It’s no secret that newborns aren’t my favorite creatures. I've shared my testimony of one-year-olds here and here, and now I’m ready to do it
again. But it’s blowing my mind that it’s been a year since Ollie was born. How
is that possible?
How can I still be fighting with my secondary insurance
company about the hospital bills an entire year later? I swear that the first
year of Liam’s life lasted the equivalent of three years. That kid took FOREVER
to turn one. This time it flew by at the speed of sound. Or light,
even.
Ollie has just started interacting with us like a little
human. He signs more, finished, and milk, waves hello, and claps. He laughs hysterically
at his siblings—especially at his BFF and roommate, Liam.
He still has that delicious smell that I love so much—probably
the one reason I fell in love with my screamy newborns. I wish I could bottle
that baby smell.
He wanders around on his hands and knees all day, scavenging
for crumbs or sticking his hands in the toilet. He’s a pro at unrolling toilet
paper. He’s pretty content to just do his own thing, maybe because he already
knows his sassy older sister is always going to demand all of the attention, so
he should just give up now.
I used to think my third baby should be a girl, because
every girl needs a sister. But now I see how wrong I was. Ollie is the perfect
little ending to our family (and the last thing Eliza needs is a mini clone
following her example).
I just adore this boy, and I hope his next 20 years go by a
little slower than his first one.
