Before I got pregnant, when I thought about having a kid, I pictured a five-year-old.
A potty-trained, able-to-communicate, cute-as-a-button, Disney-World-loving five year old.
Kids will be so fun, I thought.
Once I was pregnant, I pictured a newborn. A sleepy, whiny, tiny little guy.
Aw, I thought.
Turns out, there’s a whole stage in between. Yeah, who knew.
So… my little guy is very close to being on the move. When he lays on his tummy, he does the skydiving motion (on belly, arms and legs flailing about). He rolls. And rolls, and rolls. This way, that way, roll-roll-roll.
The closer he gets to crawling, the less interested I am in seeing him crawl.
I mean, I know I’ll be excited when he does it. I’ll cheer and clap like an idiot. But? It’s the beginning of the end.
All of a sudden, I’m noticing all the cords sticking out of the walls. I’m wondering what on earth I’m supposed to do with our stand-up fan, which is CRUCIAL during the summer months. Also, the floor. Is disgusting. Thank you, Belle. Thank you, dusty Phoenix.
And if I’m being honest, I’d say that I like being able to plop Ryan down somewhere and walk away. (If I’m not being honest, I’d tell you about all the things I’m doing to encourage him to crawl.)
With all his rolling and scooting, we’ve recently busted out the pack ‘n play, which had been stored away for a few months.
He likes it.
No really, he does. If you say, “Do you like Baby Jail?!?”… he gives you this look:
As far as he is concerned, it’s awesome.
1. It’s a comfy place to sit. Way better than a rug on laminate, particularly if he randomly falls over.
2. All of his toys are within reach, which is key to his happiness. The kid can sit in there for a shockingly long time, playing with his toys by himself (thank you, daycare).
I consider myself firmly in the “enjoy every moment” camp. But I might not mind skipping the whole “suddenly mobile and ready to make up for lost time” phase.
I really need to get serious about baby-proofing, don’t I?