My baby boy is eighteen months old today. Eighteen. 18! A whole year and another half of a year! I’m not sure how this happened, because didn’t I just look like this?
And he like this?
And then he started sitting and crawling and standing and walking and running and talking and soon he’ll be going to college. Someone pour me a drink, please.
At birth, Preston was 9lbs 14oz and 22 inches long. Today he is 27.2lbs and 34.4 inches tall.
Preston’s vocabulary has started to explode in the last two weeks. Before that, he had a couple one-syllable words. Ma. Ba (this meant ball, bath, football). Mih (milk). Bees (please). Uh oh. And he barked every time he saw a dog.
Now he makes brrrrrrrm sounds when he wants a car. He says whoosh (shoes), buhsh (toothbrush), pwease (please), no, hot, tuhduuuuuuh (touchdown), num (when he is about to get food), appo (apple) … and I can’t remember any more at the moment. He’s starting to mimic a ton now, which he wasn’t doing at all before. Oh, and he knows what sounds a horse, cat, cow, tiger, and dog make. Baby humans! So trainable!
He loves food and will eat pretty much anything. He’ll especially be interested in eating anything that is on your plate.
Presto’s favourite toys are cars and balls. He’s always got at least one car in each hand, and a lot of the time he carries around a bus that fits a bunch of cars inside.
Preston genuinely loves football. Noah got his wish. Whenever football is on the screen, Preston will excitedly yell, “BALL! BALL!!” He’ll sit with Noah and watch the Patriots beat down whichever team they’re playing that day.
His Big Papi, however, has different plans for Preston’s future team.
Preston has so much fun with his buddy Kesler. These two get along like siblings, in that they’re best buds one minute, and bitter rivals the next. Lather, rinse, repeat. His sisters both dote on him, and he wants to be everywhere they are. Whether they like it or not.
He’s still nursing, but I’m starting to wean him. By the end of October, he will be done. I’ll write more about this later, as it’s something I’ve fought hard for. Not against anyone, but against a lot of external obstacles, starting on his first day of life. And we’ve surpassed my goal of nursing for a year. I’m pretty sure Preston is one of those kids who would nurse until he was three if I let him, but some things have come up and it’s time to be done. I have mixed feelings about this.
He has been in a Big Boy Bed for a couple months now, and is doing fantastic. We only had one day where he got out of his bed and out of his room, but other than that, he stays in there until we come to get him. He hasn’t yet fallen out of it, although we have found him kneeling on the floor with his head on his bed, fast asleep.
Presto-puff has a sense of humor and a taste for mischief. Some say that kids don’t understand right and wrong until at least two years of age, but HE KNOWS. Boy, does he ever. He may not say much, but he understands things perfectly, and has that little twinkle in his eye when he runs away giggling after I’ve called him over for a stinky diaper change. Or when I tell him not to touch the buttons on the TV, and he looks me RIGHT IN THE EYE, touches the button, and starts laughing.
He’s kind of a goober.