Leeleebooboo

Liam’s been very cute lately.
I mean, he’s always been cute, but now it’s threatening to kill me. The cuteness. It’s achingly wonderful.
The child is snuggly. He asks for hugs and kisses, and often after a hug, he’ll simply turn around so he can plop himself in your lap for a while, pleased just to sit there quietly for a few perfect moments.
He’s saying more, or at least trying to. He talks to his friends in the television, answering Steve when he asks what colour to mix with blue to make green. Sure, he says “EH!”, not “yellow” but it’s consistent. It’s meaningful. He says “uh-oh” until I meet his eyes, then he’ll drop his fork or open the drawer and throw the wooden spoons around triumphantly.
He sits on the floor, a book in his lap, babbling constantly over the pages. He’ll turn a page, gaze at the contents for a moment, then jabber on, reading in his little, big way.
It’s amazing how awed I can be at these things, even after already having raised two boys through this stage. But the beautiful thing about us all is our differences, isn’t it? And it’s so apparent in children, right from the start. Fascinating to witness and lose yourself in those differences.

The other day, I was on the computer, and Liam was toddling around, very busy with his tasks. Suddenly he was in front of me, handing me the DVD remote. He looked into my eyes purposefully and yelled one of his Liam words. Then, he went to stand in front of the TV, gazing at me expectantly.
“You want to watch Blue’s Clues?” I asked?
“AH!” he replied, bouncing joyfully.
I put the disk in and he sighed happily.
I asked him if he wanted to sit in his seat, and he ran toward the seat, arms upraised so I could lift him into it.
I love my son.
I love all my sons.