- tooth, one. Poked through so you can feel it. You won't let us look. But it was kinda how I thought it would be. Andrew poked his finger in, said you had a tooth. I called bullshit, because you hadn't been giving us grief. Andrew 1, me 0. Since then, of course, sleeping is SO 2008, Mother!
- hair, some. It's getting there.
- um, locomotion, lots. Inspired, apparently, by your love for all things digital and buttony. I sense either a lot of vigilance in our living room or a complete redesign involving height and fences. Maybe a moat. We'll see.
- food, more than lots. Your grandfather fed you one day and was amazed that he had to keep going back and making more food. "And then I gave him peas," he said. "Suddenly, he was full!" Yeah, it's like that. I've been making your food and it's been awesome, but I'm starting not being able to keep up. More cheerios make it into your mouth than onto the floor, and that's a big accomplishment.
We're coming to the end of our glorious three week break together, what with the week of ARCTIC BLAST and then winter break. It's like blam! you got hit with the growing stick, and now you can't get enough. You're really into experimenting with your voice, from growls to squeaks to absolutely awesome high-pitched shrieks which make Matilda run for cover.
More videos to come, so I'll be sure to embarass you online as much and whenever possible. So, you know, big-dude-who's-already-wearing-18month-clothes, beware. I'm armed with a new video recorder, and dangerous.
Love you, baby boy.