A New Chapter

Cooper,

You're not a baby anymore.

I don't know when it happened exactly, but I know it did.  You're a little boy now.  Not a little baby boy.  Just a little boy.

A couple of weeks ago, after spending a couple of months carefully making your way around every piece of furniture and every wall in our house, you finally decided to go hands free.  True to your Wooldridge roots, it took the promise of something you shouldn't be getting in the first place, much less as a bribe, to entice you into taking the leap.  But you did it!  A couple of steps, followed by a couple more, and still you hadn't fallen, even as your little giraffe legs flexed and bowed.  Step, step, step, until you reached your destination and claimed your prize.  And then proceeded to walk all over creation like you had been doing it your entire life.

Baby boys don't walk like that, Cooper.

You're talking more, too.  You are becoming so, so good at telling everyone what you are thinking.  Every morning, like clockwork, as I step out of the shower, I am greeted with "Juuuusssss?"  Some days you can't even be bothered to drink it, but you never miss a chance to request it.  Later in the morning, as you enjoy some oatmeal ("Yum-MEES?"), you punctuate every spoonful with a "Biiiite?".  If I'm not fast enough, it's followed up with a "More?" and then a "Please?"  You are so smart that you know sign language for "please" is to tap your chest.  On mornings when you are particularly hungry, which is coincidentally most mornings, you beat your chest enough to make it turn red.  Clearly, your mother's sense of patience.  You also point out every door ("Doe-orrrrr?"), and every light ("ite"), and insist on opening, closing, or switching every one that you encounter.  

Baby boys don't talk like that, Cooper.

Baby boys don't yet know that it's funny when daddy farts, and they certainly don't know to laugh when they fart themselves.  They don't yet know that horseplay with Daddy is what comes after the evening bath.  They don't understand what it means when you tell them to only drink a little milk instead of having it all at once.  They don't yet know how to position their toys as steps so they can climb onto the couch and pull the cat's tail.

Baby boys don't know those things, Cooper.  But you do.

You know all that and so much more.  You know how to wave and say "bye-bye" when someone is leaving.  And you know to put your arms up when Daddy is about to take your shirt off.  You know to keep your eyes closed when your hair is being washed in the bath, and you even know how to say "bath".  Babies don't know how to make that "th" sound, Cooper.  But you know how.

Because you're a little boy now.  No longer a baby.

Except, except, for my favorite time of the entire day.  The time when my little boy is all played out and walks sleepily over to me and puts his head in my lap and waits for me to pick him up and rock.  It's just about the only time you'll allow yourself to be held, Cooper.  You snuggle down  and get comfortable, and just like that, until the morning, at least, it's back to how it's always been.  No walking.  No talking.  No critical thinking skills.  Just a cherubic little open mouth and a sweaty mess of blond curls.

Not a little boy.  A baby boy.  My baby boy.

Did I mention it's my favorite part of the day?

Good night, L.W.!  I love you!

BW