t work at night. He would cry for hours and not fall asleep. We always had to be in the room with him.
When we moved up here, we couldn’t choose whether we wanted to be in the room with him. Living in a one-room studio kinda makes those choices for you. Even when we moved into a place with innovations like a door separating the bedroom from living room, we still helped CB fall asleep. To be honest, I liked it. It was nice, quiet daddy-son time after I got home from work.
But now that life is even busier, and it’s difficult to spend an hour waiting for CB to fall asleep, we’ve finally moved toward him falling asleep on his own. And by God’s grace, it’s working.
And CB is just getting big. I could carry Li’l CB in my arms or in a baby carrier for a couple of hours if I needed to. Now, picking up CB is a game of Russian Roulette as I wonder which time will throw my back out.
I like cradling my son in my arms. I like feeding him oatmeal and wiping food from the corner of his mouth with the spoon. I like when he uses improper grammar like “I not girl, I boy!” or “Will you lay down me, Daddy?” It’s more endearing than “Will you lie down next to me, father?” or “Dad, I don’t want to cuddle with you! Weirdo.”
But to be honest, boyhood has its perks, too. Like when we play racecars on the floor. And when he runs and gives me a hug when I get home or even just step out of the bathroom. And when he calls me using Cool Mum’s phone and exclaims, “I miss you, Daddy! I want to be with you RIGHT NOW!”
Cool Baby is growing. He’s learning all sorts of good things and a few bad ones, too. He’s going to be a Cool Boy soon, and we thank God so much for the little man forming before our eyes. And I’ve decided to be OK with it because no matter what he does, somehow, someway, he’ll always be my baby.
Don’t expect me to see me in any cutoff button-down shirts anytime soon though.