Your mom is a broken record, but I can't help but say it again: each new month with you just gets better, and 16 months is positively the best yet. You finally decided to walk (and run) like a pro, and you adore being outside. With a stick in your hand, dirt under your fingernails, and the neighbor's doggie in sight, you're one happy little man.
Wednesdays are hard for you to understand as they're Daddy's longest work day. Tonight, we headed to church and as soon as you marched through the double doors, the search for "Dadda" began. You peeked into the worship center. Nope. Fellowship hall? No, not there either. We finally discovered him in the rehearsal room upstairs, and you refused to leave his side without a fight. When we finally had to leave to head home, you screamed for Dadda as crocodile tears dripped down your cheeks. It broke my heart. I know that I, your Momma, am your bread and butter. Your best buddy. Your comforter. But Dadda is your hero. You talk about him all day long, and your eyes light up for him in a way they don't glow for anyone else.
You're insatiably curious - especially when it involves a dishwasher, a trashcan, or a pile of leaves. You're impressively smart, surprising us with new words every day. Just today, it was "Dadda 'tar?" (Daddy plays the guitar?). And you're unsurprisingly stubborn.
You amaze your mom, little guy. I wouldn't trade being your mother in a million years or for a million dollars. You're the best gift I've ever been given.