A Year Later...

Somehow I have let three months go by without writing on this blog. I can certainly blame the busy weeks before I left my job (May and June) and then the intrusion of a month long family vacation.

I also will blame social media, that reason that twice in his short life our son has fallen on his head while I spent just one more second on my Blackberry.

No matter who or what I blame, I've lost the three months of the first year of the guy's life. Granted I wasn't posting weekly by the end, but at least once a month.

A whirlwind recap: in May we went to Italy, our first vacation just us three without any family to toss the child towards and run out the door for our adult fun. Italy was a lovely place to have the baby as Italians love babies (bambino! bambino, they would cry as walked around with the stroller).

As MZ became more mobile, in the US crawling and crawling, we realized how a change of scene while good for us, was essential to this growth. Falling off his grandfather's coffee table was a one time thing; reflexively he learned not to do it again. But his balance -- more worrying to me was the lack of fear of danger -- seemed precarious as he teetered at the end of the fireplace or other sharp edges.

Then suddenly, at his birthday party, he took five steps in a row. A week later, he had that drunken, old man walk, swinging legs from his hips, hands fisted. He was up, and no longer was the speedy crawl going to make do -- unless he was tired.

This while in the background another mother was saying that her children walked at 7 months and 10 months. Or something that caused the beast of envy to rear up from its banishment. Why are we competitive with our children? None of this is a predictor of anything. If someone writes a symphony at age 3 (Beethoven) call me.

Stretching on his tiptoes for hugs, phones, or books, helped develop his thighs, his muscular legs. I know we're talking about a one year old, but his muscle definition beats mine to a pulp (which they are slowly returning from, the sinews just starting to show).

So long formula: milk, milk, milk. Which is easier to get here in Doha than the pre-made formula we raised him on. The solids have been successful as well. Though I have friends who are still breast feeding (there's the competitive streak again).

His mouth is erupting in teeth, seemingly overnight; there is no safe zone to get in and get out without being pinched. (Here's an area where he has the advantage of the walking wonder who has much fewer teeth).

School is two weeks around the corner. I know he will love the people; I just don't think the dropping off and picking up is going to be great for my schedule. (But then the past few days I've felt slightly at sea. Reading, writing, exercising to my heart's content. And then: boredom.)

He's here to stay, God willing, our little guy. And when I see his face, I really can't think of anything else I've done in my life that counts this much.