He looked like a frog the first time I saw him: one last great heave and my doctor dropped Forrest on my chest, tiny and quiet, covered in white stuff and blood and, for lack of a better word, goo. Forrest promptly peed (thanks) and settled in on my chest. I stared at him: his thin little limbs, his tiny frog butt, his big gray-blue eyes.
I had never seen a more perfect baby.
I cannot believe that that little frog-butted baby has grown into a toddler who can walk (if he's not paying attention), kind of talk, crawl, imitate, play, put things away, put on his own shirt, feed himself, and wave and point and laugh. I can't believe it.
Here's what I can tell you about Forrest: he is sweet and funny. He is almost always happy, except when he's tired and hungry (which, like, same). He loves to eat. He still refuses to drink out of anything except bottles, so that's going to be fun. He's incredibly independent and does NOT like being told what to do. There are lots of things he can do but he often refuses to because he's asked. He makes me laugh regularly. He loves to go on walks, play on the couch, throw books, and pet Remus.
Happy birthday, little man. You're the greatest.