There’s an old nursery rhyme that goes like this:
What are little boys made of, made of?
What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails and puppy dog tails,
That’s what little boys are made of!
Daddy and I are quickly learning that raising a son is very different from raising a daughter. You are already getting more bumps, bruises and cuts than your sister did at your age. They are well-earned, as you are definitely more rambunctious than she was, too. You love climbing on top of and over pretty much anything, running pell-mell, and pulling up onto and/or hanging off of things like tables and dressers. You also tend to have a devil-may-care temperament when chasing after something you want, which has led to any number of mishaps.
On Christmas Eve, as we were getting dressed for church, you smacked your head on a dresser, garnering a decent-sized lump and bruise on your forehead. Just in time for family pictures! And last night, as you took off after something you wanted, you stumbled and landed face-first on the side corner of the same dresser, filling your mouth with blood and getting your first fat lip. My poor baby!
Over the last week, we’ve also discovered – incredulously – that you have figured out how to open the baby gates guarding the stairs. Peanut, you’re barely 17 months old; give your parents a break, will you?! Sheesh.
Oh, Peanut. Sometimes Daddy says “it’s a good thing you’re so cute,” and that is 100% truth. You certainly keep us on our toes. And we love you like crazy, just the way you are.