Ah, lucky thirteen. I am not sure at what point I stop counting how old you are in months, and just start going by years? Probably at about two years, when the dramatic changes slow down slightly. Or not. We’ll see.
The four weeks since you turned one have seen lots of huge changes. You started walking, for starters. It is a game changer, the walking. You began the week after your birthday with a few wobbly steps in the kitchen, which your nan was lucky enough to see. From there, we practiced walking together, waddling from me to your dad to your nan and back. The rounds of applause and cheers you got fuelled you to keep going, until you were walking laps of the loungeroom totally unassisted. And now you are a pro, waddling around in your new velcro shoes, carrying nan’s slippers over to her on the couch.
You have ramped up the chatting too, and from the moment you open your eyes in the morning, keep up a constant commentary all day of pointing and laughing and sadface and shouting. You still have a fierce love of bananas, and will point at a picture of a banana in a book and shriek excitedly. You sleep with your stuffed dog teddy that your nanma made you, named Brian. Last week, you decided to scare me by having a three and a half hour nap, and I went in to check that you were still breathing and found you totally asleep, holding on to Brian’s foot.
We went to visit your uncle Chris yesterday and he gave you your first haircut. He is a proper hairdresser so it turned out much better than what I would have done. He trimmed off the shaggy mullet that you had going on, and all of a sudden you became a little boy. My little pink baby is now a chubby, noisy boy toddler who loves trucks and books, hates wearing a hat or holding my hand, and is most comfy wearing his trackies and hoodie.
I love you, little man.