Jail Break

The past month or so Q has been hitting me with some major whammy’s in the “Baby’s First’s” department:

First crawl — backwards. But who cares, a crawl is a crawl!

First voluntary bite from a spoon — short lived, but this is monumental in our house. She’s got major beef with utensils for reasons I’ll never know.

First wave goodbye — its extra adorable because she’s actually waving at herself.

First teeth — yes, that is plural for holy shit. She sprouted two pearls of perfection after a solid five months of drool, teething rings and oil, tylenol (for those endless nights of screaming) and bib after bib after bib. And my goodness they’re tiny weapons of mass destruction. Im convinced she sharpens them at night while we’re sleeping.

All of these are the tiniest of things that reduce me to tears on more than one occasion; things of which my friends who haven’t been blessed with their own littles yet won’t completely understand until it happens to them. I know, because I was once one of them. Im pretty cool with her growing up as a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of gal; I think its a pretty great character trait in a world full of all too serious phonies. But Im not cool with the whole growing part.

Not yet.

And then a couple of nights ago when I was playing around with my in-laws DSLR camera (Sony a55) in the nursery, THIS happened.

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….what?

To be honest, I didn’t even know what to do or say, so I yelled (well, okay, I screamed) downstairs to Jason and kept snapping pictures while Q tried to escape her crib. He walked in and busted out laughing while I tried to hold back yet another set of dramatic mom tears. To all of you wonderful first time momma-to-be’s: if you think for a second that your emotional roller coaster comes to a halt once your baby is born, you are off your pretty little rockers. Newsflash, it gets worse so you might as well invest in a lifetime supply of waterproof mascara.

The determination this child had to stand up and support herself was unreal. You can literally see the strain in those darling little fingers!

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She managed to pull herself up again and last a couple of minutes chatting away at nothing special. And then she fell backward and thought everything in the world was so downright hysterical that she laughed about it for a solid five minutes. I hope that never changes because the world needs more laughter.

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Its become common for Jason and I to talk about how insane and terrifying it is that she is growing so quickly. Theres something new about her daily, and I sit more often than not staring at photos of her and her first days with us.

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Jason says I torture myself by doing it, mostly because I almost always end up shedding a tear (shocker). Its amazing how you can grow a tiny human (or alien invader, depending on your mood) inside you within a 10 month span and then in that same amount of time they morph at lightning speed into a babbling, mobile, full of personality and LIFE little being.

Ive been putting off going through her drawers and closet for a while now to organize and pull out clothes she’s grown out of, but thats only because Im avoiding a complete meltdown. Last time I thought it would be fun to compare her newborn sizes with her fresh new six month sizes. It was not fun. It was stupid. I ended up huddled on the floor in a ball a babbling mess. Now she’s rapidly growing into nine month sizes. What is this madness?!

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I won’t lie, these photos give me baby fever again. Like fresh, snuggly newborn (without the bleeding boobs part) kind of fever. But, one of the best pieces of advice we’ve been given by dear close friends is to wait until Q is potty trained before we think about another one. Thats such a brilliant point that I never thought of because diapers aren’t cheap, and when you sit there with your husband throwing Rock Paper Scissors to see who gets to clean up the next major up-to-the-chin blowout (yes, that happened and no I don’t wanna talk about it), the last thing you want is to be juggling TWO blowouts. So for now I’ll just torture myself some more with the photographic timeline of Quinn’s growth, deal with a couple more years of baby fever and go through the painful process of lowering her crib again.

Should be pretty easy, right?

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