Can't Handle the Cuteness

Since turning one, Dylan has been the pinnacle of cuteness, learning new tricks, and doing cute stuff all over the place. My tombstone will read something like this..."Here lies Jen. Her son was so cute, it killed her". He's cute with the helmet on, don't get me wrong, but when I take it off it's like looking directly at the sun. Must.Shield.My.Eyes.From.The.Cuteness. What I don't understand is, how did this happen? I never thought of myself as ugly, but I'm no Angelina, and Jim, while Gorgeous in my eyes, is no Brad, but when I look at Dylan I suddenly feel more Angelina-like, (lips poofing and boobs busting out of my too small bra).

This child, (who for the first four months of his colic filled life, cried with such intensity I thought my head would explode and splatter all over his meticulously painted nursery), can now make me melt with just a smile, or a laugh, or a touch. I'm weak at the knees and my heart's all a flutter. I haven't felt this way since I discovered Johnny Depp on 21 Jump Street! Love - what a miraculous emotion.

He's been cruising around the furniture for a long time, and taking a few steps before tumbling awkwardly to the ground. But, on Thanksgiving, he started walking! Dylan's walk is comparable to that of a drunken sailor, or a guy doing a line dance. A few steps to the front, two steps to the left, two steps to the right, one step back, and shimmy, shimmy, shimmy! The look of pure glee when he does it is what gets me. Who knew walking could be so exciting?

This kid LOVES praise. When he figured out how to get his blocks into the square hole, on one of his toys, Jim and I were sitting there watching him, and we were so excited, we raised our arms up in the air and shouted "YAY!". You should've seen the look on his face, like "Now that's what I"m talking about!". He did another one, and looked at us. "YAY". Another one. "YAY"! Jim: "You realize we're going to have to do this EVERY time now?". Yep, and we do, and he still LOVES it.

Another thing he loves is books. As a person who would probably rather go to a bookstore than an amusement park (Yes, I am a nerd), the fact that he loves books makes me float around in mommy euphoria. He will sit and look at one after the other, after the other, and he is very discerning about it too. Not just any book will do. It has to have style, substance, and wit. Well, okay, the criteria might actually be tastes good to chew, has bright colors, and has pages that are easy to turn, but whatever. I read to him before his naps, and his daddy reads to him before bedtime. As soon as I sit in the chair he squeals, grabs a book and tries to climb up my legs into my lap.

He also likes to sit on the floor, surrounded by ALL of his books. I say ALL, because he never leaves any books on the shelves. I envision my clumsy self, stepping on a book and sliding across the floor on it, my body airborne, my arms flailing, so I put the books back on the shelves. This is what I imagine is going on in Dylan's brain. He is lying in the crib, snuggling the bumper pad, about to doze off into dreamland, when suddenly he senses something isn't quite right. His eyes shoot open, and he quickly scans the room, when suddenly he sees it! A clean floor! "Now how the heck did that happen"?, he thinks. "Who the hell put the books on the bookshelf? They don't belong there! What are these people trying to do to me? I am going to get out of this crib right now and put them back where they belong - ON THE FLOOR. If I can just lift my head. Oh, I'm so tired. I'll do it in a minute". His eyes start to flutter. "There is no way I'm going to be able to sleep with those books on the ....ZZZZZzzzzz".