I have a one year old. A toddler. A mini-grown up. He walks, talks, and feeds himself with a spoon and he is no longer a baby. On one hand, it’s a ridiculously sad milestone, but the overpowering emotion I’ve been feeling with the passing of the first year of Harry is pride. This little boy is someone to be proud of.
This month Harry really started cruising around and is now completely comfortable walking on carpet, gravel, tile, in shoes, out of shoes, in socks, etc. He is decidedly a big boy now, and one of my favorite things is when he walks over to the bookshelf, picks out his favorite book (still Brown Bear or anything Baby Genius) and hands it to me. Also, boy can eat. He loves soup and he loves beans, so he loves bean soup. Really, he loves just about everything. Though not summer squash and/or zucchini.
Harry understands English and is working on his verbal. He pretty much always knows what I’m saying and he is getting so good at communicating back to me. He signs “please” all the time (cutest thing ever) and says “thank you.” He’s also working really hard to make “sh” or “ss” noises. It’s a lot of spitting. He blows kisses and plants ’em directly onto my lips, depending on how far away from me he is. And the kid hasn’t met a pile of pillows he hasn’t jumped into head first.
The last year has really, really been the best year. Welcoming this little boy and really getting to know him is amazing. Jon and I say it every day – but we really, really are the lucky ones. Harry, we love you so very much.