Our son Jonah started crawling at the beginning of month nine. He was tentative about it for thirty seconds, cried two or three times when he fell or bumped his head, however; cut to a week later he was this motoring, crawling, climbing mini shit storm. And, here I thought it would be a slow development taking months and months – ah no. No, no no no. No. He is no longer a blissfully stationary infant. He is a toddler who thinks he’s a man destined to be an explorer. My son does what he wants, when he wants to and he will crawl over you to get to the dog food any day of the week. Feet in your face? Yes. Uses your breasts as steadying devices? Yes. Thinks your belly is a trampoline? Yes. I’m writing to you readers, as a bruised and abused mother. If I had known this at the time of his birth, I would have de-limbed him.

Oh, I miss the potato stage. The I-am-going-to-put-you-down-here-lumpy-so-I-can-do-one-bloody-task-uninterrupted stage of his life. So does the cat, the amount of groaning I’ve heard from the feline sector of our home has escalated at an alarming rate. At night Minion will climb on to me, look me square in the eye and ask, “What the hell did you do, teaching that lump to move? I am afraid I must end you.” At this point I push her off my lap and head to her food dish and overfill it with kitty kibble, because honestly, I am afraid she will end us all. So? I keep her nice and fat. Fat and slow. It’s the only survival tactic I have.

The dog is a different story. She is flat out depressed. She can’t find a hiding spot for her chew toys that Jonah has not found. And, after buying Jo a crapload of new fancy toys we still can’t convince him that dog toys are for dogs. Jonah also eats her food, thinks her water dish is his personal pool and yesterday crawled into her doggy bed and took a nap. Callie feels ousted and I have yet to convince her that out of all our pets, Jo included, she’s still numero uno.

All I can say is that once again Jonah’s cute factor is saving his life, because everyone in the Huyghebaert household is gunning for him. He’s completely oblivious and is still all smiles all day everyday. June 4th he will be ten months old. That is ten months old with nary a sniffle, ache nor accident. Daily accidental boob, vagina and face blows aside, I’ve made out like a bandit in this first year with Jonah. He’s not just an amazing kid, he’s a beautiful spirit and a pleasure to watch develop. The day he crawled across the floor to me, pulled himself up, stood between my knees and gave me a quick snuggle I remember thinking “Stay, stay just like this. Don’t grow up anymore.” And, I wish he had listened to my hope because the next day he took his four teeth and bit me. Accidental or on purpose I have yet to sort out. But it was the last thing I needed as I fished several pieces of dog food out of his mouth for the second time that day. Both Callie and Minion sat a few feet away, watching intently, shaking their heads. Callie crumpled into a sad ball on the floor and Minion looked at me and then to Jo with an expression that seemed to say, “If you move on to my food next, kid, I will cut you.”