His Right Hand Knows What His Left Hand Holds

I've been noticing all the time what a big boy Johnny seems like lately. Maybe it's his new fall wardrobe, or maybe he is just becoming a (gasp) big boy, but it is wild. He teeters all over the joint, pulling himself up to greater heights, he's taking a REAL interest in the contents of counter tops and table tops and buffet tops oh my.

Um, I think I missed the memo on Child Proofing, Part Deux.

He bends at the waist now to pick something up, rather than squatting. He'll find himself standing unassisted and crash to the floor, outraged to have been unsupported for even a fraction of a second. "Boom!" I tell him. "Bem!" he'll reply, and laugh hysterically. He'll pull books off of the shelves in his room and pillows off of his rocking chair, "Bem, bem, bem!" In the tub at night he'll throw all of the toys up in the air. "Bem!" He'll say. "Splash," I say. "Spas, spas, spas!" They are tiny rubber bath toys that make tiny little spases. So why do I emerge from the bathroom looking like I caught in a downpour? Yesterday he shocked the shit out of me by crawling over to his favorite book. "Mama, Mama" he said. The name of the book? MAMA MAMA. Could you die?

And so I never forget because I love the hell out of this habit: He tools around the house ALL DAY with one item clutched in his left hand. Be it a block or a teething ring, remote or telephone. He must have it at all times. Apparently, it's his gasoline or something.

I was taking a walk with my neighbor last night, talking about how much fun I have with him, how great it is now. She's the mom of five and three year-old kids, and she laughed with me, saying what a huge fan she is of the toddler phase. Consider me a convert. I'm the hugest fan of John Joseph that there is.