Boy

He is walking. He is talking. He is all boy.

He is fascinated by all things noisy. He can hear the bus cruising down Coney Island Avenue and points excitedly, "BUS! BUS!" We put a little step stool in front of the window and he stands and watches the buses and the garbage trucks and the fire trucks and the ice cream truck. When he's not on the step stool watching the Brooklyn excitement, he's walking around the house, bulldozer in one hand and something in his mouth (Mahalia's stethoscope, for example.)

I forgot how exciting language acquisition is for a kid and he wants to know what everything is, pointing and asking, "Dis? (this?)"
To my surprise (as if I've not done this before) he repeats everything I tell him. Perhaps more shockingly, he often utters full sentences of which Shane and I can discern a couple of words--"Iwannagoinsyangea BOOK" and sure enough, the little dude goes inside and comes back carrying his favorite tractor book.

He wakes up most mornings happy, smiling and chatting, often saying, "iwannaseeHalia." He'll scurry off, go into her bedroom and stand, waiting patiently by her bedside. He is a dreamy little boy whose hair gets blonder and skin gets browner by the day. We are all in happy family bliss much of the time, despite the gnarly daily life schedule, and feel giddy to be around each other.