Rock and ROLL!

I am convinced that Adam is the fastest little roller in the Midwest. It’s kind of comical to watch, but he gets where he wants to go. He even rolled his little body right off our bed once. I was in the shower when it happened. When I left the bedroom, both Aaron and Adam were sleeping peacefully. When I returned, I saw Aaron on the bed and no trace of the little guy. My first reaction was that Aaron had rolled over ON TOP of Adam and was suffocating him. (We aren't big fans of the family bed, but right now the crib isn't working out so well.) I heard a noise and looked down, and there Adam was—lying face-up on the ground (on a pillow, thankfully. I had set two pillows next to the bed "just in case"), his pacifier was flung a few feet away, and he was smiling and babbling like he hadn’t just plummeted three feet to the ground. I screamed “AARON! ADAM FELL OFF THE BED!” so loud I’m sure I woke the neighbors. Aaron popped up, all disoriented, and bolted over to my side of the bed, where Adam was now staring at us, wide-eyed and innocent, like, ‘What’s the big deal?’ And ‘Hey, it looks different down here. And what’s that under the bed? Is that a big ball of dust? I should try to eat that.’
I personally think Adam enjoyed rolling off the bed. And that scares me. I don’t want him to be an adrenaline junkie dare-devil boy who has no fear. Next thing ya know he’ll be jumping out of planes or scaling Mt. Everest. If he's all about the risks and dares, high speeds and great heights and all that, put me out of my misery now because I will surely have a heart attack worrying about him in the future.

Besides rolling and walking with our help, he also points up to the “birdie” (or whatever word you use in that high-pitched baby voice), rips up Kleenex, or tissue paper, or napkins into many, many tiny pieces when given the chance (then tries to eat the paper), gives high-fives, bangs two wooden spoons against an overturned pot while taking baths in our kitchen sink (a future Ringo?), eats leaves and grass (his daycare provider has resorted to putting him in an exersaucer when the kids are playing outside because of the sheer amount of grass he ingests while sitting outside on a blanket), and claps his hands in excitement. His problem with clapping is that he doesn’t realize when he’s supposed to clap. Like last night, it was 3 a.m. and he was wide-awake, clapping.
Aaron and I also think he said “mama” when he was crying on Monday morning, but we’re not positive. He said it as clear as a bell on Monday, while stretching his arms out to me (I was leaving for work) and hasn’t said it since. When do most babies first start talking? My sister-in-law Amy’s super cute daughter Morgan, who is a few weeks older than Adam, can say duck, but then again, Morgan does everything long before Adam figures it out. Further evidence that girls are naturally smarter than boys?   

Adam has been a regular fan at our softball games, where he's a big hit with a few of the players. They play with him after the game (a favorite of Adam's is Uncle Shawny's "Five, four, three, two, one" rocket launch), and take turns holding him at the restaurant, which gives me a chance to drink my beer and eat my waffle fries and seasoned sour cream without worrying about him pulling things off the table. Aaron and I appreciate the extra help (Dileepa and Jodi are especially fabulous). My work friend/fellow SWAT player Kylie likes to say that Adam looks like a Cabbage Patch Kid. I agree. He does look like a CPK (minus the Xavier Roberts butt stamp). It's those big eyes and chubby cheeks; round head and sweet smile. He is so dang cute! Does that make me sound conceited? I don't care. He is adorable. Plus he's a happy baby, and he’s a chunky baby, and with that combo you almost can’t go wrong. (Skinny, crabby baby vs. jolly, chubby baby? Which would you rather hold?)

His hair has turned more blonde now than when he was first born, and there’s a slight curl when the back of his neck gets a little sweaty. Don’t ask me how Aaron and I wound up with a blonde-haired, blue-eyed child. (Aaron’s eyes are green and mine are brown.) So much for the punnett square I learned in genetics class.

I still take Adam with me everywhere. We're a good team. He seems to know he's in familiar surroundings at Target, Byerly’s, and Maplewood Mall. He even sits in the front of the cart now, his little legs dangling down, his body twisting every which way, rather than in his car seat INSIDE the cart. Knock on wood, but he has yet to make a scene while we’re out in public.

People have been asking Aaron and I (a lot) lately when we’re going to try for Baby Number 2. I used to tell people we’d start trying when Adam was a year old, but now that he’ll be a year old in mere WEEKS, I’m starting to rethink my readiness. Being pregnant for 40 weeks is a long-ass time, and I’m not looking forward to constantly worrying about the baby’s development in utero, followed by sleepless nights and never-ending feeding cycles, not to mention the sheer work of caring for two little ones. I mean, we’re just NOW getting into a steady groove, nearly 11 months later. Are we ready to change everything? How will we afford two kids? Can we love a second child as much as we love Adam? Wait. I already know the answer to that one. Yes. The heart has a limitless capacity to love. There is always, always, always more love to go around.