Young Old, Lunar Cycle No. 11

In keeping with tradition, this eleven-month update is extremely tardy, and as usual, obsolete. Enjoy!

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Young Old's achievement awards were handed out in the following fields:

• Standing Without Assistance - Necessitating 100% more vertical baby-proofing!
• Waving - Making those goodbyes that much more difficult. Precious.
  
• High Fives - Suddenly, it's like we're at a round-the-clock fraternity party, Young Bro.
  
• Pointing - Making those formerly-obnoxious grunts and whines now much more understandable.
• Stair Climbing - Heeello, baby gate!
• Button Pushing - Good thing I just saved my progress on that important Word document, because Young Old decided it was time to turn off the computer. Likewise for the DVD player, the TV, and the Xbox 360. I hereby rename you Young Luddite.
• Separation Anxiety - Making us feel like the coolest people in the world!
• Preferences - Man, I miss the days when you just went with the flow, pal. Now it's do this, don't do that, likes and dislikes. What a hassle.
• Confidence in Abilities - Young Old, just because you can climb on top of the refrigerator doesn't mean that we'll catch you when you jump off. Just something to think about.
• Mimicry - Mama K, we really need to stop swearing. Young Old shouting "Cock fart!" at the wedding made me feel like we raised him in Arkansas.
  
• Recognizing Objects - Making those moments when a car goes by chock-full of precious gear-shifting grunts, and those other times hanging out with Grandma and her colostomy bag an embarrassing eternity of stomach-churning lip-gurgles.
• Constant Motion - I'm tired. So tired.
• Light Obsession - Yes, Young Old, that's a light. Uh huh, that's another light. Yep, yet another light. Great, more lights. Okay, bed time, bye bye light, hello darkness, my old friend.
  
• Teething - Two hours less sleep every night...check. Dangerous levels of baby Tylenol...check. Sore nipples...check. Whiskey for the whole family...check.
• Snuggling - Finally. Young Old, it's good to know the love is mutual. Baby hugs are the shit.
  

Our little slobgoblin at eleven months:
Thanks, Becky, for the photo!