I was reading R a Babybug tonight, with a two-page poem that had trucks. We finished it. He flipped the book back so I could read it again. Then he just turned to those two pages and wanted to read them over and over. He would not let go of the book to go to bed, but took it into his crib. Matt got a picture of him lying on his tummy reading it.

He is at a delightful age. He’s twenty months, two in April, and talking up a storm. Every day he says new words or puts old ones together in a new way.