My little boy. So much to say, but no words.*

I love him even when he throws his trains. And legos. Lately he’s brought mimicry to a whole new level of sophistication. No longer content to merely crawl under the dining room table with his brush and dustpan, he empties the detritus into the trash. One grotty piece of cereal at a time. Armed with dirty clothes, he trots to the washing machine and actually loads it.

In the bath, he demands equal treatment–he wants to wash himself, thank you very much, and don’t you be too slow or too stingy with the babywash. One of these days he is going to insist on washing Miss M’s hair because she is the self-appointed washer for him. He wants to sit on the potty like her, and, for good measure, helps himself to her underpants and tries to put them on. (He’s partial to a pink pair of Elmo undies.)

Then there are the phones. Loves ‘em. There are a couple of old ones floating around the house, but really he prefers the real ones, the ones that beep and light up and call people. Cell phones are good too. Lots of fun things to do with those.

Yesterday I went to pay a condolence call. Normally, this is the kind of thing that kids do not attend, but I didn’t have a choice and knew that it would be ok. I arrived laden with snacks, trains, and a book for AM. This kept him quiet for a bit, but eventually I passed him my cell phone. After an accidental speed dial connection to Taxman, he did his usual button pressing and head tilting. Then he snapped the phone shut, lifted his shirt, and held the phone to his belly. It looked like he was giving himself an ultrasound, but he’s never seen that done before.

“Oh wow,” I murmured a minute later, right before I melted into a puddle of maternal ooze. “He’s trying to clip the phone on to his pants.” So.cute.

* DQ’d from EI. Its own story.