Hey there Little Dude,
Man, it’s been a while. You’ve been keeping your mom and I pretty busy for the past several months, what with your constant gain in weight and height, the fact that you figured out how to crawl and lift yourself up onto things, your intensifying levels of disgusting cuteness, your constant hunger, the fact you’ve gotten pretty darn sick a few times (once while your mother was out of town, thanks a lot) and, maybe the most problematic, that anything shaped like a cord, a knife, a pokey-thing, a cat-food thing, a cat-poop thing, a dirty thing (and a dirt thing), a dandelion thing, a thumbtack thing, and other thing-things of that ilk get grabbed and put directly in your mouth.
Oh yeah, and the fact that you only do what we don’t want you to do is a little troubling. I see my future and it is bleak. And if we’re not watching out for your every move, your future looks incredibly short and dim. So, you owe me one. I’ll make sure to remind you of that sometime down the road.
You’ve grown a bunch more teeth – the current count is 12.
You’ve accumulated a bunch of bruises – current count is eleventeen.
You’ve got hair that makes you look like a Black Crowe, and you really like bananas, waffles, the swimming pool, the Kelty backpack, Rock of Love 2, cat food, the cat, opening and closing doors, climbing up the stairs, the vacuum, Vienna sausages, oranges, cantaloupe, chicken nuggets, the rocking horse, long walks, and there’s nothing I like better than to take you out in the wind and let it blow in your face. The smile that grows across you and the closed-eyed laughter that follows is an enjoyment I hope you keep for the rest of your life.
It’s your birthday today, Little Dude, and you’re our little one-year-old guy. Every day you show me something new and amazing, and I know you’ll continue that for the rest of your life. I promise not to like some of those things, but correspondingly promise to love you through them.
You truly are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me; you are simple magnificence. Until you screw up. Then you’re going to have to move to a nice farm upstate.
