This morning I woke up to a series of giggles and "Mamaaaaa"s coming from his room. I heard the clapping of his little fingers on the crib rails and the kicking of his little feet on his mattress. He no longer just sits cooing and blowing bubbles- but rather calls us by name. Mama and Dada.
He knows my name.
"Mama."
Jack is so perfect it astounds me. He crawls faster than I can keep up with him (cue the safety latches and barricades); he sits himself up with the most determined, stubborn, innocent look on his face and scrunches up his nose and squints his eyes as if to say "I'm a self-hazard Mama!"; he eats everything from cereal puffs to Crayola markers (and seems to enjoy them both the same); and his snuggles are still the most fantastic part of my day. One bottle down and his eyes roll back in his head, his lips purse out and his nose twitches a little before he's off to sleep soundly on my chest, wrapped up in his very favorite blankie. I turn down the tv, lean back, and enjoy the moments of quiet. It doesn't get better than this.
Except- it does. As the day waxes on and I move about my daily routine, intermittently as Jack plays and naps, I look forward to that moment each afternoon that we hear footsteps on the deck. The sliding of the patio door. And that moment when Jack turns his head to look at me with that inquisitive, intelligent look asking me, "Is he home? Is that Dad?"
It amazes me that an 8 month old already knows what those sounds mean once the afternoon comes. That he associates the footsteps, the wagging of tails and the jingling of keys with the return of his beloved Dad. It pulls at my heartstrings knowing he already is so attached to Mike. He is so consumed with his Daddy's silly faces, as he flips Jack upside down and wiggles him above a stack of pillows on the bed before launching him into a heavenly pile of fluff.
I am so in love with our family it's ridiculous. This is what it's all about. Falling in love all over again. And again. Every. Day.
