My friend’s baby is a little over a year-old.
He clings to your side when you hold him, his chubby little legs straddling your middle. He has red cheeks and wet lips ready to give you a smile (that holds exactly 10 teeth) if you even glance at him. If you make a funny face, he will explode in that baby laughter that you haven’t heard in a long time.
He isn’t walking yet. But he gets around swiftly on his bottom and can even crawl with one hand (he must be a genius)! He grunts and groans and makes other cavemen-like sounds to express himself (much like the other men in my life) and his overall demeanor is that of a happy, contented baby boy.
When he’s tired, he’ll rub his eyes into your shoulder and lay his head upon it for only a minute before lifting it up again as if to say “me, tired? I don’t think so”.
He squeals with delight when you place him in his high chair (I had forgotten how to work one of those things – memory is a funny thing) like you’ve just discovered an underground tomb of cheerios together that nobody else has. He reaches and pulls mounds of macaroni and cheese to his lips and shovels the handfuls into his little mouth faster than you can dish it up. He wants more.
“Give me more, my needs are simple, just give me more mac and cheese!”
The phrases “use your words”, “please share your dollies” and “give her back her toy” mean nothing to him . . . yet.
He is happy enough to just watch his sister and my daughter squabble in between playing. It is as if he is just not ready to tread that water yet, and that is completely fine with him. He’ll just hang out on my hip, where he is welcomed.
He lays still for his diaper changes and laughs at you when you realize that upon opening said diaper, you've gotten more than you bargained for.
He cuddles, snuggles and wiggles his way into your heart (and anyones within a mile radius) where forever his fresh babyness and sweet demeanor will reside.
Oh the babyhood. It goes so fast.
Soon he will be wearing deodorant and throwing worms on his brother. He'll learn to roll his eyes and become picky about his clothes. He'll leap over fences and ride skateboards down hills he shouldn't. He'll (gasp) fart on purpose and discover how to crack his knuckles.
Not that I would know anything about all that. No.