I really do have the best of intentions, but the crazy in this house leaves me breathless. In a happy-enjoy-the-moment-with-laughter-or-tears kind of way.
My baby is a year and a half. It sounds better when I just say '18 months' because then I can conveniently forget my math skills (I don't even have to try) and pretend he's not got 2 years grabbed by the tail and yanking himself towards it as fast as he can.
I'm eighteen months old and...
...I can come down the stairs on my own! No more standing at the top and yelling 'Mama!'
...I like the sound a book makes as it hits the water...bathtub, toilet, I'm not picky.
...I may not have many words, but I mimic all kinds of noises and sounds.
...when Mommy dresses me in the morning and pulls my shirt down over my head, I grin and say 'Boo!'
...I'm learning to drink from a big boy cup!
...I like to take my big boy cup to the Berky and fill it up and watch my cup over floweth to the floor and then sit down and smack-splat around in the water that pours forth!
...Mommy giggles at me when we both know she should be 'training' me.
...I am very independent, but I frequently walk over to my favorite people and lay my head on their leg for a moment or two to show affection.
...I prance when I get excited!
...I fully understand the concept of running (apparently my siblings were at a loss on this) and look incredibly cute when I take off.
...I love my Daddy! He's my very favoritest person in the whole wide world!
...I was sad to see the bottom of the doughnut box on my first trip to Krispy Kreme. I cried so brokenheartedly the people next to us offered to buy me more!