I'm so, so, so exhausted (and have been for days! sigh), so I'll try to make this short.

I can't remember whether I've mentioned this before or not, and because I'm way too tired to peruse old postings to find out, I'll risk repetition rather than risk not recording this: future Atticus, you were quite apprehensive about tentacled things as a baby. First there was the gummy, squishy, zillion-tentacled purple ball Grandma Jean brought out for you to play with; then the birthday-cake hat with the long, floppy candles that Grandma Ginny showed you; then last week, the lobed succulents trailing out of hanging baskets at the nursery. And this makes me wonder, does your timidity about grass stem from the same place? It is kind of an alien phenomenon here in Tucson after all...

Your walker arrived this week, and you're so proud of yourself pushing it all around the house, except when you push it into a wall or other object, then you're aggravated and hollering for somebody to set you free again.

And you love, love, love swinging. I strap you in the Ergo and swing just as I would if I were alone, and you giggle and smile and chatter and look around inquisitively at the sky and the trees, etc. And when I decide we're done, you are never in agreement.