I hear this from just about every mom and mom blogger I know (or don't know, I guess). Usually it's in reference to their newborns. "This is going by way too fast!" and "I wish that time would just slow down." But as most everyone knows, I don't make it any kind of secret that I'm not craaaazy about teeny babies. I have never ever wiped away a tear while packing up small sizes. I rejoice. We got through 3-6 months! We survived!
That first year, well that first year drags. It's all about the next new milestone. When will you sleep?! Roll over. Eat solids. Crawl. Feed yourself. Walk (that one technically took about a year and a half for my Incredible Hulk sized boy). How old is he? Well he'll be 7 weeks in 3 days. But the second year? You stop counting the days and weeks and months. You never say: well he'll be 73 weeks in 4 days. The second year flys by, and that's what scares me.
You think I'm worried about August getting older? Oh no no. Come on kid, control that central nervous system already! It's Sawyer that I want to pause. That's right, you heard me. Right smack in the terrible twos I want to stop time. People say it's because now they have a personality. No. He wasn't a piece of wood for the last 2 years, he had a personality. Now he has an OPINION. I'm right at the beginning of talking and right before the sass starts. He has the funniest little quirks. He tells the best stories, even if I can't understand a word of it. He can work and iPhone better than anyone over the age of 40. He has an overly dramatic polite laugh. He loves his brother so so much, he knows exactly who he is. After all, he was just with him not that long ago. The tantrums? Well those are out of this world, and if you asked me if I wanted him to stay that age in the midst of one I'd tear your face off. But most of the time I'd like to bottle up this age and keep it forever.
