In an anticipated, and yet somehow still surprising turn of events, the pajama-clad hero of our tale turned one last Saturday. It seems reasonably amazing that it was already more than a year ago that I had to outsmart an overly bold possum at my front door as we headed out to the hospital at 3 a.m. I think back on that moment now and somehow the ridiculousness of that possum encounter seems a very fitting beginning to the life of the fellow pictured above.
He loves to throw things and make loud noises and to snuggle up. He is all about mischief (already!) and the chasing of pets and climbing into this and under that. He thinks that his big sister is the very best thing that there is. He loves to watch the bird feeder, thoroughly dislikes bananas and has no qualms about yelling at strangers in the grocery store. He shamelessly flirts with old ladies and then as soon as I notice him doing it, pretends to be shy. He gets right up next to something that he knows he shouldn't touch, and then right before he touches it, turns around to look at me, smiles and shakes his head and says "no, no, no." And I laugh every time.
He keeps me very much on my toes, but I will be the first to admit that it is a pretty good place to be.