Baby Godzilla

My littlest guy in the house is getting bigger. Waaaa.
Gone are the days when he would spit up a full 6 oz of formula onto my fresh clothes.
No longer does he crawl like his ass is on fire when he hears the sound of the bathwater. In fact...he no longer crawls at all.
The other day, he very distinctly responded to my HI with his own HI and although he sings the ABC song in a foreign language with which I am not familiar...damn if he doesn't have the notes right on pitch.
He still quacks in response to the quacking of his duckie shaped bathtub when we squeeze it's quackable duck bill, but I can tell those days are numbered as his original glee has been replaced with resignation.
He had his second haircut on Saturday and he sat through it like a champ. No squawking or grunting occured. Maybe because the pretty little thing who was snipping at his Infa-mullet, had the full scope of his attention. She did smell nice. And he smelled like her long after we left. Because he no longer smells like baby anymore. Not much anyway. I don't have to use the special baby detergent on his clothes anymore. His little bottom doesn't need powdering quite so often. And he's upgraded from Baby Magic Baby Wash to something smelling lightly of berries yet still tear-free.
He still fits in the crook of my arm and he still waddles like a cowboy wearing a full set of chaps. But in 3 more months he will graduate to the Toddler Room where he'll be expected to sit in a real chair at a real table for mealtime. And he'll start potty training. And he'll learn about the wonders of Dora The Explorer and Caillou.
I am so sad now.
Mainly about having to watch Dora The Explorer and Caillou.