Oh, my little Noah gets around like wildfire now.
He's here. Zoom. He's there. Zoom. He's stuffing a Barbie tiara into his mouth. Zoom. He's climbed five steps and is half-way up number six.
And he's starting to learn some of the things he shouldn't do.
One of his favorite repetitive activities is to pick up toys in the bathroom, crawl with them over to the tub, them toss them as noisily as possible into it. (He's learned that toy cars make the best clang and clatter sounds).
Since "no" is part of his name, I'm trying very hard to use other ways to tell him not to do something. My preferred method -- until the exchange I'm about to share with you -- was to say, "Ah-ah-ah-ah" in a monotone.
One day last week, he snagged some toys, hoofed it over to the bathtub, yanked his compact little body up to stand beside it and winged whatever they were into the tub.
Then he turned his head to the side, looked straight at me, smiled and said, "Ah-ah-ah-ah."
It was adorable. It was a glimpse at the next three years of my life.
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