We are both back in good spirits, and thank goodness. You are so full of gaping-mouth smiles and shrieking laughter most of the time; it makes it especially heartbreaking by contrast to see you miserable.
Whereas we used to spend an hour or so at the park most mornings, now our routine is 15 minutes of stuffing, tying, bundling and zipping, 5 minutes in the backyard snow (where you delightedly stuff your face with this strange, fluffy ice until you remember that you can’t walk in your suit, can’t even get up if you tip, and promptly start crying), and 10 minutes of undressing/eating the snow that came in on our boots. It’s not the same, but it’ll have to do.
You’ve really started to make full use of our first floor layout, running in crazy circles through the hall, office, dining room, living room, back to the hall. Often one or more of your wheeled, on-a-string toys does this circuit with you, and you provide the soundtrack (a long, single pitch, made staccato by your wildly clomping little feet, like someone’s pounding you on the chest while you yell.)
Nothing on this great green Earth can make you laugh like your daddy’s antics, but dare I say it, you’ve been favoring me of late. Giving me more kisses, wanting to stay on my hip no matter what, screaming bloody murder when I leave for work. It’s had the humorous effect of making Drew up his game: running across the house and diving in giant belly flops onto the floor (trying to catch the ball that he ‘dropped’), doing crazy windmilling, spinning dances, chasing and bouncing and throwing you. You love slapstick and adrenaline rushes.
Your laugh is just irrepressible. It’s beautiful. I love you so much, little peanut.