This little gent is such a hoot.
I told him that the other day, "You're just a little hoot!"
"I'm a little hoot!" he said. "Yep, I'm a little hoot! Dad, I'm a hoot. A little one!" He made it into a little song. For half an hour. He never stops talking.
He can't say "l" or "r" sounds, and "s" blends are a challenge. Half the time we have no idea what he's saying. "Can you say Llllllllllll-evi? L-L-L-L-Levi." I say. "L-L-L-L-Yevi," he replies. Instead of worrying about it, I am charmed.
When he was ten months old he couldn't walk. But he didn't know he couldn't walk. No hesitant wobbles and tentative first steps for him. He got up and walked across the room. Well, not really. His intent and his ability didn't quite match. What really happened was, he got up and fell on his face. Over and over and over and over. Until he walked across the room.
He kind of lives his whole life like that, with a "why not?" air. Instead of mere walking and running, he has this way of skipping and dancing and wobbling and bouncing his way through his days. He's the one who brushes off and keeps going when he takes a tumble, who finds a way to put a bright spin on things. He'll smile through tears with a quivering lip and say, "I know! I can try again!"
In the picture he's saying, "C'mon, Mom! C'mon!" He wants to see and do everything, and he wants to make sure that the rest of us follow right along to see and do everything too. Living life with that kind of enthusiasm is enviable, precious, endearing.
I wish he could stay little forever, and I can't wait to see what he's going to do, what he's going to learn, what challenges he'll overcome next. The mom dilemma, we're always cheering the next steps while we mourn what they're leaving behind.
He's got me absolutely and utterly charmed. They all do.