11 month Old Hobo

My mornings are perpetually rush-rush; partly because I abuse the snooze and partly because I wake up so freaking early. So as I was leaving for work and goodbye smooching on my chubby checker, I caught a glimpse of what he "really" looks like. Being with a person 24/7 will change the way you see them and my constant exposure to Dylan has me suffering from a first degree prejudice. Since his birth, I’ve wondered if Dylan’s actually a hideous creature with a face “only a mother could love,” or if he’s the Gerber baby I see him as. And all bias aside, I finally understand why haircuts are frequently the topic of conversation. The kid looks like a bum. 

 

Dylan is in between looks right now. Though he is merely an 11 month old, he’s also a whopping 24 lbs. This means he can still rock a onesie but he must always wear pants (sorry son). And though his hair is toddler-esque, it’s only grown from the ridiculous amount he was born with and his mom (oh, is that me?) hasn’t noticed how crazy long and wild it’s come to be. So this morning when I caught a glimpse of my hobo baby’s scraggly locks, I took a moment to acknowledge that he keeps growing without my permission, and that he desperately needs a pair of scissors. 

Sometimes life is so hectic that details become blurs and observations become seldom. And with Dylan’s first birthday only 19 days away, I think it’s time to pump the brakes and take a minute to see this little creature for what he really is: a not so-little baby who is transforming into a big boy. What else am I not seeing as I run through time? And can somebody please press pause before I turn around and he’s graduating high school? I want these days to last forever, mop top and all.