A couple of weeks ago, I was in the backyard with the kids, hanging out washing. Georgie climbed up the chair that was leaning near the trampoline, and got on the trampoline. In the time it took me to peg out three shirts, Charlie had moved from one end of the backyard to the other, gotten up onto the chair, knocked over the chair, and was swinging on the edge of the trampoline, hanging on for dear life, calling out to me. By the time I had sprinted to the trampoline to get him up, he was laughing, because it's funny to give Mummy a heart attack, apparently.
Yesterday, he fell out of the window.
Georgie's bed is next to her window, and he likes to climb up on her bed and bang on the glass. Yesterday afternoon, the window wasn't shut, so he must've been banging on the screen. By the time Georgie and I (who were in the kitchen) had heard his roars and his cries and figured out where he was, he was outside, half underneath the house, on top of the screen. I swear as I comforted him, (freaking out about concussion) I could hear in his cry that he wasn't just upset that he was hurt... he was angry.
Less than an hour later, he was banging on a window again.
He is strong and brave and fearless and adventurous and and grubby and cheeky and happy and rough and aggressive and cocky and sure and dirty and solid and constant and passionate and willful.
And he has only just turned one!
I love him. Oh how I love him! But my goodness this boy, he is going to test me.
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