It has suddenly hit me. Little man isn't a newborn anymore.
I know. You are probably saying to yourself, "no sh**." But seriously, he isn't a newborn. He's a baby.
It has really hit me the last few weeks as I bought what is likely to be the last box of size three diapers. It hit me again when I moved the bouncy seat off of the kitchen counter and replaced it with the high chair in the corner.
Then. It hit me really hard. But in a good way. I'm really bad at math, so tell me if this is wrong - but he slept eight hours. Yep. My math is correct here. From 10 p.m. on Saturday to 6 a.m. on Sunday.
He is also gumming little teething biscuits, and saying "Ma" for me instead of just for milk. (For those who are curious, he has an excellent little pleased look when I respond to "Ma."
Of all these things, it (crazy as it seems) hit me hardest when I changed out the baby gear. The high chair, the Johnny Jump Up. These aren't 'lil toys. These are big boy baby toys.
He is growing up. Already.