I'm not sure we will ever stop calling this child "baby". In fact, I have to admit that it gives me great joy to call him baby. I call him "that baby", like I'm pointing to him as to not confuse him with any other baby. That one, he's all mine. I have everyone in the house calling him "that baby", and it sounds something like this...
"Hurry, give that baby what he wants!"
"Who made that baby cry?"
"MOM! That baby has stinky pants!"
"Do you think that baby will ever sleep through the night...in his own bed?"
"Boy, that baby should never be allowed on an airplane again."
He is something special. He has brought his brothers a tremendous amount of fun, softened up his dad to the point of sappy, smoochy all night snuggles, and made his mom feel like the brightest star in the planet. He loves to tickle wrestle, play cars, and tell us all what to do (and where to sit, and how loud to talk). His favorite stuffed animal is Curious George, his favorite book is called "Hug" and his favorite place to be is on his mom's hip with his head on her shoulder. Yep, I've just decided I'm calling him "that baby" as long as he allows it, and then under my breath for the rest of my life.