Moving and Grooving

I'm a very black and white person.  I don't entertain much of a 'gray area.' Things either are or they aren't.  So the fact that Brixton is using his body to move around the room and start to pull up on bar stools, chairs and ottomans hasn't officially been called crawling yet, because it doesn't resemble crawling, but more like an injured monkey limping across the jungle floor.  So I haven't called it crawling.  

But, he is.

This morning I heard his little bird chirps from his crib and went in to intercept him before they became high pitched dolphin cries. And there he was.  Sitting up.  

He's been sitting up for a while now, but I've never caught him sitting up on his own accord in his crib. He suddenly looked so big and capable there, grinning all proud.  I grinned too, even prouder.

He's turning 1 in less than 2 months, so I'm thinking about his birthday party.  At first I was like, balloons and some cake.  Now I'm like "Little Man Party!" and I'm totally going for it.  Unfortunately, Little Man parties seem to incorporate the forever annoying mustache thing, which makes me sick with its trendiness, but the overall theme is too cute to throw out on just the account of some bushy, over-the-lip, hair.  

I'm not freaking out that he's turning 1, it feels right.  A year has gone by.  He's definitely light-years away from the tiny, squealing baby that emerged from my stomach.  But it does go so fast and the amount of growth in the first year is tremendous.  

I've loved every stage of it.  The cuddly newborn, the night feedings realizing millions of other parents were up at the same time, bleary eyed as I was.  The Golden Baby: when he started sleeping through the night, smiling, laughing, playing.  The Vocal Baby: sounds, raspberries, screams.  It's all been fun (mostly).

And as the saying goes, "Time flies..."