My son, my youngest one, is running me ragged.
Yesterday, he colored all over himself and his clothes with a marker. (It was washable.)
Also yesterday, he spilled a box of cereal down the stairs and, with his brothers, crunched it all in to the carpet. (Where was I? In the shower, I think.)
Also yesterday, the vacuum wasn't working, so cereal bits traveled throughout the house in our shoes. (Not exactly Gavin's fault, but still.)
Also yesterday, he inverted a bowl of spaghetti on his booster tray and the floor and the table and himself. (He didn't eat one bite.)
Also yesterday, he dumped a glass of water on himself. (This was just before his nap. He went to bed in a diaper.)
Also yesterday, he slept for one hour in the afternoon. Only one hour. (A month ago he took two naps daily, for a total of four hours of sleep.)
Also yesterday, he woke up from his nap and launched a ninety-minute scream-fest. (Probably because he didn't sleep long enough.)
This boy, this adorably chubby, delightfully affectionate, perfectly wonderful little boy...is one and a half years old. And this, too, shall pass.