Seven

I read a medical paper that said the average child has seven sicknesses before his/her first birthday. Nixon turns one next week, and his seventh is upon us. I guess he’s holding up to statistics.

So, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Nixon in the middle of the night. He’s just got a little cold, but when he lies down he starts to cough. Coughs make me so nervous. Last night I went into his room where he was sleeping peacefully, despite what I felt were terrible coughing attacks. I wanted to pick him up and hold him to make things easier, but I didn’t want to wake him. So I laid on the floor next to his crib, said a little prayer, and waited until the coughing seized. I wish I could fix it.

This baby. He is amazing. To me he seems huge. He learns so much every day. He doesn’t need my constant entertainment anymore (which makes me a little sad), instead I watch and follow as he moves throughout the house on an exploration mission day after day. He finds little things wherever he goes, then leaves a trail of Nixon. I can’t believe how much he knows. He can flush the toilet and unroll the toilet paper. He can drive his cars along the ground and put them in the garbage can. He stacks his blocks and throws his cheerios. He teases with rocks and hides and seeks.

Nixon walks around furniture, but doesn’t walk on his own yet. I think I’ve had my first lesson in not comparing my child to another’s. I keep trying to get him to walk like some of the other children his age, and after he noodle legs it and cries, I step back and remind myself: He’s exactly what he should be. He’s got his gifts, like his mega-watt smiles. He’s perfect. Yeah, he’s perfect.