While at my lovely pretending we don’t have children and enjoying some time by ourselves while we chat and drink wine once a month babysitting co-op meeting (ironic, no?) meeting last night, the topic of baby books came up. I was relieved to hear that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a completely up to date baby book, including a calendar marking every major milestone.
I’ve got a book.
I think I have a few things written in Mister Man’s. Little Miss’s is a blank book.
I’ve saved the strands of hair from the first haircut and the hospital bracelets. I’ve taken the pictures – although I’ve yet to print anything since 2001 (two years before Mister Man made his appearance), but yay to Costco for having unlimited $0.09 prints right now. Ambition. It’s a scary thing.
I don’t have the dates of any milestones written down, nor do I have their specifics recorded. That doesn’t mean that I don’t remember the important ones very vividly.
I know Mister Man’s first words were a screamed, “nonononononononono” when he was in the hospital for rotovirus and was finally feeling well enough to recognize that he didn’t want the nurse messing with him anymore.
I know that Little Miss was crawling at six months and running at nine months. I may not know the exact dates, but really – who’s going to know if I fudge them a little bit.
Some memories we have on video, which makes pinning them down even easier. We recorded Mister Man’s first (disastrous) haircut. It was the only one that we ever did at home, and my husband and clippers are forever banned from being in the same room.
But the one that most sticks out in my memory is Little Miss’s first words. She never babbled, as she couldn’t hear due to her constant ear infections as an infant. We finally had tubes put in October of 2006 when she was 14 months old. From there, she was finally able to hear, and she quickly began speaking.
I remember her looking up at my while I was changing her diaper. She was laying on the lilac changing table cover, and her skinny little chicken legs were waving in the air, finally free of her sleep sack.
She looked up at me with her eyes far wiser than her years, and her legs suddenly stopped moving. She stilled, which is something that she never did – nor does she now. She slowly reached up towards my face, an intent look upon her face.
Eye-bow, she said, as she gently stroked my right eyebrow. Eye-bow.
As proud as I was, I couldn’t help but giggle a little. Eyebrow? Really, eyebrow was my daughter’s first word? I mean, I get the “no” from Mister Man. I totally do, and I’m ok with it not being mama or dada, but eyebrow? Apparently we reviewed our body parts a little too frequently with her.
Ahhh, my little contrarian. Some things never change.