You are one year old today, and I truly can't believe it. Sometimes it seems like it flew by, and sometimes I can't believe you're only one. You seem younger to me, probably because you're not walking yet. Everyone else keeps wondering when you'll start; I know you'll get around to it when you feel like it - you're already starting to take little hesitant steps before deciding that crawling is just safer and faster. Can't blame you there. Frankly I like you crawling around; you're so quick about it, with your little hands slapping along. When you get to me you kneel up on your knees like a dog begging for a treat.
You are a total love-bug, burrowing your head into my neck and loudly sighing with contentment. You often come to me for a cuddle, laying your head onto my shoulder and smiling around at the room. When someone you love comes into sight, you gasp with joy and flail your arms around. You remain the grinniest baby on earth, smiling so big that your eyes squint up and your nose crinkles. Funny little evil baby.
Here are the things you love:
- Laptops. Pull one out and you're all over it. You love opening and closing the lid and slapping at the keys with this big gleeful grin the whole time. I've tried showing you similar items, to see if it's just the buttons you like, but you definitely have a special fixation on laptops. You've developed a wonderfully annoying routine where you close the lid and then whine-cry until I come over and open it back up again. And if I try to actually use it? I have to hold it up away from your grasp while you scrabble at me and whine because you're not able to get your pudgy hands on it. Fun stuff.
- Opening and closing doors (not all the way, obviously, just moving them back and forth). As I type this you're sitting outside of our room in the hallway, opening and closing the linen closet and giggling at your antics.
- Balls. Any kind. We actually play catch - I roll the ball to you and you pick it up and toss it back towards me. If I didn't know better I'd think you really understand what we're doing. Maybe you do.
- Grapes, bananas, grapes, goldfish, and grapes. You can stuff grapes down like nobody's business. If you've eaten all the ones on your tray and you see some on my plate you hoot at me until I transfer them to you.
You still love to climb anything, anytime. If there's a moment of silence, I can be 95% sure you're climbing the stepladder in the kitchen. No matter how many times you've fallen and bonked yourself, you can't seems to stop yourself. The funniest times are when I find you perched at the top like a little mountain goat, unsure of how to get yourself down. If there are two moments of silence I race for the stairs, the steep, wooden stairs, praying that I didn't leave the gate open. I've only forgotten once, and by the time my internal Mama-Alarm went off I found you 14 steps up. That wasn't scary at all.
For such an outgoing, active, friendly guy you are shockingly soft, Jack, soft like a marshmallow. Any time you get a little bump or scare I watch your face crumple into sobs. You sob angrily and get soothed slowly, but as soon as you calm down you're instantly back to your smiley self. Your skin marks up easily, you get diaper rash at the top of a hat. I call you my delicate flower. For a big bruiser boy, you really are a softie.
With all of the drama and angst and tearing of hair that went along with your sleep habits for the first nine months, you've turned into an awfully good sleeper. When it's time for bed I lay you in my arms and walk up the stairs saying "night night!" One time I think you said it back. I'm pretty sure. Anyway, as we walk up the stairs you like it when I lightly bonk your head against the wall. Really. One time I did it accidentally, and you got a big grin on your face and started reaching your head back to try to make it bonk again. So, up the stairs, night-night, head-bonking, and I sing you a little Neil Young (we both especially like "Unknown Legend") and then you grin and reach for your crib. I lay you down, you hug Pink Doll to you, I stick a pacifier in your mouth, and head out the door. Ninety-five percent of the time that's the last I hear from you. You're even sleeping through the night 2 nights out of 3, and the third time I make your Daddy deal with you. Everyone wins! Well I do, anyway.
When Daddy and Nate roughhouse and play, you crawl right up screeching away and try to get in on the act. Daddy does his best to include you and I know how much he's looking forward to really being able to play with you. You three are going to have so much fun together, and I can't wait to watch it all (and join in on the days when girls are welcome).
You are my sweetie, Jack, and I'm so incredibly glad you were born.
I love you,