Happy Birthday, J.

J. is turning one.  One year old.  It's been a year.

Say it however you want, it just sounds wrong.

My baby is one.  He's quickly leaving babyhood behind and working hard on becoming a toddler.

That he is his own person, not a little clone of me or E., has been made abundantly clear in the past twelve months.  Where E. was cautious, J. barrels ahead.  He has already chipped a tooth and is currently sporting an abraded chin, courtesy of a recent tumble.  While he is not yet walking without support, he does not display the same tentativeness that E. did.

We didn't babyproof a lot for E.  Sure, we started, but once we ran out of steam, we figured that we would just be attentive and then secure the areas to which E. was drawn.  And we waited.  He just didn't seem to think of getting into drawers and cabinets if their contents were not obvious.

We haven't babyproofed any significant amount in this house, but mostly because we're tired.  J. takes every opportunity to crawl into the kitchen, open drawers, pull up and try to reach things.  He wants to go head first down the single step between our living room and sun room.  He goes after my computer, coffee, recycling.  Kleenex are the coolest thing, and he will desperately try to grab one and stuff it in his mouth before I can get it away.

He continues to be a poor sleeper, waking every hour or two.  On good nights, the periods sleep stretch just a bit longer.  But his pediatrician has suggested that he may just not need a lot of sleep and, even if we can get him to sleep through the night, it is not likely to be as long as we would want.  I pretend she could be wrong, but I know she's got him figured out.

But then, when he's had the sleep he wants, he wakes up in the most glorious mood, smiling and giggling, reaching for us, pointing to where he wants to go.

And the pointing.  I have these moments when I say, "Oh, this is what is meant about pointing and joint attention."  J. still does not have any words that I would record as definitively his first, but he is a pretty clear communicator.  He points at what he wants and where to go.  He says a number of syllables that seem, in context, to have meaning.  Dis (this), dat (that), dug (duck or dog, depending on what's in front of him), mum-mum (me), mama (A.), da (yeah--apparently he's Russian).

J. gets super-excited every time he sees a microwave and something coming out of it.  He will try everything we put in front of him.  I believe that there's only one thing I'm seen him turn down completely after just one bite--lima beans.  (That's my boy!)  After E.'s picky palette, it's amazing to be able to pick a few things from my own meal and offer them to J., knowing he'll be happy to give it a try.  He may not be much of a sleeper, but I definitely got my good eater.

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This afternoon, J. and I waited for E. to finish school.  He sat on my hip, supported by the sling.  He grabbed his jacket from me and covered his face.  "Where's J.?" I asked.  He dropped his hands, revealing his face and the biggest grin.

Happy Birthday, J.