Although the words "babe" and "baby" are not allowed to travel from my lips to Merrick's ears, he is just that--my baby. And he turns five in 15 days, not that we're counting.
If I accidentally say, "Come here, babe," I must freeze and immediately apply the follow salve to his ego: "I mean Fireman Tough Guy Police Merrick."
Folks, that kid actually wears a whistle on a string around his neck. All in the interest of ordering us into the 'freeze position' , Captain Von Trapp-style.
So my Fireman Tough Guy Police Merrick was masculinity itself yesterday, strapped in a booster seat with a sucker, singing "Old MacDonald Had a Fart" when he stops suddenly and asks (soberly, as if I might say no): "Mama, when we get home will you hold me?"
Can I stop the car right now?
You bet, babe.
6 comments:
Why can't they just be that between baby and big boy stage forever?
oof. i love those moments.
Oh, sweet :)
Um, a whistle??lol!
You're blog is gorgeous. I'm so glad I've found it. Its became one of my "must-see's" on the day.
Yes. Hold him. Hold him and don't let him grow up. Sigh. My round-cheeked little Owen is 14. My baby. He was playing an online game the other day and had recorded a section. When he heard his voice, he said, "Hey, Mom, it sounds like I'm forty or something!" Oh. My. God. What I wouldn't give to pick him up and cuddle him again. Early Happy Birthday to FiremanToughGuyPolice Merrick. :)
Awwwwww. Those moments are too few aren't they?
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