Tuesday, June 12, 2012


Emmett is our baby. He's 16 months old, but I keep calling him a baby because... he's my baby. Get the idea? With Cole and Dean, I was quick to adopt the term of "toddler" or "kid" because they weren't my last. And now I'm doing just the thing I used to judge others for - babying my little one because I know he's it.

In a lot of ways, it's become a joke. If Emmett wants a drink, we say he has "babythirst" (yes, one word). If we're strapping him in the car, we say we're "babybuckling" him. If he's tired, we say, "Emmett, are you so babytired?" For an example of "babytired," see below:

Because sometimes, snack time kicks your butt. Babytired.

Then there's babycrazy. This is not the uterine-twitching, longing for a baby kind of babycrazy. It's more like when the "baby" in question tries to climb into the high chair and then, realizing he needs help, goes and gets a stool to put on the ground in front of the chair. And then that baby gets on the stool, climbs the chair, pulls up into the high chair, and turns around, triumphant.

Babycrazy. And, to his credit, babycute.

Keeping on top of Emmett's activities proves to be challenging. I can clean up the books he's pulled off the shelves and as I'm doing that, he's gotten a package of Goldfish crackers to dump on the floor. And he doesn't nap, so there's no break. Go, go, go!

But he's my baby. So the babycrazy is outweighed by the babycute, and although we discipline him plenty by telling him "no" or redirecting him, Emmett is a persistent little guy. He's INto and ONto everything. I'm exhausted. And, oddly, loving it.

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