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One year

I have no idea how this happened so quickly, but my child has now spent an entire year on earth. Despite all the times I asked him to stop growing, he turned a year old this past week. That’s right, internet friends. My son is basically an irresponsible adult. He recently started driving (a plastic...

carI have no idea how this happened so quickly, but my child has now spent an entire year on earth. Despite all the times I asked him to stop growing, he turned a year old this past week. That’s right, internet friends. My son is basically an irresponsible adult. He recently started driving (a plastic toy car that gets pushed around by actual adults). He has a drinking problem (milk gives him gas). And now, he’s hitting on older women every chance he gets (he loves grandmas). This kid is getting older and crazier by the second.
Now that he has turned the corner, I have started to anticipate other mind-blowing milestones that await us. For one thing, he has yet to walk. Even though he can crawl at roughly 30 miles an hour, we figure that he will soon start to realize that there are far more efficient ways to travel. Crawling is too painful on the knees, after all.
Still, the little guy does not seem to mind rough terrain. Whenever he starts crawling on uncomfortable floors, he stands up with his legs while continuing to crawl with his hands, in order to avoid rubbing his knees on the ground. It’s the gorilla walk, and he is incredible at it. I have watched this dude gorilla-walk for about 20 feet before finally putting his knees down.
In addition to walking, we figure he might stop using the bottle soon. Doctors and the Internet and Oprah say that babies should stop using the bottle around this time, so I guess the end is near. This will be a sad, sad day. I say this not because I will miss making his bottle or because I think he looks cute while drinking it. I say this because Oliver has recently learned to turn his drinks into projectiles, and the bottles rarely spill. This kid can throw a bottle better than any angry sports fan, and I dread the idea of him launching one of those flimsy little sippy cups at my face. The bottle is soft, harmless, and familiar. I am not quite ready for a sippy cup to break across my forehead and splash juice in my eyes.
So please, please, little boy, stop growing. You are adorable (and much less dangerous) just the way you are.