Is it just me or does “Wito” sound extremely leader-of-the-baby-mafia-ish. I can hear it now, “DUDE, don’t let Wito find out what you did…he’ll cut your balls off”. That or he’ll eat you.

First things first. Let me just say that ultrasounds are horrible. Not so much the ultrasound itself, but having to restrain a scared and hysterical 6-month old baby while the ultrasound is being performed on him. And the fact that it’s MY BABY. UGH, you guys! It was the worst. The WORST. First off, no worries on why the ultrasound was being performed- Wito has a little cyst on the back of his head and his doctor wants to play it safe.

Anyway, given the way he reacted when the dermatologist was looking at the bump, I knew we were in for a rough time with the actual ultrasound. I don’t want to ramble on about something so seemingly insignificant compared to what other babies have to endure, but let me just say it took 3 staff members to hold him down. I’m not kidding. Four people (including me). And it didn’t help that they were having trouble getting a good shot of the bump, which translated into 20 minutes of hell. He was so unbelievably scared and upset that he vomited all over the exam table and sobbed uncontrollably after the procedure was finished. All of this coming from a child who merely winces when he receives his immunizations.

I stayed in the procedure room for a couple of minutes afterwards to try to calm him down. Luckily, I had his favorite book “Brown Bear, Brown Bear” in the diaper bag. As he sat in my lap crying with that precious lower lip shaking, the second I turned to his favorite page (the green frog), he leaned back into my shoulder, looked up at me with his wet eyes and smiled.

Oh my God. Oh my GOD. Talk about RIPPING your heart out. Then stomping, shredding and setting the rest of it on fire. I got home and called my parents, trying to be oh-so-stoic, but they knew I had officially entered fragile mode.

I guess I always thought the first six months would be the hardest when it came to the worrying. You know, being a new parent and not knowing the ropes. Is my baby sick? Hurt? Tired? Why is he crying so much? And in some ways, it is the hardest. The sleep deprivation, the newness of it all, etc. But it truly doesn’t compare in intensity to the depth of feeling when your child begins to take on a true personality of their own. Gone are the worries about how many wet diapers and naps your baby has per day, and in it’s place are questions like “Will this amazing little person be lucky enough to live a full and blessed life?” And I can only imagine the feeling continues to intensify as every day, month and year passes.

Oh my God, I could go on forever. But I won’t since Wito might kick my ass.

So, Wito Wito Wito. Wito’s big, y’all. He’s in the 93rd percentile for weight and is off the chart for height. Literally. There is no place on the height chart for Wito – he’s one long motherfucker (see, he will kick your ass!). He has more energy than a coked up college mascot- the jumping, sweet jebus, the jumping. He could jump in the damn jumperoo until his head detaches from his body. And when I pull him out (with much resistance), he jumps up and down in my arms only to stop when he decides to perform a back bend because obviously, seeing the world upside down is hella more interesting than right side up.

He’s also a major flirt, evident this morning as we were leaving the dermatologist’s office and he winked at the lovely UPS lady. I personally can’t confirm the wink as I was holding him and couldn’t see, but she was quite adamant that he WINKED. AT HER. SHE WOULDN’T LIE ABOUT SUCH A THING. I considered telling her the wink might have been his attempt at shielding his eye from her intense staring, but alas no. I decided to keep that little nugget to myself.

We’ve been spending lots of time on walks with SAJ and Baby Bug because he is truly happiest when we’re outdoors. Or maybe it’s because he wants to eat Baby Bug for lunch…I’ll have to get back to you on that one.