Charlie turned a year old a couple of weeks ago and if you’ve experienced life with a one year old, you’ll understand why I haven’t been updating frequently. He doesn’t walk more than a step or two yet, but he stands all on his own, in the middle of nothing, and it’s taking longer and longer before he realizes what he’s doing and sorta freaks out. Seems like progress to me.
He says Mama (which means anything from, “I’m sad/hungry/tired/angry” to “If you don’t turn on Frozen really soon, Imma let you have it, woman!” and Dada (which means, “Hey! There’s my dad!”), and he meows at the cats and gives high fives and knows what the monkey says and what the elephant says (complete with swinging trunk arm motion) and what the duck says but never, ever will he do any of those things when you want him to do it for the camera or another human being. Because of course not.
He loves to slap his knee to Grandma’s Feather Bed and I find unending delight in that. He hates snow.
He hasn’t had a tube feed since Sunday. Yeah, you read that right. He’s eating all on his own. I told the Dork Lord that we couldn’t even *discuss* having a second child until our first one was eating without the help of modern medicine. I’ve since revised that to, “until I forget how oh-god-kill-me hard having the first one was.” I have a very, very keen memory.
And besides, I’m pretty crazy about the original model.