The older and more mobile Connor gets, the more difficult it is for me to find time to log all of his comings and goings (and to keep the keyboard from getting sticky and the computer screen from getting too many paw prints on it). But these are times that I want to lock in my memory. There will be pictures from his first birthday party and we photos and video of the first time he rolled over and crawled, but it's up to my waning memory to remember what we did on Saturday mornings when Z slept in or how it felt to have a 10-month old baby in the stroller while walking around the neighborhood. It seems that the best way to not mourn future losses is to keep past and present occurences safely locked away so the fear of losing them isn't so stifling. I'm doing my best with that, considering that I started driving the wrong car to work yesterday.
Connor is starting to get that big kid look. You know, the one that starts to show itself as his neck starts getting more defined and his jawline becomes more pronounced. I remember marvelling at that same look when it befell my oldest niece. He's not walking yet, but once that blessing/curse enters our house I will probably look back at my earlier posts with a longing that I would have never understood six months ago.
The more babies we meet, the more pipsqueakish 'Rad appears. At 10 months he can still fit into some 6-month old clothes while other kids his age or younger are pushing past him to the 12-18 month clothes. So I wonder - am I feeding him enough? Am I feeding him the right stuff? Is he going to be a shorty like me or fill out to football player size when he gets to junior high? For now I'll overlook the questions about whether or not he will change the world for better. The more pressing issue is whether or not 'Rad will be at least 5'10" (Connor, if you're reading this 16 years from now I hope you can forgive my young mother vanity fears). Either I'm completely superficial or I'm just writing out what many of us are thinking. I'm going to go based off of the latter. If not, it won't be the first time I've put my foot in my mouth. (After I wrote this I read an article about women choosing their sperm donors based on what Hollywood celebrity they look like. I'm not feeling so bad now.) It's funny how being a parent can seemingly bring out the best and the worst in us.