18 months and growing...

Kellan turned 18 months old on Sunday. He is now closer to two than he is to one. My baby is no longer a baby. He is a silly, stubborn, smart, fun, sometimes infuriating, handsome, wonderful, and perfect toddler. I am loving this age. He is so independent in some ways (or he'd like to be!), yet still totally dependent in many others. He is talkative, social, curious, and always looking for ways to learn. He can be incredibly impatient and easily frustrated, but he is also jubilant, excited, and eager in everything that he does. We might simply be on a long shopping expedition and at every stop Kellan is out of the car, squealing with delight, waving his arms unconsciously in his excitement. Just to be here. To be alive and experiencing whatever it is that we're about to do. There is such joy and exuberance at the mere mention of "time to go" or "where are your shoes?", as he contemplates the adventures upon which we are about to embark.

At 18 months, Kellan is so different to his infant self. He is much bigger of course, especially as we've recently had a growth spurt and all of the summer clothes which were quite big on him in June are now a bit on the tight side. He has a huge vocabulary (even when half of the words do sound the same to the untrained ear), though he still won't call me anything but "That". He is a slightly fussy eater, probably normal for the age, but some days I wonder if he'll ever eat anything other than refried beans, mashed potatoes, or macaroni and cheese. He can be incredibly sweet, but when angry can lash out with the best of them. We're working on the "no hit" rule at the moment. He loves puppies and hates green beans. He worships his father. When we're at the park, he scours the grass for dandelions and brings them to me one by one. A son who picks flowers for his mother. My son. My toddler.