Yesterday, Ryan turned 11 months old. The end of his first year is officially in sight.
I’m supposed to be thinking about all the usual sappy stuff – the fact that he’ll never be a cuddly infant ever again, that he is just weeks (or days?!) away from walking, that he’s growing more understanding, more independent with every passing second.
Eh, there’s time for all that.
For now, I can’t help but think how almost exactly one year ago, I was officially full-term.
How I turned into a full-fledged nesting monster, rampaging through our condo with the force of a thousand handymen.
I remember how grateful I felt when Mike grew a baby beard (kind of like a playoff beard, except we actually wanted the post-season to end) as a physical symbol of his support and partnership.