Sawyer is amazing. He's growing like a weed and eating like a hog, and every day he leaves a little bit of his baby self behind and picks up bits of little boy. I'm going to miss his rubber band wrists and breadstick arms, and his Bernstein-bear chub feet, and his ever-happy, all is well attitude. He's starting to grow up instead of out, and he's figuring out what he wants and letting me have it. On the rough days, I remind myself that I need to watch old home videos, and when I do I love seeing that Sawyer exhibits some of the same mannerisms, squeals, and fire that I did.
I love that he likes to be sneaky, and that he shushes everybody from the dog to his dad when he's sneaking about. He loves sticks and sand and hoses and puddles and rocks. He knows how to catch a frog all by himself. Nary a bug has ever scared him.
When we go out, he likes to see his Mama at all times, unless he's running away in a fit of laughter, daring me to chase after him. He runs with his little arms pulled up tight by his rib cage, and flops his feet up and down with remarkable speed-eliciting an "oh my he's fast" comment from onlookers nearly every time he takes off.
He loves people, especially his Mama and Dada. He also loves animals and nearly anything with a motor: trucks, tractors, boats, motorcycles.
He is a master escape artist. He's most elusive at church, when he doesn't want to sit still for an entire hour in someone's lap. To aid in his escape he employs many different departure tactics: the alligator roll, the limp noodle, the chute, the flip and slide, the crawl-away, the sneak flight, the backbend, etc. It's a workout for everyone, and just as we're all about to pack up, he'll fold his arms or sing along with a hymn and melt all of our fast-beating hearts.
He's a sweetie. A lover and a fighter. A hand holder and a toy-snatcher. A cuddler and a run away. He's pretty fabulous, and he's already a year and a half.
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