On one hand he looked so old, trying to sneak, flirt, or negotiate his way out of bed. He's saying more and more words, and while lots of them aren't even close to correct, we are able to understand him far easier than just a few weeks ago. With his crinkly blue eyes so much like his Daddy's and his little boy hair cut, he doesn't look like a baby any more. He has some huge feet and when he stretches out on the bed he looks so big. Then on the other hand, he still seems so little. The way he has a meltdown like the world is going to pass him by at naptime, the way he obviously doesn't know how to sleep in a bed, and the way he chews on taggie or his fingers when he's oh so sleepy.

The crib was one of the few things from babyhood that I wasn't really ready to give up. No more bottles and no more diapers are things that make me want to jump for joy. But somehow moving him out of his crib where he has slept since he was 5 weeks old, makes it official that he's growing up. However, it's time. He's started trying to climb out of the crib, and I would rather move him before he figures it out and falls. It's moments like these where I want to scoop him up and rock him, but I know better. I know that he'll wake up, be bouncing off the walls till midnight and rather than be the cuddly baby that I want to hang on to, he'll be that wild toddler that we have come to know. So I just watch him sleep, and I'm so glad that he's a healthy, strong, growing boy.