Anyway.
He didn't land on the hospital floor, and he's only fallen off our bed once in his first year, which I think is a pretty good record.
Tater is an all-boy boy's boy. If he has a choice between New Mommy and New Daddy, he chooses his dad. (Actually, it's a toss-up between my dad and New Daddy; I'm not even in that equation.) He is eager, a go-getter, has always known what to do with food (no dribbling messes around here), loves wrestling Bubby, playing in water, getting tickles, watching silly faces, enjoying the doting affection of his sisters, nursing, and crowing over a new skill while his crowd of admirers claps for him. He is used to being the center of attention, but he also enjoys observing of the antics of others. I'd say he'll be a pretty socially balanced person. As are most children who grow up with three siblings and an exceptionally considerate daddy.
That we weren't expecting to have another baby has made us really appreciate Tater. I tell people that I love him so much, he's turned me into a grandma. He cuddles, giving sweet rubs and pats when he wraps his arm around us. I unashamedly love on him constantly, willing him to stay small. But it's not happening. Lately, I've been wishing that there were babies in heaven, just so we can enjoy them.
Here are the words he says: hey, bye-bye (and waves), Da-da, Da-da-da, Na-na (me), uh-oh, leh-luh-leh-luh, gm (gutteral), goo-goo, and doo-doo. He is starting to stand a little on his own, and he's taken a couple of tentative steps. He wants to walk; if his crowd of admirers keeps cheering him on, it will probably happen soon. Another thing that happened today is that his eighth tooth finally came through the gumline!So this is Tater: our sweet gift from God, and the eye of the whirlpool of activity that is our home.
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