Well, here we are, one week before Andy turns... one. One. The big Oh-One. Man, I can't believe it. A year already. Sheesh.

Andy, at one year minus week, you are very very very close to walking. You push your little walker around like a pro and glide from coffee table to couch to shelf to wall like a pro. I'm convinced that the only element of mastering walking that you lack is confidence. Every once in a while, you pull a Wile E. Coyote on me and let go of the coffee table while inspecting the remote control or nail clippers with both hands (I hope we're not the only family that keeps the baby nail clippers on the living room coffee table for convenience) and just stand there. Then, when you look down and realize you're not holding onto the coffee table and are just free-standing it, you drop onto your butt with a resounding THUD. You can do it, Andy. You've got seven days to learn.

Yesterday, I got my first Honest To God For Absolutely Real "mama" out of you. You were doing something out of my sight (whoops) when suddenly you started crying a little and turned the corner to come see me in the kitchen. You crawled over to me, leaned back on your knees, threw up your arms, looked me straight in the eye, and clear as a bell wailed "Mama!" I wasn't even going to pick you up- I was busy with something and was just going to let you cry it out a little. But after that? After getting a genuine "mama" in your sweet little voice? Yep, I hefted you up, held you close, and I have to admit, I kind of felt a little ver klempt over the whole thing.

You're eating pretty good. Not great, and the amount of mess you generate from eating 1/4th of a banana, 1/2 a slice of cheese, and two chopped up chicken nuggets is, like, completely unbelievable. Feeding you is ridiculous. I know you're eating, because you're fat, but man, it seems like there's more food left over afterwards than what we started out with. Meals with you are just something else. It's probably the worst part of our time together, because clean-up afterwards takes about four times longer than the actual eating part. I haul you off into the bathroom, turn on the faucet, and basically just stick you under it. And then when I try to sweep up all of your crumbs and what-not, that's when you're suddenly interested in eating. A pile of dirt with a couple cheerios and banana pieces in it is apparently a highly appetizing and composed meal to you.

We play a lot of "games" together, and it seems like every couple days or so, you're ready to throw a new game into the mix. Here's the games we play pretty regularly.

Indian Poker. We lick cards and paste them to our foreheads and then giggle and peel them off. You also enjoy poker chips, and you carry them around the house and seemingly give them to the plant upstairs.

Stack 'em, Knock 'em. I stack blocks, you knock them down. This is the one way I can get you to crawl back into the family room if you've wandered off. You see me start to stack, and you take off towards that block tower like a typhoon. With one might swipe, the blocks come crashing down, and boy do you love that. So far, you're not so interested in stacking, but you LOVE to knock them.

Echo Bucket. I hold a bucket to my mouth and make a noise into it (ahhh, eeeeh), and then hand the bucket to you. You hold it to your mouth and imitate the noise. We can do this all day.

Catch. You're actually pretty good at this. We can roll your ball back and forth for quite a while before you lose interest. I love that you get the concept of playing catch. It's really something else.

Hide and Seek. I run and crouch down around the corner. You come crawling after and when you find me, I yell "Boo!" Giggles, and repeat.

Let's see, you also like to dance. When you hear music, you sway your butt back and forth and tap your little foot. Oh, and speaking of your foot, it smells. You're such a little boy- you already have stinky feet. It's those cheap plastic sandals that we got you from Wal-Mart ($4!) so it's not like your feet are *naturally* stinky (I don't think), but when I slide those sandals off your feet after day care- OH MAN! It's seriously the best part of my day. I DIDN'T KNOW A BABY FOOT COULD GET THAT SWEATY AND STINKY!

I don't know, it's just unreal to me that you're turning one already. I take you out in the stroller after dinner around the neighborhood, and we take the same route I took a couple days before you were born, when I was walking like a maniac trying to get the show on the road. And that seems like it was last week. And now we take the same walk together, you sitting up in the stroller, wearing your red sunglasses, gripping the tray, wagging your stinky feet, pointing at houses, and staring curiously at dogs and kids. Seriously, it's amazing. You're amazing. And you're about to go from being my baby to being my toddler, when last year at this time, you were an unknown being pushing ominously against my belly.

Wow.