baby love

The baby is 12 months. TWELVE. We love him. The kids have helped me realize that Porter hasn't gotten much press here on the blog, which really doesn't show our life accurately. Because he is a constant bright light in our home.

I love porter at 12 months. I love that everyday he gives us a little piece of the puzzle of who he is. I love discovering something new about him.

I love his bedhead. I love that each one of the hairs on his head has a different idea in mind on where they want to go. I love that they all collide in a sort of slumped over standing tangled mess at the top of his head in the morning.

I love the way he alerts us to his plans to throw something by saying "Uh-oh!" first.

I love the way his laugh sounds like a deep bellied giggle.

I love how he loves to display his tongue whenever possible.



I love the way his baby babble can sound like someone singing a song when they don't know the words and can't stay on key.

I love how he could walk for months now, but chose not to until he could run.

I love how his chubby fingers always hover around his open mouth.



I love that whenever I laugh, he beams with pride, sure it must have been him that did something entertaining.
I love that when he laughs his face gets all scrunched up and the wrinkles on his nose make a V:


I love that when I walk out of few for more than 10 seconds when I come back into view, he lights up and says casually, "Hey."

I love that when he wrestles, he gets excited, and the excitement makes him feel the need to eat something, so he opens his mouth wide and proceeds to taste whomever he is wrestling with.



I love that when he says no, he doesn't just shake his head, he shakes his body.

I love him.

We love him.

He is truly one of the best little things.