counting the ways

The way he sits in his bed in the mornings and chats to his teddy-bear until I get up.
The way he runs around with his purple Wiggles guitar announcing he has a “tuggar”.
The way he claps for himself when he has done something he is impressed with.
The way he kisses the cat by turning around and nuzzling it with the back of his head (he’s been acquainted with claws).
The way he runs headlong into the surf, no matter what the weather.
The way he insists on brushing my hair for me.
The way he runs everywhere instead of walking, as though afraid he’s going to miss out on something if he doesn’t.
The way he offers me bites of his food, particularly if it’s something he finds really yummy.
The way he gets so excited when his babysitter comes to play that he gets almost hysterical and laughs til he’s nearly hyperventilating.
The way his hair looks after he’s been sleeping.
The way he insists on brushing his teeth with my toothbrush and not his.
The way he thinks my friends have come around specifically to play with him.
The way he can only ride his firetruck backwards at the moment.
The way these days, when things have gone quiet and I start to suspect he’s up to something, I find him sitting by his bookcase, quietly leafing through a book.
The way he looks at me sometimes.
The way he loves to wander around sucking on half a lime.
The way he won’t sit in his high-chair but will sit in a regular chair at the dinner table.
The way he loves to make me chase him all around the house, especially nude.
The way he gives me a deliciously naughty grin when he does something he knows he shouldn’t.
The way he cries “more!” over and over when we are playing “Itsy-Bitsy Spider”, even though he can hardly bear the tickling.
The way he grins ecstatically and starts bobbing up and down, and lately doing wild jumps with both feet off the ground, whenever any kind of music comes on, even just a jingle on telly.
The way he puts up with his crazy mum.

to be continued...