18 of them. months, that is.

i think that when i walk around with him people might not think, "look at that baby." they might think instead, "look at that little boy."

shoot.

he talks. a lot (if he and ava are equally chatty i will have to lock myself away in a tower). he pretends to throw himself on the floor when he doesn't get his way. he does it so carefully that you know what he's up to and it's easy to refuse sympathy. he also loves to run away from you when you're mad at him. he squeals while doing so and then i have to smile because he's just so dang cute and then the punishment is pointless. he loves to feed people his food. only grandparents like this. he loves to hug ava. she likes it only half the time. he also loves to make her shriek. if a hug can get her to shriek, excellent. if not, he'll try something else, like flapping his hand in her face or pulling on her shirt sleeve. when he walks with a bowl of food, he spills it. then, when he bends down to pick up and put it back in the bowl, he spills the rest. when he hugs me, he holds me tight and rubs my back. he wants to hold my hand for a minute before falling asleep. sometimes he shouts, "MOM." just to hear me answer. he loves to be held. he loves to snuggle. he loves me.

i love him.

bedhead. this is pre-haircut. now, upon just awakening, he looks more masculine.