Ole.

This evening was a good evening. My sister Crystal and I went shopping at Target, and she brought Izzy up with her. He was in a really good mood, smiling and laughing every time we caught his eye. He kept putting his hands up to the sides of his face, in a very "Home Alone" style, and we very obediently kept cracking up at him. It's amazing how much he understands now. He practiced standing up in the buggy and I would tell him sit, and he'd squat back down. We played this game until I became an ogre and buckled him back in.

We went to Rio Grande, the best Mexican restaurant in our area, for dinner. Izzy loves pretty much everything, both edible and not, but Mexican seems to be at the top of his list. Tonight, however, he decided to swear off the complementary nachos after getting a piece caught in his throat. It was terrifying, actually. His little face got all squinched up, and he started doing his mouth like he was gagging, then the tears started pouring down his face. I grabbed him and Chris started to get the chip when he screamed at the top of his lungs. So we knew he wasn't choking, but he sure wasn't happy either. I gave him water and that got the chip down. Crystal had a side order of sour cream, which was the only thing we had other than the chips and salsa, so I gave him little bites of it, too. I didn't realize how much I had freaked out until about 10 minutes afterwards when I'm just stroking his soft hair, and my sister said, "Cindy, he's fine. You can eat again now." I can't imagine how I'd react if something serious happened. But all was well, and Izzy happily ate about 80% of his kids meal when it came - a taco, rice and beans. That boy can EAT.

He can poop too. We got home, and we were treated to the melodious sounds of massive flatulence from our little darling. He began to grunt (isn't that a horrible word??) and I said to Chris, "Why don't you run put him on his potty?" After a minor bit of grumping, he took off to the bathroom. "Make sure it's not too late," I holler at his back. In vain, apparently, for it wasn't 30 seconds before Chris called for backup to the bathroom. I rolled my eyes at Crystal, because how many people need backup for a little baby's dirty diaper? I walk in there - we're talking 10 feet from couch to bathroom - and as I turn the corner, he says, "Oh jeez. I've got poop everywhere now." And he did. How is it possible for men to screw up even the tiniest jobs??

Anyhow, Chris did the honorable thing, and he not only cleaned up his mess, he bathed the baby too, and tried to put him down. But this was one of the rare nights he wanted his mom. I picked him up and we curled up together in the rocking recliner in his room. This is one of my favorite times of day. It's so peaceful in his bedroom with the lights turned low. I like to do this thing where I rest my hand against his cheek and bring his face to mine for a kiss. A pretty instinctual mommy move, I think. But tonight, Izzy reached his soft tiny hand up to my cheek, lifted his head off my shoulder, and pulled my face against his for a nuzzle. Times like this make it a little easier to say goodbye to Izzy's fading babyhood.