Happy 2.6666666666th Birthday, Baby!
I have observed a trend whereby parent bloggers wax lyrical in noting the passing months of their child's early life. "Oh, Little (insert cute nickname), you are 11 months old today. Today, on your 11 month birthday..." Obviously, this can be taken to an unpleasant extreme. There is no 11 month birthday. That is stupid. I can understand marking, at least on some mental chit, the fractions which make up ages 0-6. Fractions are important in the development of early math skills. (But this does not endorse the marking of little Timmy's attainment of 3 and 7/12 years. Obscure fractions are not allowed.)
Maybe parents break out the lyrical wax for their second kid as well as their first. Maybe they are too screamingly busy for that. I don't know. It's not as if I have a broad sample to work with.
Recently the Cheesefairy expressed many nice things to and about her son, who was then turning 18 months old. It is a really beautiful post which includes a great picture of her son. That is my inspiration for this post: I want to describe her son at 18 months.*
Oh, ha ha ha. I meant my little one. He is 18 months old today. It is not his birthday, of course, but an arbitrarily selected milestone of another sort. These months have gone by very quickly. Like something which moves at great speed and is fast. And you, my son, you are fast, all things considered. Not fast like a gazelle, or a Chevy Impala, or Gaetan Boucher, but like a little guy who is full of life. You run to see me when I get home, when you have something to show me, and for other reasons I cannot ascertain.
You have many things to tell me. You wish to identify objects and people by their names. I can understand many of the things you say. You appear to name things more or less correctly.
I loved you when you were being born - nurse and physician wrestling you out of your mother, the nurse saying "breathe baby, breathe" as my heart rose into my gorge. I loved you when you started to laugh and to call my name. I love you even more now, if possible, now that you are more and more a little boy, a bright-eyed, inquisitive, happy little boy.
I love you, even when you wear your sister's clothes.**
Your dad.
* I would link to it, I would, but I am lazy and I have to prepare for court.
** But please, in future, avoid cameras.
Maybe parents break out the lyrical wax for their second kid as well as their first. Maybe they are too screamingly busy for that. I don't know. It's not as if I have a broad sample to work with.
Recently the Cheesefairy expressed many nice things to and about her son, who was then turning 18 months old. It is a really beautiful post which includes a great picture of her son. That is my inspiration for this post: I want to describe her son at 18 months.*
Oh, ha ha ha. I meant my little one. He is 18 months old today. It is not his birthday, of course, but an arbitrarily selected milestone of another sort. These months have gone by very quickly. Like something which moves at great speed and is fast. And you, my son, you are fast, all things considered. Not fast like a gazelle, or a Chevy Impala, or Gaetan Boucher, but like a little guy who is full of life. You run to see me when I get home, when you have something to show me, and for other reasons I cannot ascertain.
You have many things to tell me. You wish to identify objects and people by their names. I can understand many of the things you say. You appear to name things more or less correctly.
I loved you when you were being born - nurse and physician wrestling you out of your mother, the nurse saying "breathe baby, breathe" as my heart rose into my gorge. I loved you when you started to laugh and to call my name. I love you even more now, if possible, now that you are more and more a little boy, a bright-eyed, inquisitive, happy little boy.
I love you, even when you wear your sister's clothes.**
Your dad.
* I would link to it, I would, but I am lazy and I have to prepare for court.
** But please, in future, avoid cameras.
Labels: Non-Anniversaire Mon Fils
posted by p-man at 10:49 p.m.
5 Comments:
Right, like this is the last time you find him so attired. Big sisters are that powerful, little brothers can not help but want to be them, or at least like them.
A fitting (plus mathematically correct, I am assuming) and lovely tribute, even with the Ed Wood-esque twist.
I love him because he wears his sister's clothes.
Well, mine is now claiming to be 3 and 3/4. Not quite yet, but still. Where she got that one, I'm not sure. Another kid whose parents DO go in for the minutes slicing of time, I suppose.
So now I am officially the ONLY blogging mom who ignores all their children's milestones. I am no Alpha, am I?
BTW - I love your furniture.
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