Mr. Independent

Well, hello there month fifteen.  You are sneaking up on me like a panther in a grassy field, but I am on to you, little man.

The baby has officially stumbled into toddlerhood, and by stumbled I mean he is walking like a drunk looking for his next fifth.  I can't seem to keep up with him while five months along, so my husband has been doing a lion's share of the work, decent fellow that he is.  He is doing the heavy lifting, too, since our kid is now 28 pounds and 32 inches long.  I have trouble carrying him across the room, which pains me somewhat because that is the only time he will stay still long enough for me to smother him with cuddles and kisses.  You see, apparently I am raising the World's Most Independent Kid.  True story.

This becomes a real issue in public, when we are trying to stroll with him.  He simply won't have it, this strolling thing, and MUST be released from his seatbelt IMMEDIATELY or ELSE HEADS WILL ROLL.  And roll they do.  I have bought stock in Tylenol...baby and adult formula.

Once put on the ground, we see nothing but a poof of dust and he's gone...down the street, stumbling with no fear.  Try to hold his hand and he will attempt to gnaw it off at the wrist.  He doesn't want pity!  He can do it himself, dammit!

At the park, he wanders aimlessly, going from lap to lap and checking the food goods.  If it's acceptable, he'll simply extend his hand and open his gaping maw in a gesture of, "FEED ME."  This would be horribly embarrassing if he weren't a baby and cute.  I know this because when I do it, my husband is just mortified.

But he doesn't seem to need us.  That's the thing that both relieves and worries me simultaneously.  He doesn't want us around, frankly.  And when he's at the park, he's socializing with his peeps.  He doesn't want us helping him up or holding him steady.  He wants to fall down and find his way back up by himself.  It's not a little heart-wrenching.

It's as if he's already walking away from me with a dismissive glance over his shoulder.  "See ya, mom." And then he's grabbing the car keys out of my hand and driving to Burning Man with a girl named Jupiter.

Amazon has those "backpack" leashes, right?