At fifteen months old, I think Henry officially qualifies as a toddler. And that makes me want to cry. Don't get me wrong. He's an adorable toddler. But wasn't he my baby a mere five minutes ago? It's not so much the actual toddling around that is making me sigh with the blissfully wonderful happy sadness that is watching your children grow up. It's the budding vocabulary and emerging personality that makes little Henro (the kid's nickname for him) seem so much like a mini guy, instead of my cuddly baby.
Henry loves to be laughed at. For being so mild mannered and easy going, he sparkles like I've never seen when he knows that he is captivating an audience. He struts, he laughs at himself, he grins an impossibly adorable grin, the entire time scanning his audience, glancing back over his shoulder to see if he's still being observed.
He still dances... loves any and all kinds of music. The hardest part of church is keeping him from crawling directly to the organ while the hymns are played.
Henry loves the water, and playing peek a boo. He loves books and anything that involves sorting and stacking. He'll spend many minutes sitting and taking objects out of a box, just to turn around and put them all back in.
He is infectiously happy and eternally pleasant. He is exactly the kind of baby that baby number 4 needed to be. While I celebrate and adore Henry's steps into toddlerdom... I cling to the moments of his babyness I still have left. The minutes just before bedtime when he pops his thumb in his mouth and tucks his head under my chin. The way he carries his blankets everywhere with him for the first two hours of every day. His complete and total unabashed and nearly constant need for Mommy.
I love you little Henro.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
My new little toddler....
