One year ago at this time Sharon could barely walk, almost crippled with SPD as the baby within her ground down on her pelvis with relentless weight. Now, that big baby is entering the final week of his first year. Soon we will have no more children under one. Angus is now the proud owner of four teeth, a room-warming grin when he beams his glorious smile, a healthy and varied appetite, a toffee-coloured shock of hair that is gradually filling in round the sides, a well-developed shout as he competes to be heard above his brothers, sturdy legs, a big round tummy and a long reach, as he exemplified on Saturday as he swung an arm on to the table and grabbed a freshly poured bowl of steaming tomato soup.
He burnt his hand and was lucky he didn't pour the soup on to his face. Despite me getting him straight under the cold tap, a nasty blister appeared next morning on his right index finger (fortunately not his sucking finger). However, he doesn't seem unduly bothered by it.
Angus has been taking his weight (13kg = 2 stone, just half a stone lighter than skninymalinky Rowan) with increasing regularity and managed a five-second unaided stand in the garden last weekend. I don't think he'll be walking by his first birthday but he's probably got three or four weeks to be the earliest walker of the four.
Life is so hectic at the moment that it's all too easy to feel as though we are stuck on a treadmill but if we're not careful we'll look up and all our boys will be grown up before we know it. Here's to our four boys: their smiles and laughs and silliness; their sulkiness and tears and tantrums; their attempts to learn, frustrations at failure and sudden inspirational insights. Our world would be quieter, more orderly and less stressful without them, but also infinitely less rich and rewarding.
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