|Looking so little and so big all at once.|
I’m trying really hard not to lament the speed at which time is passing, and I’m making a real effort not to get all sappy about my baby and how quickly he’s growing up, but I’m not doing very well on either count. I just can’t help myself. He’s getting so big. Where has the time gone? Trite, but so true.
He’s becoming such a little boy, right before my eyes. Running and jumping and speaking in real, honest-to-goodness sentences with five and six and seven words in them. It’s hard for me to even know how to begin to describe him, because no words are grand enough. He’s larger than life, this boy.
He’s such a ham, always consciously doing and saying things to make us laugh.
|I swear to you, no lie, he was saying "Haaaaaay" while I was taking this picture. A la the Fonz. He may or may not have been encouraged to do this by one or both of his parents.|
He regularly fake burps at the dinner table, and promptly excuses himself (“Me me!”) with a giant grin on his face. If he’s been naughty, he puts himself in time-out, and then he stands there like this:
|How am I supposed to discipline that face? Seriously, HOW. I need help, people.|
He can be pretty emotional, prone to fits of hysterical screaming when he doesn’t get his way, but he’s quickly coaxed out of it with lots of cuddles and tickles (he’s so ticklish you can’t even touch his feet without him giggling). When he wants to be held he wants to be held right now, and he’ll stand in front of me with arms in the air, fists opening and closing, demanding, “UP. UP, Mommy. UP!” until I comply (which I’m always happy to do). He loves wearing my shoes around the house but loathes wearing socks. He has a pair of pajamas with dinosaurs on them, which are his favorite, and whenever he sees them he immediately growls in his impression of a prehistoric beast. He’s so happy and smiley most of the time, and if the life of a dimple is measured in smiles, his is going to be there for a long, long time.
He idolizes Andrew, and is easily influenced by him, too, in a number of amazing (and less-than-amazing, sometimes) ways. When they’re playing together, Will is a bundle of pure joy and delight. He never glows more brightly than he does when he’s in the sunshine of Andrew’s attention. Up until very recently, he called Andrew “Doo-Doo,” but just this week, it’s evolved into “Ah-doo.”
He’s so, so verbal. He can easily communicate whatever it is he wants, and he understands a lot of what we’re saying to him. He repeats everything he hears. He knows his animal names and sounds, most of his colors, and can count to ten. Over the weekend I actually found myself carrying on a conversation with him, one that consisted of us actually talking to each other, and I stopped for a moment to marvel at that. My sweet, smart boy.
I gave him a hair cut last week, because, as you can see, it was high time for one.
As you can also see, he wasn’t really happy with me. But by the time I’d finished, he was resigned to his short-haired fate.
And in true Will fashion, mere moments later, he was literally running off to his next adventure, all unpleasantness forgotten.
He’s so special to me. Both of my boys are, of course, in such different and wonderful ways. Will is my spot of calm, my moment of pure happiness in any situation, even the tough ones I’ve been in lately. Just hearing his sweet little voice saying “Hi, Mommy” or “I wuv oo, Mommy” makes me feel something beyond the scope of any words I know. He is my reminder of how good life can be. How good life is.
...to this, in less than two years.
I’m so excited to see who he is one year, three years, five years from now. But for right now, I’m going to hold on to the last little bit of baby in him for as long as I possibly can. I have a feeling (or maybe it’s just a hope) that the little bit of baby will never go away. I think I’ll always see it there when I look at him.