Welp, he did it. Baby Boy turned one last month. I’ll spare you the “he’s growing too fast†spiel, because it’s nothing I haven’t written in my previous 11 months worth of Isaac posts (and in so many posts about baby Jules before that). I’ll just say…he’s changing at warp speed, and there are things about his early baby days that I miss dearly, but there’s so much joy in this current phase we’re in. I’m seeing more of his personality shine, understanding better what makes him tick. And I like who he is a whole, whole lot.
He’s happiest when he’s on the move and continues to favor toys with wheels over anything else. This rolling red helicopter goes with us everywhere. Â
But a Birkenstock will do in a pinch when he needs something with a little more slide-ability than his often-sticky hands.
He’s a climber and has graduated from trying to crawl up onto our low fireplace mantle to trying to climb up onto the couch or the chairs or even onto our beds. Daily I walk into the living room to find his arms scrabbling to take hold of the couch cushions, his legs kicking wildly in the air as he tries to swing them up. We generally keep the basement door closed, but if I’m coming in from the garage with him, I’ll set him at the bottom of the stairs and let him crawl up ahead of me – he’s like Spiderman scaling a building, his arms and legs taking each step in ultra-quick succession. The only problem is his stubborn desire to head back down the stairs after reaching the top, so that he can do it again and again and again.
When he’s not scooting circles around the kitchen with one of his cars our doing his best to summit the couch, he’s often perched at the windowsill, watching the world go by. He loves watching the sprinklers run; if Shane or Juliette are outside, he’ll bang on the window excitedly before dropping to his knees and crawling to the door, begging to go out. He’s part puppy, this kid.
Occasionally he’ll sit still, if he’s strapped into his high chair with a tray of food in front of him, or if he’s tucked into the swing on one of our morning playground visits.
Or if he’s snuggled against my chest in…the gray chair! God bless the gray chair.
He’s still not consistently sleeping through the night, which certainly isn’t ideal, but I don’t mind getting up once with him if it’s short and sweet. It’s the mornings that he’s up for the day at 5am that really slay me. TOO EARLY, Bud. Too early. If only he understood how much better he feels when he waits to wake until the sun’s fully up!
He’s doing alright in his new daycare, but comes home a little worse for the wear some days – eating and sleeping in the midst of several other babies is an acquired skill. Sometimes he looks so rough by 5:30 pm that it’s all I can do not to laugh…does he not pose a striking resemblance to Boris Johnson here?
Ah, bath time. There’s my cute kid.Â
On the good days, he’ll get a second wind after bath and play happily till bedtime at 7:00.
He was especially giddy at bedtime on the eve of his birthday, wiggling and giggling as I rocked him. I reveled in the silliness, laughing at his laughing, which made him laugh more, which made me laugh more, which made Juliette call out, “What’s going on in there?!”, at which point she came in and yukked it up with us for a couple of minutes.
The party was relatively short-lived, though.
Good night, sweet boy. See you when you’re ONE!
Isaac doesn’t have the luxury of several other baby buddies like his sister did, so his party the next evening was low-key. My mom and dad were in town and we invited the Rusts over for a back yard dinner.
More wheels! Yippee!
And hot dogs…his most favorite meal.
And watermelon. Also a fan favorite, evidenced by the fact that he tray was licked clean before I even snapped a pic!
Isaac was a little befuddled by all the fuss, by the presents and the singing and the cupcakes, but his sister had great fun with it!
Sweet girl – not an ounce of sibling envy in her.
Ok, but seriously, Isaac – can you at least pretend to be interested?
It took a few minutes for him to figure out what to do with his cupcake, but once the buttercream frosting hit his tongue, he got it.
Cupcake remnants wiped from his face, frosting washed from his hair, and freshly jammied, we snapped a few final birthday pics.
It took all night, but finally he was feeling that birthday groove.
We opened the last of his gifts the next morning, bopped around with his birthday balloons, and then started the business of settling into waddler-hood.
Isaac Henry, you’ve brought such light and laughter to this house. We’ve known for years that we wanted you, but we never imagined just how wonderfully you’d complete our family. Juliette asked at dinner one night how we would describe you in a single word and while there were several front-runners thrown about, like charming, lovable, rascally, and messy (it was dinner time and the blueberry carnage was intense), none of them fully captured your essence.  I think I’ve got it though, looking at your cheesy grin and chubby thighs. You are delight, through and through. Â
Happy Birthday, Rascal. You are loved.