Noah is behind. Not like in that engage social services way. More like the third child sort of way. And so the saga continues…
He spent the first seven months of his life on my hip. He’s carted from preschool to kindergarten, from ballet to soccer. If there’s a moment when he is not in his car seat or on my hip, he’s in some baby seat of sorts. He plays in the exersaucer, snoozes in the swing or jumps in the jumparoo. Time to practice his scoot, crawl or cruise are scarce.
It’s not that I want my kid to be the only five year old who comes to kindergarten on his mom’s hip. It’s more that I’ve learned that this scenario works best for my ability to take care if the others, as well as keep him safe from the others that love just a little too much.
By the time Drew was nine months old, he’d spent almost three months training at baby gym to be an expert crawler. And in fact he was. Days were spent with both mom and dad on the floor working on his mad skills and recording every detail by video or in baby book.
By the time Gabby was nine months, she had discovered a mean crawl to desperately get away from her older brother. She may not have had sessions at baby gym but mom spent significant time down on the floor with her while the terrorizer napped. We even managed to add to our video library by catching Gabby’s first steps like we had with our first born.
At seven months old, sadly for the first time ever, I got down on the ground with Noah. And he sat up. Almost like he stubbornly wasn’t going to show me this skill until I gave him an ounce of attention. Humph.
I’m not worried about these skills he’s slightly behind in. He’s very alert, engaged and has great muscle tone. I’m more worried about what his life is going to be like, how he’s going to feel, being the third child to a mother who just can’t get her act together to give him everything he deserves.