Grandma Lucy Bell could have eaten him up.
His new BFF right from the start.
This may be the first time Shelby held a baby. And she looks a little worried as he begins to yawn...wondering if he is going to swallow her, or if something is going to pop out of that giant hole.
Here, he had begun to plump up. Always a good feeling for a mother.
Gummy..with teeth on the way.
My little dough boy.
Is happy to be hangin with the big boys, even if he is the butt of the jokes.
A little more hair, and getting long.
Still has his bottle.
One year old.
My sweet Garrett. My sweet baby boy. You know, with this child, I have not read one parenting book. And it's not because I know it all. Because if anything I have forgotten it all. But it's because I don't care. I don't care what the books say that he is supposed to be doing. What month he is supposed to be crawling. What he'll be doing next month. Really...I just want to be surprised. He is my last baby.
And so to me, everything he does, or does not do is perfectly normal...perfect-period. Not too long ago, we saw a relative who hadn't seen Garrett for a year. He is now a year and a half. And you know what she said?...She said, "He looks just the same." And he does. My babies tend to have more in the way of goose down on their head, than hair, for the first oh three years of their lives...which makes them look, well- babyish. And I couldn't be happier. So he's definitely grown. But he looks the same..just a little stretched out.
And he doesn't talk. Oh, the darling little pointer. His pointer finger is always in use. Pointing to pictures, to the fridge, to the TV remote, to the candy bin. He can communicate. And the grunts. A grunt for a bottle..a different one for the markers he would like to color his face with. I have become the decoder of grunts. And with an earlier child I may have bought in to the adage that I shouldn't give him what he wants with those grunts, to force him to talk. But, give me a break- that's idiotic. So, with each of his grunts I will say the word of what he wants..but I am in no rush for him to use words.
He'll say "Yaaaah", and "Yuuuckkk" but that's about it. Perfect. So, when I am rocking this little baby of mine, I sometimes feel that I have been lucky enough to freeze time..just for a moment. Drink in the baby stage this time.
Sure, I want him to grow and develop. When I see his little bow legs running at full speed, practically tripping over one another, I am in heaven. But I know it will all come eventually. Yesterday I was out for a walk with Garrett in the stroller, and I passed a neighbor's house who has a hedge of roses. They are long gone. It snowed today. But a small cream rose that was a late bloomer, was there amongst all the buds that had already bloomed and gone. And when I saw that rose..I thought of Garrett. This little rose that has waited to bloom.
Dalton was similar..I was just too busy to notice. And too immature to savor him. Instead (can you believe it) wanting him to hurry and grow. Shelby was talking out of the womb. I am kind of kidding..but not really. She was mimicking sounds at the age of four months. And by her one year birthday, we could have a little conversation. So, Murphy's Law says that tomorrow when I go to get Garrett from the crib, he will greet me with a "Hello Mother". And that would be okay too. But for as long as it lasts, I am drinking in every second of my lovely late bloomer.