It's time. Play time, that is.
Just as I was wallowing in my post infant blues, thinking about how Niall was no longer my little baby (and feeling a little jealous of my friends with newborn babies), we entered into this new and exciting phase of real, live playing.
I've longed for the day when Niall would know what to do when I hid behind a curtain or threw a ball in his direction, and naturally, it's taken a little while. But I have to admit, I've given Niall much less credit than he deserves.
When friends would accidentally curse in front of him and profusely apologize, I would assure them "No worries, he doesn't speak English anyway." But that is certainly not the case, as you moms with more common sense have probably figured out. Babies are so much smarter than that.
So now that he is understanding the concepts of puzzles and balls and little games, I am beside myself with excitement. And let's not lie to ourselves, I'm feeling a little pressure about whether I'm cool enough to keep his busy little mind entertained.
I remember the days of made up languages, stuffed animal dinner parties, and playing house (all of which are a little old for Niall right now, I know)... but I am totally drawing a blank when I imagine initiating toddler games now, at age 27.
My sense of childhood creativity has somehow escaped me. Despite my excitement for this new phase of fun, I am a little nervous about thinking up cool games as opposed to popping open a book. And even more nervous to think that Niall's imagination is surpassing mine by the minute.
So here I am, watching Niall open and close this shoe box, wondering "How can I make this box more than a box?" How can I take his little imagination into another universe? I should know, but I don't. And then I am reminded how cool it is to be a kid and how lame it is to be an old fart.
I'll work on it and see what I come up with ;)
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