Yes, Danger Boy. If there's a sharp object, electrified appliance, choking hazard or toxic substance to be had, Gib will find it. Power cords? Yes. Clumps of used cat litter? Sure. Deflated balloons? Absolutely. Every single toy of Roxi's that has small pieces or can be torn into small pieces? You know it. And you better believe if you try to take the scrap of tissue paper he's trying to inhale away, he'll get mad. And loud. Loudly mad and madly loud.
But just look at that face. Who could be upset at that face?
Gib is as solid as a tank and 100 percent boy. He's got a Buddha belly and tree trunk legs. He started sitting up and practicing artful dragging in October. He became an expert crawler in November. By December, he was pulling up on anything that would stand still long enough (including the cats), crawling with wild abandon and developing walking skills while holding our hands. It wouldn't surprise me at all if he started walking by himself tomorrow. He's a man of action.
The Gib-man is also a chow hound. He used to complain loudly at every meal, to the point that Rob and I had no idea when he wanted more food or was full, liked a particular vegetable or wanted it banished off the earth. It was constant moaning from the boy. Then one day we gave him Cheerios, and mealtimes became ever so much sweeter. The more finger foods we gave him, the happier he was. So now he eats little pieces of everything - banana, sweet potato, green beans, tofu, pears, bread, cheese, etc. - despite the fact that he's still toothless.
He's a wonderfully cheerful kiddo - quick to smile, incredibly ticklish and possessing a deliciously silly laugh. Roxi still gets the biggest chuckles from him. May it always be so. We have all kinds of fun. Even if we have to physically restrain our Danger Boy from climbing the bookshelves every five minutes.
