Get Up, Stand Up

My baby is gone.

He was just here.

I found some of his old booties.
They're tiny and precious.
They belong on a doll's feet.

I put away some of his clothes. To believe that a very short time ago he couldn't fit into the newborn onesies we had. But now they're all piled up, shoved inside a closet and waiting. Either to be given away or for a sibling to come sometime in the future. Or to be eaten by nasty silverfish hiding in the deep crevices of the closet.

That baby I had, that yummy, gummy, beautiful cooing little baby boy has vanished. I cradled him to bed one night. All cozy and perfectly curled up into my arms. Then I woke up and poof he was gone. Just like that. I'm sure there was even the "poof smoke" when it happened too. But since it was the middle of the night I didn't get to see it.

Now I have a wiggly, twirling, adorable greased pig. Not a pig like the dirty, smelly, gross animal. A cute piggy. Like a Babe type pig. The frisky type of pig you want to kiss all over and play with. One that George Clooney would get. A Wilbur pig that bats his eyes at me and makes me laugh. That frolics and giggles and is impossible to catch or hold still.

I think this pig ate my baby.

Somehow during nap and bedtime this little piggy disappears. And leaves me with a bop bag. You know, those balloon-like things that you bop down and they keep bouncing right back up? That's what's happening in the crib.

No more baby.
No more pig.
Just a bop bag.

Cubby is now all about pulling up. He has mastered this skill and wants to show it off on every occasion. Especially during sleep times. I lay his little self down and bop he's up again! Standing, holding onto the crib railing with his four teeth grin.

I let him do this a few times, hoping he'll get bored or tired or both. But after what feels like 10 hours, I gently put him back down and firmly tell him it's time to go to sleep. He looks at me like, yeah right. Then scrunches up his little face with all his might, trying to use those little six-pack abs to pull himself up again. As soon as I step away --- BOP. What do I do with this new bop bag?

When I try to resort to picking him up and rocking him to sleep, the cute greasy pig comes back and is wiggling and squirming out of my arms!

It's a conspiracy.

They're double-teaming me. That bop bag and greasy pig.

And what's really pathetic is they're outsmarting me!

I guess I'll make peace with them for now.

I gotta admit, they're cute.

And when I turn my face during these moments so he won't see, I can't help but to want to laugh at how ridiculous this is.