Eva is Woody to her Buzz. Daddy is Captain Hook to her Smee; Hans to her Anna; and Peter Pan to her Tinkerbell. I'm Mommy Lion to her Lion Cub; Flounder to her Ariel; and the Scarecrow to her Dorothy.
Bobby is the baby version of them all; Baby Prince Hans, Baby Peter Pan, Baby Sebastian, and the Baby Lion. He's also the baby dinosaur that wrecks castles, towers and dollhouses. And occasionally he plays the troll.
But lately, I can tell that Bobby is graduating out his babyish character. He's holding his own; not letting go of the toy that Mary wants, not falling over when he gets pushed out the way, roaring just as loud as the lioness, and making up characters all his own.
It could be his size. Now just a couple pounds shy of Mary's weight, he's a little harder to push aside. It could be the few words he now says and the many more that he understands. Or maybe it's the big milestone he passed this weekend.
On Saturday, Bobby turned one, and we celebrated all weekend long. It was largely a family affair. And an extended, grand one at that. Sushi dinner on Friday night, smoked salmon brunch on Saturday morning, Grandma's saucy spaghetti and meatballs with Chianti Classico that night, and an expedition downtown that started with prayers at Old St. Pat's and ended in the photo booth at City Winery on Sunday. Cake, party hats, balloons, presents, tots and toasts. Crumbs, blue icing, tissue paper, and little white sprinkles scattered throughout every corner of my house. Good people, good food, good photos, great memories. Really tired Mommy.
God speed, little one. But a little advice. If she tries to put you in Time Out (so sorry, Cora!), run, RUN, and then get Mommy.