Oh Seamus, my little independent, laughing, clapping boy: happy birthday!
You arrived in such a hurry last year, right after the fondue – but before dessert. Despite your frenzied arrival, you’ve been a pretty calm kid. You crawled only after ten months of sitting. And the crawl is an odd hybrid – you walk on one leg, crawl on one knee. I call you Quasimodo, affectionately.
You speak so much! You can say ball (aba), book (guk), all done (ada!) Dada, Mama, Owen (Oweh!), Owl (Owuh!), clap (cap), and more. You love to clap more than almost anything right now, with the possible exception of pulling yourself onto your feet and slapping a table.
You are better at playing by yourself that Owen is – still – which is pretty amazing. You love books, and they do not make them nearly sturdy enough for your curious pulling hands. Your favourite book is fast becoming more glue than cardboard.
You love food, and if there’s something you don’t like, you look at us with amusement and toss the offending morsel aside. When you are in a performative mood, you flick food into your mouth with a flourish. I have no idea where you learned this trick.
I cannot wait to see what you learn to do next. You’re wonderful. Keep it up!
Love Mummy.
