Climbing seems to be the theme in our house right now. Yesterday, Topher went under his crib, pulled out a little step stool I keep hidden under there, dragged it over to the other side of his room, and used it to climb up on the twin-sized bed. I also watched as he came into our room and used our box spring as a step to heave himself up onto our bed. Then this morning while I was drying my hair, I heard him laughing and went into our closet to find him sitting in a drawer of the dresser. He seems to be everywhere at once, and he only needs about 5 seconds to get himself into trouble.
Some people have asked me if I miss him being a tiny baby, if I miss being able to set him down knowing that he would stay there until I came and put him somewhere else. The answer to that is a resounding no. This age is so much more interesting, and so much more fulfilling for me. I can ask him for a kiss and he'll lean in and slobber me. We can play chase and peek-a-boo. He throws a lot of fits, but I know now what causes them (me taking an object away from him that is dangerous, mostly). When he was tiny, he'd cry and cry and we wouldn't have the slightest idea what was wrong. Yes, he can make more messes now--it seems to be his reason for being, in fact--but to see him stand up on his own and walk across the room is just amazing. Or to hear him say, "Up, up!" when he wants to go upstairs or wants to be picked up.
I still get overwhelmed a lot. I probably say, "I can't do this anymore!" at least a few times a week (ask TJ, I really do). But something good is happening here. Something that makes this little boy reach out to me and hold on like a koala bear, and something that makes me shrug at my destroyed house. Something that tells me that we're raising someone extraordinary, someone who maybe isn't clapping for himself so much as he is for his stumbling parents who have at least made it this far.