I May Bottle.

This morning, at about 5:50 a.m., I heard Izak say his first sentence. It tickled me so that I just laid there and laughed. Z is an early riser, typically about 6:30 a.m.. He wakes up singing, sometimes jumping, sometimes banging about in his crib. This morning I heard a crash, then something that sounded like crying (you can never be too sure because Z does a great fake cry). So Matt crawled out from under the covers to go make sure our mini-Paul-Hamm didn't hurt himself. The second the door opened I heard the whimpering stop, and a little voice say, very clearly, "Bottle. I may bottle." What a scream! Matt laid him back down, told him that it was too early to get up, attempted to rub his tummy a little, but Izak pushed his hand away as if to say, "Look, I gave you a clear, indisputable request. If you can't help me out then please leave." By the time Matt came back into the bedroom we were both chuckling. And so began the morning.

I look forward to the day when Izak uses more words. I do okay with pre-verbal because I have a handicapped sister that has a very limited vocabulary, and I work with critically ill people, many on the ventilator, that can't talk, so I'm pretty good a charades and body language. But real words! How exciting! In speaking with other "experienced" parents (who don't know me well enough to know that this pisses me off), a comment that often comes up is, "Enjoy the silence because once they start talking/walking/crawling... (eyes rolling)." You know, there are plenty of parents in the world who wish their babies could communicate, but can't, for whatever sad reason. Don't whine about the gift you've been given! (my eyes rolling) Having a handicapped sister has changed the core of my mother's heart into something that doesn't allow me to blend very easily with the typical mom. My thoughts are often, Stop b*tching and moaning about the beauty of a healthy, growing, developing child. Get a grip. And while you're at it, shut up and celebrate! Geez.

Mothering is an amazing job, a feat to be performed with as much grace and optimism as you can muster. Why not muscle through the hard parts (yes, there are hard times) and welcome the new skills? Sure, none of us particularly like having our routine messed with, but greater than the predictability of our schedule is the gift of a healthy growing child. I've been surprised to find little areas of my heart that were secretly prepared for the development of my children to halt. It probably has to do with being from a home with a perpetual toddler. I was pleasantly surprised with Izak's ability to crawl, walk, jabber, and now talk. Thank you, God, for the new little words that I hear Z use. Thank you that Libby is close to rolling over, that she smiles and coos and can almost hold her own bottle. Thank you for this precious time.