Ever since H learned to walk, P + I are constantly stopping mid-sentence to say something like this:
Where's Henry? Where did he go? Aren't you watching him? I thought YOU were watching him?
That's right. We are the parents who can't keep track of our own kid. In our OWN HOUSE. He's too darn fast, I tell you.
Last night, he was carrying P's lunchbox - yes, my 28 year old husband carries a lunchbox to work EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. So H was carrying his daddy's lunchbox up and down the hall when suddenly, he wasn't.
Also, if you have a kid that is at that age that he/she should be walking, but isn't, just wait until they figure out they if they walk instead of crawl, they can CARRY STUFF WITH THEM. Oh, it's like the heavens just opened up the day H figured out that little gem. Now he's a big fan of the walking. With his hands full. Mostly of things that DO NOT BELONG TO HIM.
Also, I had to buy new mascara because H dropped mine in the toilet. Seriously.
So back to last night. H suddenly disappears. We find him (thanks to the dropped lunchbox) in the bathroom, because he's a boy, and the bathroom is, apparently, the best room in the whole house. Luckily, I wrangled him out of there before we lost anything else to the porcelain god.
I love my kid. It tickles me to death when I saw him toddling around the house. But I have to say, I am imagining all sorts of mischief. ALL SORTS.
In totally related news, we just bought a new lamp. Bet you can't guess who broke the old one, HENRY.