I know, I know. I’m almost half-a-month late with this one.
If I had been this late with his one-month update, that would have meant I had been procrastinating for a third of his life.
But now that we count his age in years, two weeks seems like nothing, because nowadays two weeks seem to go by all the time.
David is more and more physical every month. He pushes through and climbs over everything. He uses me as his personal jungle gym; wherever he needs to go, climbing over me always wins out as the most direct route.
Keeping him out of our laundry room has been a challenge for a while now, and after months of improvising we finally got a baby gate.
Last week he put his knee up on the gray lever, pulled up with all his might, and then stood up on it.
Is that normal? When you only have one child you often exclaim about things they do, only to eventually find out that all babies do that.
Sorta like when David was an infant and he slept through loud noises. We bragged about how he wasn’t bothered by loud music, touchdown celebrations, barking dogs or the doorbell. Turns out it was because that’s what all infants do.
Is climbing over a baby gate normal 13-month old behavior?
David isn’t walking yet, but the doctor told me he was physically able to walk, he just needs to decide to do it. He stands on his own and has taken a few steps here and there. I’m really ready for him to start, and this transitional phase reminds me of the days when he knew how to crawl but preferred to drag his body around and ruin all of his clothes.
If I know anything about my son, it’s that he has strong preferences. For example, he still hates reading books. Tom and I both love to read, and we want to share reading with him, so I try reading to him almost every day. Usually he throws the book or just crawls away.
I’m not sure when he’ll grow out of this phase, but I hope it’s soon; partially because one day I hope to find out where baby’s belly button is, and what exactly brown bear sees.
The best, most fun, part of this age is watching David develop in his play.
The other day, out of nowhere, he started playing peek-a-boo. We play peek-a-boo with him, but not a ton, so when he started doing it on his own we were like, um, who taught you to play peek-a-boo?
He also loves wiping things. He’ll take a rag or tissue and wipe the cabinets, the floor, the coffee table. I’m not sure where he’s learned about cleaning, either. Certainly not from me.
He loves sorting. I gave him a box of granola bars earlier this week and while I was cooking dinner he entertained himself by putting them in the bowl, taking them out of the bowl, putting them in another bowl, putting a lid on the bowl, putting them in the original bowl…
The sorting game involves the whole family, because it means that, sometimes, we find the remote control in our laundry basket, or our ladle in our diaper bin.
He also remembers so many words, which is wonderful because sometimes, in the middle of a tantrum I can say, “David. Where are your trucks?” And then he forgets that he was scratching his eyes out and goes to look for his trucks.
It also means that, rather than waiting until I take him to the changing table, he starts flailing his body around as soon as I say, “Time to change your diaper!”
When we were at the lake a few weeks ago, everyone was just a bit distracted, and you crawled over to the boat controls without anyone noticing. You knew you weren’t allowed to play with the controls, and suddenly you felt like Lindsay Lohan out on probation. You would have gotten away with it, too, but right before pressing the horn button, you gave yourself away with your maniacal, proud, sweet laugh.
I’ve gotten used to that laugh; I hear it all the time. You laugh like that when you’re showing people how good you are at standing, when you see the kitty cat within reach, or when I share my popsicle with you.
I’ve gotten used to it, but I don’t think I could ever hear it enough. It’s that laugh, your sweet smile, and how it feels when you hook your arm around my neck and rest your head on my shoulder, that makes me forget the early mornings and tantrums, and oh so thankful that I get to spend my days with you.
P.s. Your 14-month update is just two weeks away, but I’ll still try to write it on time. Keep in mind, if you start walking it’ll give me something to write about.