My beautiful boy is 22 months old today. There are so many wonderful things about him that I will forget to mention here, and I haven’t done an Inigo update for so long that it seems silly to try to do a massive catch up now. Suffice it to say that he becomes more adorable with each passing day, and every day he amazes me with some little thing that I didn’t know he knew.
He is becoming quite the people person, charming everyone he meets, learning new names (and repeating them often), and then asking me to call – Nanna, Mone, Andrew, Akis (Alex), all get asked for repeatedly, as does our Indonesian babysitter, Juliana. Apparently “j” is a very hard sound for little mouths to make, and often doesn’t come until kids are about four and a half. He’s also using four words in a row (“more bubbles please daddy” became a common phrase), and is relatively intelligible to strangers. So even though some of his gross motor skills have been a little late, it now seems to be accelerating, and his speech and fine motor skills are pretty good.
All of this I only mention because I think all parents worry about their kids, and I am convinced that I am the worst parent in the world, and that Inigo not learning to crawl till he was 11 months old, and not walking till 17 months old is clear evidence that I am a bad mother and should be locked up. Now that he is showing signs of being scarily bright and is way ahead of me, I have new fears…
He is starting to climb steps without needing a hand to hold, standing upright on his wobbly little legs, and determinedly conquering one step after another. He’s starting to run, is obsessed with flowers, rocks, keys, and remote controls/phones.
Last week he told me that he loved me, and tears rolled down my face.