A Note from Alexander the Great's Mother. Kidding. It's Just Me. Nicole.

Attention everyone: I have an announcement to make. My son, Corbet, has officially learned how to point and say, "Ah." Sure, when someone ELSE'S kid does it, it's just yeah, you know? Oh. Huh. Cute.

But when MY son does it, he's demonstrating his superior intellect. He's not even a year old yet. The boy understands POINTING. He might as well be writing out complex equations that calculate the wind-speed velocity of the slope of a rocket ship. I have no idea if that's a thing, but it sounds intense.

Anyway, when he does it, I melt and laugh and give him a big fat smooch.

 Corbet on his first swing as a big kid. Well, big-GER than when he was a newborn in a swing. That's his dad's hand. 

Beautiful hand. And the boy is beautiful too, if I do say so myself. And I do.

So that's fun. It makes up for the three or four interruptions of my good nights' rest. Which isn't a good nights' rest at all, unless I were to go to sleep at ten. I don't, so every night's sort of hellish. I SHOULD, but I don't. When else am I supposed to read if not in bed, before falling to sleep? There's no time the rest of the day.

Corbet is also walking like a brand new colt. His legs are a bit wobbly, and he falls a lot, but he's actually learning to stand in the middle of the room. Any new walker understands how difficult this is—free-standing, you know. Instead of crawling to a stationary object, he's realized he can make his legs straight with his hands on the floor and then sort of rise up.

It's pretty amazing when you see it.

Additionally, he's been attempting to run. He usually falls, but that doesn't seem to stop him from trying again. Lately he's taken to walking to my Simple Human garbage can (that made me throw up when I was pregnant!), opening it, and taking trash out.

That's pretty awesome. The best is when it's got cat vomit in it (my orange cat seems to have a weak stomach and throws up once a day at least) and Corbet pulls the paper towel out with the cat vomit in it.

 Orange cat with a weak stomach. Also works as a window security system.

Ok, so that only happened once and then we learned our lesson. Cat vomit goes in the OUTSIDE garbage can. Plus it stinks something delicious.

Something delicious. To describe a bad smell. I like it.

It's adorable and I know it doesn't bode well for the future, but I can't help but laugh when Corbet heads to the garbage can and I say, "Cor-BET," where my voice goes up on the last syllable, like "Oh no you DOOON'T." He laughs and squeals and runs for the corner where the garbage can hides. And I run after him. He laughs like crazy. 

I laugh too, of course. How can I resist? It's hilarious to me that he's learned there are forbidden things that he'll get in trouble for. Sometimes he shakes his head and turns away, like he really knows how to mind. I wonder how long THAT will last.

Maybe forever. Maybe he'll be a perfect saint, unlike his mom and dad. One can hope!

Right now he's in this phase—Stoker keeps saying everything's a phase—where he wants me to hold him ALL the time. It's a bit inconvenient, but I try to enjoy it, knowing that at some point he'll never want to cuddle, he'll only want to play and be as far from me as possible.

That happens, right?

Being a mom is pretty great. I can't wait to teach him how to take over the world. I've got my lesson plans all laid out and soon, I'll begin guiding him toward world-domination. He'll be a great ruler. It's going to be awesome.