Well, here we are. One whole year.
If it were up to you, you’d already be at least as old as Harper by now; it seriously pisses you off that you can’t keep up with her and the other kids in the neighborhood. You used to be content to watch their antics from afar; now you want to be in the middle of it all. Most of the kids quietly put up with your presence, except for the two youngest boys in the neighborhood, ages three and five. They have spent the first years of their lives on the receiving end of their siblings’ and cousins’ bashing; and now they wish to pass the tradition on to you. Finally! Someone younger and weaker! Stupid chumps; joke’s on them. Right now, you have your parents and your sister to protect you (like the other day when one of the kids squirted you in the face with a squirt gun; when they came back to do it again, Daddy soaked him with the garden hose, from head to toe); but soon you won’t need us. Soon you’ll be bigger than all these fools. Mwahahahaha!
And you can walk! You usually get five or six steps in before you collapse back to crawling. You love it when Harper takes you by the hand and leads you around the house. Crawling is still your preferred means of forward locomotion, but probably only for the next month or two. Until then, I’ll consider you a baby. And probably after that, too.
And! Teeth! Two of them, on the bottom. One popped up a few weeks ago, then his partner a few days later. This has done nothing to stop the steady stream of drool from your mouth. And there have been no signs of more to come. You’d think your father and I would know what to do with them, since you have a sister who still has all the teeth she came with, but we actually found ourselves asking Anette, our neighbor and a dentist, if we should be, uh, brushing them. We haven’t tried yet; I wonder if you’ll even let us.
Along with the teeth and the walking, you have also developed an apparently unquenchable thirst for mayhem and destruction. You love to reach inside drawers/boxes/cabinets and grab handfuls of straws/Duplos/cans of corn and toss them to the side. Grab, toss, grab, toss. Which means after five minutes of you in the kitchen, the floor is no longer visible. And as soon one of us even thinks about opening one of the doors that lead to our treacherous stairway, you are bounding out at high speed. Luckily, you can never contain your excitement, so your joyous noises are like a nice alarm system. Sometimes we’ll let you climb up the steps (the hard, granite steps, I should add) with one of us right behind you. This is the most exciting thing ever for you; it’s one of the most nerve-wracking for us. You are just not a careful baby. You have dived head first off the couch more times that we can count, despite all of our efforts to teach you to get down feet first. You are very unlike your sister, which I suppose was to be expected, and yet your stupid parents are shocked every time you do something she never did … like shove handfuls of sand into your mouth. Again and again. By the way: It is super gross when you pull crusts of bread out of the compost trash can and proudly stuff them into your mouth.
In other news, you’re still sleeping like shit … sometimes less like shit, sometimes more like big, big piles of shit. I’m mostly used to it and sometimes there isn’t enough coffee in the world to make up for all the sleep I’m not getting. But sleep is for assholes, right?
Besides Harper, who is truly your BFF for life, Lilly ranks high on the Creatures Isaac Loves list. Daddy actually put you in timeout the other night for repeatedly throwing your dinner down to her. Yes, timeout. I think he did it more to impress Harper, to be honest. But you will seriously look at us, understand when we tell you no, then chuck food down anyway.
And despite my (admittedly) half-assed efforts to teach you baby sign language, your preferred method of communication remains screeching. Harper is drinking water and you’re not? Tears! Someone walks past you without picking you up? Boo hoo hoo! Lilly’s food is placed out of reach, thus rendering it impossible for you to satiate your craving for dry dog food? Mamamamamamamama! I pick you up and don’t present you with boob right away? Waaaah! (and the flinging of yourself into a nursing position). You do have a few words in your vocabulary, though: Harper, Lilly, Mamamamama and Papa. That’s good enough for us!
The other day, you were outside in the backyard while I was in the kitchen. Then you started to cry; it was your “I’m hurt!!” cry, which is usually reserved for when you pinch your fat fingers in drawers. I ran outside, but I couldn’t see you. Then I heard your muffled cries, and I also noticed the big plastic shell-shaped thing we had leaning against the wall was moving around. I quickly lifted it up and freed you. Of course, I nursed you right away.
And then I laughed and laughed and laughed until the tears came.
This month’s nicknames: Gum Gum, Isy, Isaacy, Ice Bear, Nut Nut, Destruction Bear
P.S.: Here’s a bonus video with some highlights of your first year. The song is April by a German band called Blumfeld. It was on the CD we had in the labor room with you, and it just absolutely perfectly sums up how your father and I felt during that first week of your life, specially the first lyrics: