Paul turned 1 on Saturday. Over the past few weeks, it seems like he turned into a little person instead of a baby. He understands what we’re saying. He can communicate. He can walk! (Have I not mentioned that?) He can even run, in a Phoebe-running-away-from-Satan kind of way. He eats real food. He drinks out of sippy cups. He only nurses first thing in the morning and before bed.
He follows directions. If I tell him to shut the baby gate, he goes and does it. When I hear Meg stirring in the morning, I tell him to go get her and he RUNS to her room, giggling with excitement. Some mornings he sneaks in there while I’m distracted and wakes her up because he just can’t wait to see his sister.
He wants everything to be “right.” If he notices the baby gate is open before we do, he’ll shut it without being asked. He loves to pull our stockpot out of the cabinet, then repeatedly take off the lid and replace it carefully.
I never did teach him baby signs, like milk, but last night he begged me to pick him up, then pointed at the spot on the couch where we always nurse.
He makes “rrrRRRrrr” sounds while running his toy cars along the floor and I think that’s the very best thing about having a boy. It kills me with cute.
He thinks birthday cake is awesome.