My youngest turned one just a few days ago and I am getting really sentimental. I miss holding the baby that was him at one month old.

He no longer has that sweet baby breath to smell.

He no longer whimpers and looks helpless.

He’s learned to walk (run, almost!) and yell and act like he is the king of drama.

He’s beginning to assert his independence by pointing where he wishes to go, pushing you away when he wants to get down to walk, and throwing a fit on the floor when he needs you to carry him.

He’s a funny one to watch, too. He goes around kaypoh-ing and disturbing his older siblings when they are reading / writing / drawing / playing, and gets really excited when they start bullying him. He absolutely loves it when they stick tape on him, stamp ink all over his arms and colour his legs.

On his birthday, he smiled at everyone who gathered around him at school and clapped along to his birthday song, before blowing out his own candle – huffing and puffing with all his might. (Ok, he couldn’t in the end so I helped him out.)

Thanks for being the happy, funny you, Nat. Happy birthday!