Over the past few weeks, it seems Batman is growing at an incredible rate of speed. Taking an interest to toys, using his hands, sitting up and eating cereal, which has caused diaper changes to look more like a Christmas-time fudge making attempt gone awry, than the cute naked-baby commercials on TV. Ahh, memories. He is only 3 months old now, but I already feel like we should be preparing college essays and picking out tuxedos. Maybe even his speech for when he accepts the Heisman. (Yes, I have already looked to see how much pee wee football is going to cost... in 5 years.) But all of this gives me recognition for my own parents, who I put through Hell for no apparent reason. From my bedroom that looked like a hazardous material dump, to my first derby car. It wasn't intended to be a derby car, but it turned out that way. Oops. But just looking at this little man in front of me, I wonder if my parents looked at me the same way. All though I don't have to wonder, I know they did, and still do.
So I just have to remind myself that the long gone sleepless nights, pee in the face, kicks to the ribs (from the inside, now to from the outside), drool and what seems like endless streams of "spit-up" that have forever ruined our furniture, carpet, clothing, and anything else within 10 feet of the baby, are all for a reason. The memories. It will all be funny someday. I can look back on all this and say "There, I did it. Now I'm done so I can laugh about it." Until one day, the grandchildren come. And it starts all over. So this year, I won't sweat the little things, and will appreciate that every reprimand, every heart ache, and every hug, were all for a reason. It all got me to where I am today; sitting in my pajamas at 3 pm on a Wednesday, covered in vomit that's not my own, and more than likely missing a chunk of hair on the right side of my head. I wouldn't have it any other way.
