He hugs. He flirts. He shares whatever piece of food he currently has mashed up in his hand. He brings a book to you and plops down on your lap to flip the pages faster than you could ever read them. He hands you a toy, a wet washcloth, a crumb off the floor, a rock, a bug, a handful of sand.
He stomps up and down in a tantrum. He marches in place and waves his arms to dance. He has dimples in his cheeks and at the base of his fingers. He smiles and the world smiles. He says, "hi kitty" and "dada" and "mama" and "bbbrrrrrrmmmmm" (truck noise). He chatters in his own language.
He is learning to run, and often falls down. His armpits are ticklish. He loves plums and yogurt melts and chicken and corn. He loves trucks and bugs and sand and splashing.
He's the world to me. His strawberry blond hair, his blue eyes, his chubby knees and tushy butt and niblet toes. He, and his father who assisted in his making, are my world. My family. My guys.
I am seriously the luckiest.