We could reflect, or we could eat his tiny little toes.

Justin's reflection on 2011: Best! Year! Ever!

My reflection on 2011: I pushed a human the size of a (small) watermelon out of my boy-howdy. I also threw up some vegetable lasagna. Other parts were nice, though.

On to more important things. Henry got some nice stuff for Christmas, but his favorite gift by far was his toes. Look! So wee!

Toes are delightful. He likes his toes, he likes your toes. He likes them in the air, he likes standing on them, he likes them near his mouth. He enjoy socks on and he enjoys socks off. Toes can keep him busy like nothing else. And when you take his socks off for him? Magical.

So while I could wax on about how I barely knit a stitch in 2011 and my sewing was lackluster as well, I'll instead tell you that I grew a FREAKING HUMAN and it might just be the best thing I've ever done. Even if we are, apparently, raising a hobo.

Even the littlest thugs need hats.

Oh, motherhood. You are so sneaky. You bring me this screaming me-me who wears me out physically and emotionally, but I can't bear to part with him because he's so damn cute. And then all of a sudden BAM, he is darling, adorable, and so very sweet. He's everything in the world that you didn't know you wanted by now you suddenly need - NEED. As in, I miss him when he's sleeping. As in, I could watch him watch me for hours. As in, kid, you are a heartbreaker.

4 1/2 months, playing with CarterAlso, you are a thug. The very cutest thug in the world, but still, a thug.

Hat knit out of Berroco Vintage Chunky, my new favorite yarn. That is one tired little elf(As for the hat: cast on 64 on an appropriate needle, k2p2 until the cows come home, then decrease four times per row every other row until you have a nice little point. I tried to make a pom-pon, but that was a hot mess. The hat fit his very small 16" head, but will expand up to 18" or 19".)

Good grief - more chevrons.

Somebody's first Halloween outing was pretty exciting, even though somebody forgot to get Mommy any candy at Daddy's office.

Somebody also hadn't slept all day and was really, really tired. And so he screamed. And whined and screamed and whined and then passed out. But our little bald-headed friend was adorable, and his costume cost a whopping $3 (for the Rit dye).

He was much, much more photogenic on the actual day of Halloween:

That's his presidential portrait.

And that is the reason-why-Mommy-is-glad-she-works-at-home portrait. I could kiss and snuggle this kid all day. And sometimes I do.

It's a Make-Your-Own-Henry flipbook!

This kid makes faces. TONS of faces. He delights himself with his faces (He loves to smile. Smiling is his favorite!). I love that each picture we take is different. To whit:

Then we bought some Wubbanubs and that doesn't happen so much anymore. (For the record, we have the Brown Puppy, aptly named Pokey, and a red dragon named Norbert. Norbert's wings are apparently delicious.)

Henry's three months old now and he gets more delightful every day. He smiles, he laughs, and he talks to himself in bed. He thinks Grandpa B is hysterical and he smiles so big when his daddy comes home every night. Gracie cheers him up when he's crying, and Grandma B tells good stories. Mommy's his favorite, though. I will never, ever get tired of that.

I now understand why people have more than one kid. I am totally on that bandwagon. Just give me another year or so.

Month two: kicking on the outside

Somebody is two months old today.

He's a pip, this kid. It's hard to describe how or why I love him. There's something about his soft little head that begs to be kissed, his perfect fingers examined and nibbled, his gray-blue eyes stared at for minutes on end.

The Bean that was inside of me hardly resembles my little Hen, except for the constant hiccups. But when he was on the inside, I had a feeling that he thought he was pretty funny. After spending the past nine weeks with him, I know he thinks he's funny. He has a special grin that he saves for when I'm unwrapping a poopy diaper, and it makes me laugh every time.

He's starting to notice things: his rainbow mobile, the doggies on his wall (especially the chocolate lab), patterns on my t-shirt quilt. When they're close, his tiny hands find Gracie's face and rest near her whiskers. Sometimes they nap together.

I'm not like a lot of the other moms I know. I'm vocal about wanting my own space, time to myself, time apart from my little dude. I won't let myself feel bad about those feelings because at the end of the day  I'm home again, kissing his ever-plumping cheeks and so glad for his warm little body. I want people to know that I'm not just a mommy; I'm Henry's mommy, and Henry's mommy is trying to find a balance between how things are now and the way they used to be. Henry's mommy wants to talk about things besides Henry, wants to meet her own needs so she can meet the needs of her favorite little guy.

To me, he's no longer a baby. He's a little boy, my sidekick with the infectious grin, piercing shriek, and floor-rumbling snores. He is the best thing I've done, the biggest mistake I've made, someone I can't stand to be without, and the last person I want to be with.

He is, I suppose, everything.