Aaaaand we’re walking. And not like the, “okay, Mom, I’ll take two and a half steps while holding your hands while you force me to like walking” kind of walking. I’m taking full-out walking across the room toward an actual destination and squatting down to pick up a toy and then continuing to walk kind of walking. Nine months is apparently early for this, but my Your Baby Month by Month book is a book end for my dusty and terrifying pregnancy books.

Baby Boy’s walking has reassured me that I’m doing okay. I have successfully kept him alive for 9+ months now, and he’s proving that he’s smart, albeit a teeny bit manipulative sometimes. He’s clearly going to get an athletic scholarship to college, because he knows that by the year 2030 college will cost $100,000 per year. No joke.

But things are not always sunny on the New Mommy Crash Course. Although we aren’t having much stranger anxiety – shit, now that will start tomorrow just because I’ve mentioned it – he’s starting to cry every time I put him down. Not when I leave him at daycare, thank God, but when I leave him sitting on the floor so I can make his dinner, when I put him in one corner of the room so I a get an awesome toy in the other corner, when I have to pee – always when I have to pee. This separation anxiety does strange things to me. On one hand I’m like, “Suck it up kid! I am literally six inches away from you!” And in the other, I realize that this does in fact answer the one question I will probably ask until the day I die: Do my kids love me?

And the answer is yes, this one loves me. He loves the crap out of me.

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