Sam's a little under the weather today. I can't get over the cuteness of sick babies...with pink boots. Cute because they're sick and don't try to milk it. They just want to be happy, want to go outside without shoes or coats, want to laugh and smile, want to be independent. They're innocent.
When does it change?
When do we start wanting people to feel sorry for us when we're sick?
The last two weeks Sam has blossomed. I can tell more and more that he's understanding and responding to things we say, like, "Go get your shoes, it's time to go." And he does. Or, "Do you want to get in the tub?" And he takes off for the bathroom. He doesn't say much besides "Da Da" and "Ma" and other babbles that I can't quite translate, but he's understanding more and more every day. I love this stage of development. He feels empowered because he can do so much himself.
He's learning routines. Throwing his dirty diapers in the garbage. Folding his arms when we pray. Grabbing a book and sitting on my lap. Pointing to the pictures of the kids on the wall going up the stairs and waving goodnight to each of them.
It never gets old. No matter how many kids you have.