31 December 2015

BEAU, the Bomb-Diggity

Beau is now the same age as Katie in the pictures that I’ll have sprinkled throughout this post. I love little toddlers; the way they walk around and move and giggle and listen and amaze you with what they can understand, before they can even fully talk back to you.

Beau can’t say Katie’s name yet, so he calls her “Ie! Ie!” That’s just the last two letters of her name; the long “e” sound. It’s so cute. Definitely one of the joys of having a second child is watching them interact with the first. It’s precious. Except when it’s not, because this little boy is all about just running up to her and ripping something out of her hands.

But we're working on it.

He ran into her room at bedtime last night, hollering, “Ie! Ie! Ie!” all the way. When he hit her bed, he waved big as Dallas right in her face and then started hollering, “Bye! Bye!” Close enough to good night, right? And then he took off to the blue table in the kitchen, sat down, and started playing with the Christmas toys again.

You can tell him anything or ask him anything, and he’ll nod or go do what you need. He’s smart! Says the biased mother in love with her baby boy.

I told Brady the other night: He is the best decision we’ve ever made.

And before anyone thinks: What about Katie? Well, she is the best first baby a mama and daddy could ever ask for, but she wasn’t a decision; she was a surprise party, if you know what I mean.

When he plays with his trucks and tractors and train, he makes the most awesome little motor noises. And then I’ll say: Someone’s motor is runnin! Whose motor is that?” And he’ll pat his belly or his chest and puff it out and grin really big at you, like: That’s my motor, Mama!”

Needless to say, I love baby boys. I love THIS baby boy so much I can’t breathe. He moves, moves, moves, climbs, and then moves some more. And the whole time I’m chasing after him and trying to get him to go my way and picking up after him, I’m grinning. I might be sighing, too, because I’m kicking Legos across the kitchen with every step I take and impaling myself on the grocery cart, but I’m also grinning.

The only time he really stops moving is to listen to his sister or drink his bottle. Yes, bottle. He can have it ‘til he’s 2, and then Daddy can wean him. Yay, daddies! I’ll be in the tub crying and eating cheese puffs.

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