Christian

Christian,

You turned one last month. 

I think there's a part of me that will always feel like I was just barely handed your warm, soft body for the first time, cradled up against me, your velvet soft brand-new skin against my chest. That perfect newborn smell, your blinking dark eyes. 

I mean, wasn't that just a few days ago? 

But now, now you're a little person with a big personality. You're the embodiment of the word "Enthusiasm." To you, everything is so exciting you must wave your arms and shout and walk in circles. 

Your squishy flat feet slap against the hardwood floor as you toddle from room to room, doing your very best to keep up with your idols--Nick and Ellie. 

Yesterday, Ellie was in her room with the door closed. You waited in the hall, outside her door, just watching and waiting. As soon as she came out to talk to me,

you ran into her room, turned around, 

and closed the door behind you.

 You're 100% certain you're just one of the big kids, and a good portion of my days are spent simply making sure you don't fall down the stairs after them, crawl outside to play with them, jump off their beds, eat their legos, or splash in the toilet water (that they are forever leaving unflushed.)

You also are scary good at getting into the pantry and finding forbidden treats.

And you can unwrap suckers.

You are starting to show us that you're a little softie. You have a great big, giving heart. When your cousin Avery, just a few months younger than you, comes over, you watch her closely, straight-faced, 

pick up your own toys, and stick them in her mouth for her. 

The other night I was flossing Nick's teeth and you walked over and tried to help, pressing your own drool-soggy toothbrush into Nick's mouth.

And you give hugs. Especially to Nick and Ellie. When they come in, you rush to them, wrap your little arms around their torso and press your face against them. And when we visit Grandma and Grandpa, you're surprisingly willing to leave my arms and wrap yourself into theirs for a great big snuggle.
In the mornings, if you're not screeching for food (which is almost every morning lately,) we bring you into our bed and you roll back and forth, giving us face-snuggles, pressing your head into our faces for loves.

You are finally sleeping mostly through the night. 

Up until about four weeks ago, you were still waking up four or five times, wanting to nurse most of those times. 

But I enlisted Daddy's help, and maybe because he doesn't smell like milk, you started waking up less and less. Right now you only nurse once a day, at around 4 am. I know we need to stop soon, so for now, I'm going to savor those sweet moments in the darkness.

 You still take two naps a day, and rocking you to sleep each afternoon is one of my favorite parts of the day. Part of me would love it if you never stopped falling asleep with your sweaty head cradled under my neck.

You make us laugh every single day. Mostly with your chattering. When we ask you questions, 

it's like you think you're actually answering us. I'm pretty sure you think you're talking, and you talk away all day long, walking around, picking things up and then putting them down again, waving your arms in great big gestures, shouting and cheering and jabbering away.

You do know a few real words. 
Hi, Dad, Mom, Wow, Uh-oh,
Tickle, Fish, out(side) and Cheese.
You learned the word "fish" because of our goldfish, which we are keeping on the bathroom counter. Anytime we walk past the bathroom with you in our arms, you point to the bathroom door, kick your legs, and exclaim "fss! fss!" 
And when we went to the aquarium at Legoland in San Diego, you nearly jumped out of the Ergo on my back, reaching for the "fsss," desperately trying to swim with them.

You are not a good eater. I think it's because you're just too busy trying to have fun. It takes some convincing to get you to focus and eat, and I often have to give you your own spoon and a bowl full of dry cheerios to keep you occupied while I feed.

 And you are desperate to be outside, all the time. You can just barely see over the windowsills, and you stand on your tiptoes and look outside, shouting "out! out!" 
Sometimes, you bring me my shoes and help me put them on, then look at me expectantly, 
thinking, come on, Mom! Let's go out!


You are a climber, a pusher, a rock-and-garbage-eater, a get-into-stuff-er. I stay busy, spending most of my days just making sure you don't die.

 You have a knack for closing yourself into rooms of the house. If I ever can't find you for a moment, all I have to do is listen for your hands banging into a door you've closed and now cannot open again. 
I open the door slowly and there you are, smiling up at me, ready to walk out and find another room you can lock yourself into.

As challenging as this stage is, with your opinions and beginnings of tantrums and constantly getting into things,
You are just so stinking cute, and we cannot get enough of you!

You are goofy, loving, loud, enthusiastic, and full of light.

We're so glad we have you, Christian!