Bad, bad blogger.
I am so behind in posting that
in desperation i am (ahem) treating you to a 'combination post'.
Like a yummy combination plate at a good Chinese Restaurant,
combination posts are tasty, full of variety and good value!
(and yeah, that's just what i'm telling you to appease my guilty, guilty conscience)
It suddenly seems like the big two isn't so very far away all of a sudden,
which sounds far too big and way too old for my little baby boy.
Your words are coming fast and furious, and being strung together in twos.
There are real words and there are words that only you and i know,
and then there are
some a bunch that i have absolutely no idea what you are going on about.
As you get older i doubt this will change.
Sometimes there is eating, more often there is not,
and i occasionally wonder if (and how) you are living on the air you breathe alone.
But you never. stop. moving.
I remember saying months ago how exhausting it was just to watch you.
Yeah well, that was just the warm ups.
You climb things and move things in order to climb things.
You are endlessly fascinated with your dinkies, driving them along walls, furniture,
and even occasionally the awesome hot wheels tracks we have provided you with for just such purpose.
You like to crawl around with sticks in your mouth pretending to be the dog.
Ps - i don't think she appreciates it when you drink from her dish.
Today you flipped headfirst over the fence in the backyard.
Yesterday you locked yourself in the van, along with my keys, purse and cell phone.
You are covered in bruises, scrapes, and dirt on a regular basis,
and there's usually something sticky in your hair.
I am surprised that i am surprised by this.
You are, after all, a boy.
A much too big and far too old little baby boy.