Carter is the kind of boy who knows what he wants.  And he’s not afraid to tell you.  He climbs on everything.  He wants to do big boy things.  He thinks he is a big boy, but I know he’s not.

The pediatrician tells us he’s too skinny.  That’s what happens when you eat like a bird.  She says to keep giving him a bottle until he’s at least eighteen months old.  The way he loves that bottle every night, I think he might have it till he’s at least eighteen years old.  Nevermind.  I don’t want to think about him being eighteen.

Carter sleeps like a machine at night.  Eleven straight hours without a peep.  His one nap is not very long.  He loves juice.  He hates real food.  He loves snacks.

He has played with a few choices toys for extended periods of time: a magna doodle, this red balloon, and jumbo legos.  This shows me that I can actually produce a child with an attention span of at least twenty minutes.  This excludes counting plopping my children in front of a movie to instill any sanity that remains after a hectic hour.

Carter loves coloring, like his big brother.  He loves our cat.  Our cat doesn’t love him.  Her tail is petrified of his grabby hands.  He loves the water and makes me nervous.  He likes to take the caps off of all the markers.  This drives me crazy.

He is one smart fellow.  He can count: one, two, three, six, seven, eight, ten, thirteen.  He can point to ten body parts, including his butt.  He adores animals and can name or point to many of them–he knows almost all of their sounds.  He would sit for hours and read books with you if you’d let him–his favorites are Is Your Mama a Llama?, Elmer’s Weather and What Shall We Do With the Boo-Hoo Baby?  He loves singing, and listening to him finish the lines of so many songs makes me happy.

My little man is growing up–just like his big brother.  These are the days to remember.  They will not last forever.