Despite a major advance in the sleep department (Augie puts himself to sleep in his crib most nights now), we've been having horrible wake-every-hour-or-two nights all week. We are 98.7% certain that Augie is teething and that that becurséd (my own word) new tooth is responsible, but knowing why he's waking doesn't make him stop waking, and it certainly doesn't make me (or James) any less tired. It helps that he is as ridiculously cute in the middle of the night as he is in the day, swathed in his sleepsack with foot holes, which wraps him up in an extra layer of flannel cozy cuteness, crying and looking at us with his little moon face and sleep-droopy body.
(These are naptime, not nighttime, photos. I've had to lie down with him during naps the last two days, as he refuses to go into his crib at naptime - one sign that he's teething).
But wait, this post was supposed to be about my little boy walking away again! Another afternoon with James (while Mama was out coaching 2-5-year old kids in soccer), another walk around the block. Doesn't your heart break to see the little baby taking such big, independent steps into the world, yelping out his war cry as he exploreson his own, his back to his home as he trundles forward? And to see him fall, then pick himself back up and keep on going? Could a mama both love and mourn anything more?
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