I’m afraid that your post isn’t going to include a bunch of fancy edited DSLR photos like your brother’s did. Reasons: a) I took some fancy edited DSLR photos of you two months ago and b) I’ve got plenty of easily accessible iPhone shots to use. :)
Ok, let’s go.
You’re 15 months old now!
15 months. Wow. We love you little man, we sure do. You’re becoming quite the little personality. In nearly every way you could be different from your older brother, you are. You’re quite exhausting to raise, actually (although I love it!). And you haven’t even been in this world a year and a half yet.
You tend to be on better behavior when we’re around other people, which I enjoy as a break. Because when you’re at home with just me, your daddy, and your brother, you are a (very lovable) handful. You pull open every door and drawer you can find and yank things out. You mess with the stove controls and try to pull the oven open. You pull things out of the pantry. You push the buttons and stop the dishwasher mid-cycle. In the bathroom, you pick up random items and put them in the trash. You try to play in the toilet water if the lid is left open. You pull all the toilet paper off the roll and leave it in a giant pile in the middle of the floor. You rip books, you pull things off tables and shelves. You yank toys out of your brother’s hands and mess up his games. You change the station or turn off the TV while we’re trying to watch shows. You try to put DVDs in the DVD player. You make a beeline for the back door, front door, or garage door whenever you hear one of them open, hoping to escape into the wonderful outdoors where you can dig in the mud and eat leaves and mulch and crawl into the street. Your response to the word “no” is typically a smile followed by the forbidden behavior. I’ve been known to smack your hand for this, and when I do you laugh at me. You are a screamer, a screecher, a hitter, a shover, and a kicker. You do all of those things regularly throughout the day, sometimes because you’re happy, sometimes because you’re angry, sometimes just for attention. I never know what’s coming, and I have yet to figure out how to control it. You’re demanding, wanting things your way, right now, no waiting. You ALWAYS want to be held and fall to pieces when your daddy or I refuse to hold you. You are pretty much hot or cold. You are either happy or not happy. You flip between the two very quickly, even from unhappy to happy. The only time I’d say you’re in-between is when you’re in new or crowded situations or tired. Then you’re a bit more subdued, quiet, and straight-faced.
You chatter, chatter, chatter, all the time. It usually goes something like this: “Momma? Mommy? MOMMMA!” “Yes, Greyden?” “Bleghacagradayamda!!” “That’s nice.” “Mommmma.” “Yes, Greyden.” “Meghacagradacaba!!” “I see!” “Mommmmmaaaa”... and on and on.
You know quite a few words actually. You’ve stopped saying “dada” (your poor daddy!) but you do say “mama,” “Piper,” “Carter,” “go to the rug” [gowuh], “cheese,” “book,” “shoe,” "cereal," "table," and a few others.
You, my silly child, are still not walking on a regular basis. You CAN walk, you just don’t. You’ll walk between people with a lot of encouragement, but very rarely take steps on your own initiative.
This is the only time I've seen you walk away from furniture on your own accord. I was excited.
You are not scared of anything except strangers (which I think is more an indication of your age than your personality) and being thrown in the air. (Dropping downward and flipping around are fun, but for some reason you become terrified when we toss you upward.) You never flinch when I turn on the hair dryer, and you crawl toward the vacuum to see what all the noise is about.
In your 15 months of life I think you have already had more injuries than your brother has in his 3 ½ years. And most of them are head or face injuries. Every time I turn around, you are slamming your head or face into something. Bruises, bleeding teeth, cuts and scrapes are the norm. And everytime I hear or see it happen, my stomach drops and I panic. So far nothing has merited a visit to the doctor or emergency room, but I’m sure our day is coming. You are incredibly accident-prone.
You are a climber. You love, love, love to climb. It terrifies me. Several weeks ago, with me hovering over you, you managed to climb all the way up the ladder on our swing set and then crawl over and arrange yourself to go down the slide. I didn’t touch you once the whole time. You climb the kids table and chairs in our kitchen. You climb on the closed (somewhat tall) sandbox. You climb into the garden. You climb the step ladder all the way to the top. Oh, and you have a knack for climbing up slides. The slide on our swing set is super steep, but you will climb all the way up it on your feet, holding onto the edges with your hands. We can’t take our eyes off of you for one second without risking that you get yourself into some crazy precarious situation.
You love reading books and stacking things (cups, blocks, etc.). You love to dance just like your big brother, and will start wiggling your little body whenever you hear a beat or tune. You follow your big brother around and try to copy everything he does, and I hope that one day he sees what a compliment that is. Of course, above that, I hope that the two of you can be best friends eventually.
I think that's about it for now. Oh, and as a final note, you basically have the awesomest morning hair I've ever seen. :)