He’s growing up. His face is changing. I can see him thinking things through when I look at him in the right moments. He has his own agenda and will not conform. He exhibits unfiltered emotion. He yells when he’s mad and squeals when he’s happy. He’s in no hurry to go anywhere and will take his sweet time sauntering behind everyone until he’s good and ready to wind up his little legs. He’s brutally honest about the way he feels about his food. “I like it, I like it!” or “I no like this.” He enjoys having his hair done and needs a turn after his sister is done. He’s ready to use the big potty and is waiting patiently for his mother to get ready. He loves to swim and is the last one in the pool every day, without fail. He is a novice negotiator trying to buy more time when he knows his is up. He likes to read, but is independent about it. He’s a good little sleeper and if he weren’t still clear down in a crib, I might be tempted to eat him up every night when I check on him. I love him to pieces and can’t get enough. He’s miracle number three, and man, I’m glad he’s mine.