I've been in denial, but it's time to face the facts. My son is no longer a baby--he is a full-fledged toddler. How can I tell, you ask?
He throws tantrums. He's walking. He throws tantrums. He's into EVERYTHING. He throws tantrums. He likes to "read." He throws tantrums. He's learning to color. Oh, and did I mention he throws tantrums?
He throws tantrums. He's walking. He throws tantrums. He's into EVERYTHING. He throws tantrums. He likes to "read." He throws tantrums. He's learning to color. Oh, and did I mention he throws tantrums?
It's been weeks since I've sat through an entire Relief Society lesson--I watch other mothers longingly as their small children (the same age as Jack--give or take a few weeks) sit on chairs next to them or on the floor in front of them, quietly playing with their own toys and maybe occasionally venturing out past the row, but then quickly returning to home base. In contrast, I spend the entire meeting trying to keep Jack out of the trash can, off of the piano, and away from other babies' diaper bags, toys, and snacks. When I try to hold him on my lap, he squirms and screams, and if he doesn't get his way, he lets me know, as well as everyone else in the entire building.
He has exactly 6 months and one week till he's eligible for nursery. I can't wait.
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