A Few Moments I Want to Remember

The Kid and I were hanging out in his room late this afternoon.  (It's the place to be these days; all the cool kids play there.)  Me on the floor pillow, him on his bed, both looking up at "his birds".  (That's what we call his origami bird mobile.)  And he turned to me, pursed his little lips, and blew air out, "Phoo, phoo, phoo!"  Which--in the Kid language--means "blow really hard so that the birds will flutter".  So I did.

We went on like that for about twenty minutes.  Him:  Phoo!  Phoo!  Me:  Phhhoooooo!  With lots of giggling and bird fluttering in between.


Sunday morning we went for breakfast with our Dear Friends, and decided to go for a walk afterwards.  Just on a lark, we decided to let the Kid walk a bit rather than putting him in his stroller.  

So far, walking for him has been more "party trick" less actual useful mode of transportation.  He only made it a block or so, but he was so proud of himself.  And I have to admit, my mama-heart was a little proud too, to see him walking so big and tall.  (Tall is relative, yes?)


(Edited to Add:  And Nice Friend got a video of a little bit of it!)


But all of these new activities are tiring.  I remember the days when we would feed and sing and walk him to sleep, and then--barely breathing as we did--very gently lay him in his crib so that he wouldn't wake.  

The past few nights I've been able to, comparatively, almost flop him down.  His arms spread wide and his breathing quickly evens, with only the slightest of whimpers of protest.  I believe "plum tuckered out" is the appropriate term, and--for this sleepy mama--it is a good, good thing.