Anselm Ioan turned thirteen months yesterday, and I did something I have never done before in my entire career as a mother…
I mean I actually just remembered. He’s thirteen months! It happened yesterday. Fortunately I did take pictures of him yesterday–and except for my compulsive desire to be honest, I could have completely pretended that they were intentionally his thirteen-month-pictures. But now you know the truth.
Knowledge is power.
Our Mr. Mo is thirteen months. He’s getting around pretty well by army crawling, which means all of his clothes bear the tell-tale signs of a scooter: great long smears of grime across his belly and his forearms. It’s been a difficult transition for me; having late movers lulls you into this false state of confidence at being able to sit your baby down and come back several minutes later to find them in exactly the same spot. It’s as if you convince yourself that you have trained them that way. It is most unsettling, therefore, to have to wonder to yourself where on earth that baby is that you just set down next to an inviting pile of toys. Add to that the fact that’s very, very quiet…! The fact is that he’s gone from being an oversized paperweight to a baby ninja. He is very pleased with himself for being able to covertly clamber across a room and disappear before you know he’s gone.
He is pleased with himself for a great many things, actually. Being charming is certainly high on the list. He seems to be hyper-aware of the fact and uses it to his great advantage, like disarming grown-ups who are irritated at him for throwing his milk cup off the high chair again. I can’t quite get it across to him that that does not work. Much.
He also takes great pride in his conversational squealy-sounds that he makes in lieu of babbling. Oh, he does babble–and says a few words, when he wants to–but most of the time he resorts to just making those loopy, noodle-y, wheeling squeals that don’t seem to serve much purpose except to express a sort of delirious pleasure at whatever is capturing his attention.
He is unfortunately following Ephraim’s habits in regards to eating, which meant he loved to eat anything and everything until the one day that he didn’t like anything anymore. He does, however, like to suck the milk out of mini-wheats and is a pretty big fan of ham and beans (!?!) but I seem to have managed to birth a child that doesn’t like fruit AT ALL, and if not for the fact that he had those unmistakeable stork bites as a baby I might be concerned that the hospital switched babies on us.
We’re coming to the end of the adorable one-tooth-wonder era. (Well, one tooth on the top.) Three more top teeth are poking through as we speak. Er, read?
Happy Thirteen Months, Mr. Mo.