One Year!

All right! Wee man has made it through his first year without finding a way to kill himself. Remarkable really, given his love for charging toward stairs, climbing on cabinets, slamming doors, scrambling to crawl off the bed, putting random crap from the floor in his mouth and his favorite, pulling open the refrigerator door and hopping in. Good times.

Still despite his hair-raising escapades, it's been a remarkable few months. He's on the verge; the verge of talking, the verge of walking, the verge of becoming a little boy. His personality is emerging in a big way. He let's us know what he likes (baths, having us chase him around as he crawls like a madman, doggies) and doesn't (pretty much everything else). He's not much of a talker at this point, but he's happy to ask for his bottle (ba-ba)or some "agua" (gwa-gwa)or even me(da-dee).

It's fun, but also a bit anxiety producing. There's the constant nagging feeling that I should be doing more, that I'm missing things, that I should be filming more, taking more pictures, blogging more (well, on that front it's pretty obvious that I should be), spending more time playing bonding, playing... Basically I should be trying to make sure he doesn't hate me later.

Well, I do what I can, I suppose. And every time his mom brings him home from the nanny, I'm as excited to see him as he is me. It's the best part of my day. And I guess in the long run, that's what matters most.