365 days of porter

I may say this every year for the rest of my life, but this was the fastest year ever. I worry that I failed to capture all the moments and milestones photographically, and I fear that Porter did not receive all the attention that his older brothers both enjoyed at the same age. In fact, when I look back over last summer I am surprised to realize that Porter was alive at that time. Isn't that terrible? I was so caught up in Will's issues that I think both Andrew and Porter were shifted a bit to the side. They can discuss it in-depth one day from the comfort of the therapist's couch; be it known that I did my unmedicated best.

Now for the details only his mother will care about.

At a year, you had four-going-on-six teeth. Two top front and bottom, and the two canines growing in. You were 19 lbs 9 oz, 10th % for weight and 75% for height. (This despite my obsession with calories and access to milk. I just have small kids!).

You began walking at 11 months, one week. You first walked in your bedroom, to Andrew. We do have that on tape.

You clap, kiss, hug and wave, spontaneously and on command. You say "dada" and "Bah!" (for bye). You point every time you see something interesting (in your world this usually consists of dogs, cats, birds or the bunny family that shares our yard) and exclaim either "dah! or "cah!" (exclusive to cats, whereas everything else is a Dah!).

You love to dance, and do so whenever any music plays, when someone sings, or if you speak or rhyme in a certain way. You've got rhythm. You are the only child in the household who can play the recorder without damaging our eardrums, too. I am very proud of our little rendition of Mary Had A Little Lamb. You provide the wind and I provide the fingers, and together we can play most anything.

You love to climb. It is pretty horrible. You have been "death climbing" (Andrew's term) on the steps since well before me moved into our new house in March. You have moved on to climbing up ladders and even on top of our 24 inch backless counter stool. I looked over in the kitchen and there you were, standing straight up on that slippery smooth stool, ready for a concussion.

Why no, he is not yet sleeping through the night, thanks for asking. But he is down to one nap a day. He is usually a great little table companion, feeding himself from the food dumped on his tray. He prefers to use a fork of his own. He likes black beans, blueberries, melons, noodles, cheese (shredded or stick) and peas. He will eat meat that is shredded. He prefers sippy cups with built-in straws (which is what I use exclusively with Will). Porter loves to blow bubbles with his milk and then dump a bunch out through the pin hole on the lid. I know he will do this, but I let him have the cups anyway. A combination of maternal exhaustion and my eternally springing hope that this time will be different.

Porter, you just love to be tenderly rubbed. If someone strokes your face or neck, you will immediately freeze to soak up the sensation.

Your favorite things to do are play catch (though in your version you hand-deliver the ball to me), bite the ends off of your brother's nerf darts, and direct toy cars around in the floor. You love to go outside and crawl around. You insist on getting rides on Will's scooter and have tried to insist on riding Andrew's bike but I draw my line at physical impossibility.

You love ice-cream and it seemed only right (and delicious and easy) for your birthday cake to be a BR ice cream cake.

You also love the tub and will go wild in it every single night. If I were prone to worrying about anything besides kidnapping, I would worry that you would injure yourself with your stunts. You once tried to climb up the far corner, fell and became completely submerged. Before I could do anything, you flipped over under the water and pushed yourself to the surface. You didn't even cry. If I mention the tub or bath, you will immediately begin miming splashing and then will begin chirping away. I cannot characterize the sounds you make as really anything other than chirps.

Having witnessed countless wrestling matches btwn his brothers and dad, Porter is ever-ready for a fight. When the mood strikes him, he will lumber over to one of his brothers and launch and attack. He even does it with a little baby roar.

Since Will won't be reading this post, it is safe to admit here that Porter has a preference for his oldest brother. Port, you just love Andrew and always wants to play with him.

Port-Pie, in a year that was otherwise the most difficult and stressful of my life (and I am counting high school in that), you were a ray of sunshine. A ray that would not stop shining, right in my sleepless eyes even at 3 am, but a ray none the less. I love you and I know I am so blessed to get to be your mom. I make a lot of mistakes, but I think you might be tough enough to survive anyway.

Love always,

Mom