The Best Year: Oliver turned 1!

Oliver turned one yesterday.

 

Oliver turned one yesterday.

I've now lived through the birth and first year of two sons, and I can say with authority that these are the best worst years ever. The best because of everything that happens, and the worst because so much happens too fast.

Back when I started this blog, when Ethan was just a few months old, I posted daily. Over the years my time and energy have been divided among other worthy causes, so the blog has taken a backseat. I've been busy enjoying life, doing less writing about it. Consequently, I've written less about Oliver than I did about Ethan.

Believe me, though, it's not for want of material.

Oliver has been a joy since I first saw those amazingly pouty lips. He's done almost everything sooner than Ethan did, probably because he has Ethan as an example. The one exception: teeth. Oliver still doesn't have a tooth in his head, which makes that mischievous grin of his all the more endearing.

Oliver is proof that love can be exponential when done right. It was impossible to imagine feeling the amount of love I have for Ethan for anyone else, and then Oliver was born, and I just...did.

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He's a ridiculously happy baby. He certainly has his moments of frustration or fussiness, but they're few and far between for now.

He's a bit of a daredevil. He's adept at going up and down stairs, he loves climbing in general, and I'm thinking it's only going to get worse from here.

He snuggles. I can't imagine anything better than that little head on my shoulder, a little fluff of hair in my nose, those cheeks and lips in easy kissing range. You know you've arrived as a trusted friend when Oliver snuggles you.

He is totally enamored with Ethan. In his eyes, Ethan makes the world right. When his big brother pays him attention or picks him up (which is a recent development), he laughs out of sheer joy.

He scolds the dogs frequently, particularly my parents' dog Cooper. He's picked up on the constant pain in the neck that Cooper is, and shakes his fist and shouts "De da!" at him every time we walk into their house. Literally every time.

He knows how to say Mama (or Mamam) but rarely does. He usually reserves it for when he's in his crib and wants out, so he wails for me, "Mamamamamama! Mam! Mamam! Mam!" Naturally I always go get him, even if he really needs a nap.

He makes what I call "sad shapes" with his mouth whenever he's upset or doesn't like something (the nose gets scrunched, too, when it's displeasure rather than hurt). The top lip stretches down and the bottom one out when his heart is breaking, they get squished together and pushed out in the world's most luscious baby fish mouth when he's frustrated, etc.

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I'll be back soon with a month-by-month Oliver photofest, the way I did with Ethan. In the meantime, I'm busy putting together goodie bags and party decorations for the far-less-stressful-than-the-first-time First Birthday Bash.