"Be still my beating heart..."

Flash Flood is at a dangerous age.  Dangerous for him because he's crawling all over the place, pulling up on everything in sight, which means unavoidable bumps and bruises.  Also dangerous because he's constantly putting any and every tiny little piece of plastic/trash/crayon/bug in his mouth he can get his sweet, chubby fingers on.  Dangerous for ME because it's absolutely, with out a doubt, one of my most favorite ages.  Sure, every age is fun.  But there's something about the sweet moments from 9-17 months, where I can't help but snatch a chubby baby up off the floor and kiss all over their precious rolls.  I've done this with every one of my babies at this age.  I  just can't help myself. 

The sweet, drooly mouth, that smells of motrin to help ease the pain of those pesky new budding teeth, the double chin, the sounds of "da-da-da-da-da" mixed with laughter.... Oh, I'm in  heaven during those months.  Quite possibly the reason my babies have been so close in age.  I think they hit this stage and I start to think, "Oh, I want a baby this age forever."  So, we have another.  And no, this isn't an announcement of any sort, just an ode to this age that is almost my most favorite.

Laughter comes so easily, for both my sweet baby, and all who are present to watch him soak up every moment life has to offer.  I love how he studies every object in the room, with such amazement:  The tv remote is remarkable; the couch is a mountain to try and climb; the rug with all it's swirly patterns to trace, and smooth carpet to feel... I watch my little explorer and wish I could find such wonderment in all aspects of my own life. 

I simply cannot resist his sweet arms, stretching to the sky, in hopes that I will come by and pick him up.  And usually, his wish is granted, because I  simply cannot walk past him without tossing him up onto my hip, to join me, unloading the dishwasher.  I love the feeling of his adorable legs clinging to my sides, like a baby monkey, hanging on tight to his monkey momma. 

I love how every day, his sounds are closer to forming words.  Real words the rest of the world can understand.  Squeals and giggles can be heard through out the house as he pats on the window to the big wide world, and spots his favorite doggie, "Doh! DOH!!"  and then more squeals as the kitty joins his doggie friend, "Ki-ee!  KI-EEEEE!!" 

And, oh. my. word. just after a bath in lavender soap, and dressed in those warm cuddly jammies, I can't hardly take it!  I love the heavy breathing felt on my neck, after he finishes a bottle and passes out being rocked and burped.  Sometimes I pretend that I'm afraid he'll wake up if I move him to his bed, so I sit and rock him for over an hour.  I love smelling his head and patting his back, as if I'm trying to inhale him into my very soul. 

All too soon will come the temper tantrums and words added to his vocabulary like MINE and NOOOOO.  So, until then, I will continue to eat him up with a spoon..... Oh, my beating heart, be still....