(Bashed and Busted Window Sill via Easel and Brut Boy)
Yes, Danger is indeed his middle name, and we couldn't have agreed on a better one for our son. He is breaking our house. He is climbing the outer edges of our stairs; ya' know, on the wrong side of the spindles. He is forcing open the child locks installed on our many drawers (with vigor, determination, and much success). He is jamming open our lazy Susan and demolishing our glass nesting bowls that reside within. He is eating the few shards of paper towel he can extract from the "baby-proofed" cabinet under our sink. He is even pushing the chairs lining the walls in the dining room back over to the table to climb on and get on top of said table. He tried to crack open my skull with a blue tub of vapor rub. He rips out fistfuls on his sisters hair and laughs while she screams & cries. He chucks any item through the baby gates to see how far they travel down the stairs. He launches remote controls as far and as hard as he can to watch the batteries, and battery cover, explode from their housing. This boy even rubs his coconut oiled face (à la prepped for winter wind), down my glass doors and in to any surface that makes sound to provide drum beats. All our windows are now oiled. He climbs beds; he mounts coffee tables. He surfs any and all bikes, ride-on-toys, or rockers. He ripped down the phonics boards that were lovingly bolted to a wall in his room. He has broken a dining room chair beyond repair. He has forced us to trash one of my favorite vintage arm chairs. He headbutts the back of his highchair to get it to move around: over and over. He very intentionally and spitefully threw keys in the downstairs toilet. He has pulled out 28% of the hair from the circumference of my hairline. He just ate a turquoise crayon. His teeth are now turquoise. He is now trying to color my face. He is fourteen months old.
But this is my boy, our boy, and I will love and appreciate him through the chaos. I will remember how lucky I am as I clean up, glue, screw, wipe, mop, vacuum, repaint, remove, reevaluate, reassign, redesign, and revive items in our house. Or at least when my husband does it. Then, he smiles, he whines, and I pick him up. He curls up under my chin and in to my chest and I melt and breathe him in. (Thanks, to Sarah for the reminder.)