Yesterday Evan turned 13 months old – I can hardly believe it – and suddenly he is taller, I’m sure of it. He takes several steps at a time by himself now, dabbles in the art of eating real food, and cries when I tell him “no.” He is getting so big. Yesterday as I was walking him around the house I discovered that he can now reach high enough to pull things down from the edge of the table. Somehow I hadn’t seen that milestone coming (note to self – keep everything away from the edges), and yet here it is. Evan is a climber, too, not like Anna and Will. He routinely climbs onto the fireplace hearth. And when I’m walking him around the house he will walk up to a chair or table, for example, and hold his foot up as high as he can, wanting to step up onto it. It’s somewhat bittersweet to see our little guy moving out of the baby stage, but mostly it’s sweet, as the 1- to 2-year-old stage is one of my favorites. They’re just so darned cute at this age – and not nearly as much trouble as a 3-year-old. I’ve found threes to be much more “terrible” than twos. Of course, this baby might change the way I think about all that – you just never know.