Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Dibbs: One Year


Oh wow. Every time I say I have a son, something goes all over me. I have a SON.
It's tough to say no to this face.
Well, boy, you have reached it. The end of infancy. The one year mark. You're almost a toddler.
I say 'almost' because you're still only cruising along my furniture rather than walking. But you can hustle up a staircase faster than the pets you're chasing, so it's only a matter of time. We can usually hear you crawling through the house, a plastic toy in each hand. Click, clack, click, clack. The faster the clicks, the more mischief you're up to.

exploring the San Francisco airport
You are Trouble. You love to find electrical cords and will go out of your way to get behind furniture to find them. (Hotels are fun.) You stick your fingers in light sockets, splash in dog water bowls, spill dog kibble all over my kitchen with giggly gusto. Your nana is laughing because you love dog food as much I did. (I admit to nothing.)
I'm sure you had nothing to do with it.
You are why I can't get anything done.
a toy in each hand, as usual
You prefer to be in my arms for all but an hour or two a day. When you go off to find cords. Or teethe on something metal or wooden. Like the coffee table.
Brushing your teeth. All 6 of them.
You still nurse almost exclusively and have very little interest in solid foods. And it's always a good time to nurse. I just woke up - let's nurse. I just got out of the bath - let's nurse. Putting a shirt on was traumatic - let's nurse. At over 27 pounds though, you clearly get enough. You are solid and strong.
You could swing all day.
You don't say much that most people would recognize. Dada, Mama, Ball, Nana, Bot, some words that are garbled but are generally understood to refer to light, pattycake, and twinkle. But you babble a lot (BONG!). You'll eventually be a talker. You love singing, swaying back and forth and babbling in a sweet high soprano. I love it. You've got hand motions down to all of your favorite songs. Nobody rolls the dough like you, doughboy.
Those gross motor skills are impressive. You've been able to throw a ball from an early age. You are precise and quick when you grab for something. And you usually get it. Whether it's my glasses, my plate, or some poor unsuspecting soul's nipple. You are developing your fine motor skills, too, as we discovered watching you with Sister's pom pom activity.
We were so proud...that you didn't eat them.
You're a ham. You flirt with everyone. As long as they don't try to hold you. You play with your daddy and throw your arms in the air, pretending to fall on the bed. You beg to be tickled and you giggle until you can't breathe.
spit bubbles and drooly giggles
Dibbs, you are a favorite of so many people. Your rock star good looks, devilish grin, chunky goodness, and fascination with spit bubbles make you irresistible.
more bubbles
As I write these things, you are nestled in the crook of my arm, where you sleep all night every night. You never stir unless I try to escape. The moment I'm free, you're sitting straight up, rubbing your eyes, wondering where I've gone.
sweetly sleeping
I know that, in a blink, these always-together moments will be gone. But I am going to soak up this sunshine for as long as it lasts. These days when Mama makes it all better. When Mama is comfort and Daddy is joy.
You, sir, are growing up too quickly.
I just kissed your sweet little forehead while you slept. My little nuzzler. My Bubba. My Son.


  1. Enjoy every minute of it, it goes all too fast. Love you all. Take it from this Granna. Damn, you all are making me old. :)

  2. Ohmygoodness! He's going to be all grown up before I get to meet him! Such a cutie!!!

  3. I almost forgot I have a birthday buddy! Happy Birthday Dibbs!