Sometimes when I look at Wally Ben, I see a little boy, rather than a little baby—more and more lately, especially since he’s running around like a maniac most of the time. So here are a few of the clues that my baby is not as much of a baby anymore:

  • Today he is wearing Levi’s Relaxed Fit Jeans. Like he has a choice already—boot cut, loose, skinny jeans. His best fit is relaxed.
  • I was talking to myself about what WV could have for breakfast, and I decided on oatmeal. The next thing I know, he’s pulling on the locked cabinet where we keep the oatmeal because he heard the me say it. I didn’t know he knew “oatmeal.” We’d better edit what we talk about! It’s a little like living with Charlie Chaplin or Mr. Bean. He gets what you say, but has no response back.
  • When he lays sideways in his crib, he has to bend in weird ways because he doesn’t fit. (He’s quite long—95th percent for height. Every time I take him to the doc, the doc asks how tall my husband is. I say 5’11”, and he says, “How tall are you?” It’s a repeated conversation, every 3 months, because he doesn’t remember. The doc has the same reaction, same questions every time. Next time, maybe, I should ask his questions in sync with him and see how it throws him off.)
  • Speaking of doc appointments, he’s down to his last every-three-months appointment in April. Hooray for less frequent shots!
  • He runs around like a maniac. And he’s fast. And pigeon toed. I asked the doc about the pigeon toe, and he checked out his leg structure and said it looks great–his muscles must just be turned. The doc says Olympic swimmers have muscles shaped like that. Perhaps we should tuck away our hoop dreams for Phelps dreams? We’d really like WV to double as a lottery ticket for us somehow.
  • He’s pretty smart. In tricky ways. He was crying and wouldn’t try the stir fry I made for him the other day. Mid-cry, I shoved a bite in his mouth so he would at least try it. He proceeded to cry with his mouth closed, and then dip his chin to his chest if he wanted to open-mouth cry momentarily. Sly little guy.

I have to admit—all signs are pointing to the fact that he’s a boy. But he’ll be our baby til he’s old and wrinkled!