Quarter of a Year

Oliver is three months old (actually, he was three months old a couple weeks ago. I'm late. Oops.), and he's HUGE. 26 inches and 14.5 pounds the last time I managed to weigh him. He can roll over, scoot backward on his tummy, sit up for a few moments by himself until he tries to stand up and only manages to not-so-gracefully face-plant between his legs. He poos in the potty (almost exclusively). He sleeps 10 hours at night, with one feed usually around 5 am. He loves books, hanging out in the Moby wrap, and elephants. I think he is working on his first tooth because GOOD LORD the child wants to gnaw on everything.

And he smiles. 

He smiles ALL the time. He's had a cold this week and been sniffly and stuffy and not sleeping well, but still, always with the smiling. I don't think I've ever seen such a happy kid. It is so hard to remember that I am sleep deprived, and caffeine deprived, and my house is a mess, and my work is past due, and my back is killing me from carrying around his almost 15 pound self all day when I am constantly getting to look at that grin. I'm gone. 

^That one. See? There's no saying no to that smile. 

I've only been a mom for three and half months. I feel like I've been doing this forever. I have great difficulty recalling life without my sweet little boy. At the same time, I feel like I'm fumbling though this mama thing with a blindfold on and nothing but thumbs. I've worked with babies for years, but I find myself second guessing everything I've done and known. I call my mom for everything. Funny how adulthood can make you need your parents more than you ever would have wanted to admit while you were a teenager. 

In three months I have managed to poke my son in the eye, let him get bit by a rosebush, and poisoned him with the cream I used to get rid of a diaper rash because it took me nearly a week to realize he was allergic to it and it was making things worse. Just to list a few of my many blunders. 

I constantly wonder if I am doing right by this tiny life that has been entrusted to me. I mean, one day he is going to be a real-life, grown up person, and the things I do for him now and over the next several years will have a significant impact on what kind of person that might be. That is serious stuff, guys. This is so much bigger than silly faces and 'This Little Piggy'. It terrifies me to think about it. For real. I can barely handle being responsible for my own life. The fact that God would give me one so fragile to take care of quite frankly blows my mind. And makes me wonder if He's mental a little bit. 

The thing is, God loves Oliver more than I ever could. And wants the very best for Him. And has fantastic, incredible plans for his life. He chose to include me in those plans. That makes me feel super awesome. So I must be doing something right. Cause this face guys. The way this kid looks at me. He doesn't look at anyone else quite that way. 

He does this thing lately where he puts his hands on the side of my face and stares at me really intently for a few seconds before he breaks into the biggest smile you ever did see. It's the most precious thing. I swear, if hearts could melt... 

I wouldn't trade this job for the world. I think motherhood is the single greatest gift anyone could give me.