I don’t feed him sugar because, well, he’s just a baby. So, I don’t understand where this non-stop hyperactivity comes from. Luckily, he doesn’t walk. Yet.

But the crawling. The motocross crawling! The Little Jobber does not stop. And it is exhausting. He can’t look at the plant in the living room without speeding across the floor and plunging his hands into the dirt. It’s like he thinks: There’s that plant again. . . MustGetAHandfulOfDirtIntoMouthNOW! And then its: There goes Chili! MustChaseAndPullHisTailNOW! Is that a half-chewed piece of cat food that I can GrabAndShoveIntoMyMouthNOW? Paper? Paper to rip into pieces? And eat? Paper to rip and eat? Now what? I’ll crawl up the stairs. No! I’ll shut myself in the laundry room! And try to eat the rugs. Now I’ll try to put my head through the cat door! Pant, pant, pant. Why are all of these cabinets locked? Why can’t I move the table? MustPushAllKitchenChairsAwayFromTableNOW! Is that an old dried-up hunk of apple on the floor? That I can eat? Is that a pen? Can I eat a pen? Oooh . . . trash can! MustShoveHandsInTrashAndPullOutWhateverICanAndEatItNOW!

It doesn’t stop. Ever.

OK, it stops when he goes to sleep. And he is a great sleeper so I should be really, really happy about that. And I am. It is just that he is one exhausting little guy. I can’t keep up with him.

On an unrelated note, here are his party sunglasses sitting on the windowsill.