A new year -- 2010, OMG!!! -- and I resolve here, in front of all you e-witnesses, to relaaaaaax (well, as much as my genetic pre-disposition will allow me). As LGO approaches the 15-month mark, I'm still doing my damnedest to help him reach his milestones and to make his days of discovery as fun and happy as possible. Having said that, at a local community centre this week I just so happened to pick up a communication checklist, which breaks down what your kiddo should be doing by set times. I know, I know, this is EXACTLY the sort of thing I should be avoiding like the plague that drove Noah into his big ass boat... But. I couldn't help myself. I was curious to see whether my paranoia was at all founded in reality. Sadly, it was. According to the checklist, he still isn't doing quite a few of the things he should be doing (waving, pointing, imitating words/sounds, etc). Before I throw myself over the coals yet again, I've resolved to have a sensible chat with his pediatrician this week when he gets his latest round of immunizations, to see whether he thinks the checklist is a load of stinky baloney. His pediatrician is incredibly laid back. He pretty much 'whatevers' every hyper new mom's questions, so I'll be curious to hear what constitutes his own personal checklist to get a real sense of where LGO is at -- and what, if anything, we can do to help him along.
Saying that, he has done a bit of walking (eureka!) this week, having watched his friend parade around our house last Sunday. I think the coin finally dropped when he saw his little friend nimbly walking all over the show and getting to the toys faster. What an eye opener! Nothing like a little healthy competition to kick him up the diaper. We start a new play group this week, and I'm excited for him. He needs more social stimulation than just boring old mommy all the time. Seeing kids his own age might egg him on. For all of my moaning and worry-warting, though, he is friendly and affectionate. I could hardly make it through the food shopping this week without literally a dozen women -- and men -- stopping to chat and coo over him. Could be because he's still virtually bald, and his cheeks are perpetually squirreling away a winters stash, that he's clinging to the baby look that most infants have all but lost by his age. And even though it probably drives other parents nuts, the whole being talked to by strangers thing, and admittedly slows down the shopping, that kind of grocery store attention and chit chat is something I will sorely miss when he's all grown up and his cheeks are decidedly less squishy.
Another thing I'll miss is the affection. Rue the day when he crosses the street and rolls his eyes as if he would rather DIE than give his poor, freaky old mom a peck or, god forbid, that three-letter offence: a hug. And while I do love to moan and do more than my fair share of it here, know that I wouldn't trade his willing, sloppy kisses right now for a handful of words or some fancy footwork. I would rather he be slow but sentient than have Aspergers. (And sorry if that sounds insensitive on my part, but I'm not one to mince words in this blog so I won't start now. It is what it is.)