At three and a half months, life is still pretty simple. Eat, poop, sleep, repeat. We’re starting to add in some excitement, like holding toys (and sucking on them), reading books (and sucking on them), and rolling over (and sucking on whatever your face lands on). In Wyatt’s eyes, I’m pretty much still the greatest. I don’t leave the house to work, and generally don’t have many obligations that have to happen at a set time, so most of the time we get to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. This suits us both fine.
I know the values that are important to our family, and I do my best to lead by example. I’m still emotionally preparing myself for the day I have to actively teach these things to my son. He’s so perfect right now. The innate selfishness we all have is so innocent and pure at this age. His needs are few, and I have the tools to meet them easily. All he really needs is food and comfort, and there’s no such thing as bad behavior.
My family growing up was not strict, by most standards, but I remember living in reverence to a few commandments. My sisters and I were not allowed to say “I hate ___ (you, brussel sprouts, math, etc.),” “stupid,” or what became known as the S-U phrase: “shut up.” Adherence to these rules resulted in a well developed ability to describe our severe dislike of things (and each other), and to think on our feet. “You’re so stu– stew. Like a soup. I like soup,” my sister famously improvised. We all grew up to be opinionated and loquacious. I’m sure that’s what my mom intended.
For now, at our house, there are a few simple rules that should be followed:
- You’re not allowed to suck on parts of mom’s breast that are not the nipple.
- You’re not allowed to nurse while actively spitting up.
- You’re not allowed to nurse while rolling over. They don’t bend that way, my friend.
- You’re not allowed to put your foot in the removed poopy diaper. (Which is just unfair, because Poopfoot is the best game we know. I say “don’t you put your foot in that poop!” and then he kicks as hard and fast as he can while I pull the diaper away. It’s great.)
I’m feeling thankful that parenthood starts out (relatively) simple, and that I still have some time to figure out the big stuff. I know that with any future babies, this sweet snuggly time will be different. While I whisper to them “don’t pull mama’s hair out, sweetie,” I’ll also be telling Wyatt not to say shut up to the dog. Or eat her food. Or play piano with mud on his hands. Or who even knows what chaos he’ll be drawn to. Good thing my mom taught me to be creative.