My squishy puppy,

Maybe it was from watching your brother.  Maybe it’s from all the blueberries and crud from the floor you eat.  Maybe it’s the abundant fresh air and sunshine we’ve been enjoying this spring.  I’m not sure exactly how, but this month you turned into a big boy.

Many small things contribute to this status.  You talk all the time, a lot of dada and the occasional mama, not really directed at us in particular, but clearly nonetheless.  This afternoon, after an excretory situation that got pretty outrageous, I told you you needed a bath, and you repeated “ba” right back to me.  Oh, how you love baths.  Last night, you were hanging out in the bathroom while Miles took a bath, and it was all your dad could do to keep you from crawling right in there with him.  You’ve taken one bath together so far, and you’ll probably do it again once I regain my strength from managing all those slippery little limbs and tummies.

The biggest indicator of your big-boy status is how well you pull yourself up to standing.  You started doing it a week or two ago, and you haven’t slowed down a bit.  Your dad had you in your crib for safe storage for a few minutes, and when he turned around, you had grabbed onto the edge and pulled yourself up.  You were so, so proud.  We were so, so freaked out.  We lowered your crib mattress, and I’m pretty sure you can’t get out, but it seems like you might have a bit of a daredevil streak in you.

Since then, you’ve wanted to scramble around as much as possible.  You’ve mastered the all-fours crawl, which is a shame in a way because you’re no longer dusting the floors with your tummy.  You crawl between furniture pieces, pulling up and surveying the landscape.  You gave the stairs a try today while we waited for Miles to get done at school.  You didn’t make it past the first one, but it’s not going to be long.  You transition easily between crawling, standing, and sitting.  You take funny little high-knee steps if I hold your hands.  You will be walking before long, I’m proud and terrified to say.

We’ve been spending a lot of time outside, watching your brother play with various water toys.  You like it when he sprinkles your toes, and you like pulling grass and clover out of the ground and putting them in your mouth.  There’s not much that you don’t like in your mouth, really.  You love squash, blueberries, yogurt, peas, bits of popcorn your brother drops, scraps of paper, your own feet, and especially shoes.  Your dad suggested that we bring a clean shoe to occupy you on our upcoming plane ride.

You have a wonderfully expressive face, which makes you fun to photograph.  You have this one particular look that you get when you’re really thrilled about something, a raised eyebrow and lowered mouth kind of thing.  When you see someone you’re excited to see, you wiggle your arms and legs so fast that you’d be gone in a flash if you were in a swimming pool.  Mostly, though, you’re happy and calm.  You have four teeth, and we’ve been in a blissful hiatus from new tooth growth, so you’ve been sleeping pretty well.  You still don’t take very long naps most of the time, but that’s the way it goes.  You have many other good qualities.  You recognize lots of words and phrases, such as the names of your favorite foods, and “Shall we go get big brother Miles?”  That one always elicits the extreme excitement face.

Your eyes are the light, blazing blue of a Madrid sky.  Your hair is still blondey-blond, and you have the pale skin of your progenitors.  You’re getting a slight trucker tan, though, because of the way you like to dangle your right arm out the side of the stroller.

This month, I got to celebrate my first Mothers Day with you (or, as Miles puts it, as a “two-kid mom”).  You have made me so happy, my little Tobin.  You’re so generous with your smiles, and I’m so greedy with tickling you and making stupid faces and singing silly songs (e.g., “Shortenin’ Bread”) to elicit them.

Well, you just climbed onto the treadmill.  I believe I have an Adventure-Baby living at my house.  No stitches yet, please.

Five seconds later…

Unlike a normal baby, who would have found himself stuck on the treadmill and cried for help, you started crawling head-first off the edge.  It’s a good thing I can type without looking at the keyboard, or you might have done a face-plant.

You crazy guy.  I love your butt-wiggles and chubby legs and curiosity.  I love having you around.  I love you.

Mommy