kel

Ode to Ian

Oh Ian, how you've grown

Size is relative, after being born a small toddler.

But now your brain and your smiles match your future pro-footballness.

We've survived the blow-overs, spit-ups,

diaper rash and snot.

Burp rags and bum cream stowed away for a rainy day,

only to now learn the tantrum.

Arms turn to jello, face becomes wrinkly, and somehow

Can't manage to keep a firm grip

on your 28 pound frame.

Your once calm, soothing demeanor with your

bright eyes, soft skin, delicate hands,

now replaced by peanutbutter hands and "mrr mee, oooh" as you wriggle out of mine.

Thank God you sleep so much, my child

As I sit here, blogging, at 9:30am,

You, the 14 month old ball of fury and whine,

breathe deep in your crib next door.

Binkies strewn about, as if

a tornado has landed in Blaine

and only hit your room.