Dear Binja:
This month was an interesting one. It was filled with both “OHMYBABYISSOGROWNUP!” and “Do the gypsies pick up the naughty children on the same schedule as garbage pick-up?”. Because while you have your moments that are just so cute and enough to melt my little Grinch heart, you still have moments where I fear your head will suddenly spin around and green pea soup will fly out of your mouth. Why do you do that, child? Your father is the Gemini, not you.
You are constantly surprising us with your suddenly ability to do stuff. For instance, your father and I have gotten comfortable with the use of the infant tub. You splash, we get wet, and everyone’s happy. Right? WRONG. You decided, about two weeks ago, that you were DONE with this rudimentary bathing contraption. And so? You hiked your bare arse up in the air and threw a leg over. We just watched, mortified. WHO IS THIS MUTANT CHILD?
Because you are my child, you have defied all physical odds of how large a child can be at such a young age. At your 6 month check up, you weighed in at 19 lbs, 4 oz (which, honestly, less than I anticipated.. I guesstimated somewhere between 20 and eleventy million lbs). You were in the 98% percentile for height, the 80% percentile for weight, and your head..? 95% percentile. My nu-nu will never be the same again.
And although you constantly flirt with passersby when we’re out, occassionally, we get that same royal treatment. And it holds us over when we have internal hernias from carrying your very large ass around.
(You, apparently, only have one outfit anymore. But it is so fitting on you.)
Finally, my dear Binja, I have to commend your ability to realize that you are wearing on thin ice. Yesterday.. this past weekend.. well, the last week.. you have been a total nightmare. We’ve blamed it on everything under the sun.. teething, ear infections, tummy aches.. but nothing ever pans out. You’re just being difficult, because you know both your daddy and your.. aunt are difficult. (Your mother is perfect. And humble.) And yesterday, when we had reached our breaking point because you WOULD NOT TAKE A NAP NO YOU WON’T OH NO OH NO OH NO WAAAHHHHHHH, you finally just fell over on to your daddy’s chest, and there you were the cutest thing that deserves to be embroidered on a pillow, or at the very least, painted by Thomas Kinkade or made into one of those “Love Is..” cartoons..
And that, my child, is why we keep you.
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