You are 18 months old.
You can operate these toys all by yourself:

You still insist upon inspecting Mama’s shoe after she farts. When you don’t find anything other than a shoe, you shrug.
You can locate your chin, cheeks, forehead and bottom.
You sometimes play with your blocks all by yourself.
You have mastered the art of climbing onto the couch and chairs.
Your morning nap is slowly evaporating and being absorbed by your afternoon nap. This makes you a little cranky, but the change makes Mama happy.
You decided to conquer the shape sorter last week — and you did.
You love to “walk” up the stairs as we hold your hands.
You know what “boo-boo” and “kiss it better” mean, and you bestow kisses on Mama’s boo-boos as well as your own. You have also begun to make contact with your kisses.
You know how to turn on the dishwasher. And now we know how to lock it.
You are almost able to thread shoelaces. Real ones, not baby practice ones. Well, they belong to the learn-to-dress monkey, but still, they’re tiny.
You know that if you’re happy and you know it, the only thing to do is clap your hands. Failing that, you can also pat your head or stomp your feet.
You are so obsessed with trash cans that Mama brought a little one into the kitchen for you. There’s a separate blog post coming about this because there’s just too much to tell for this format.
You went to the zoo for the first time with Grammie and Mama. You seemed to like the elephants quite a bit. You were also delighted to find they have trash cans there.
You know how to answer and end a Skype call on an iPad.
You regularly deploy the word “uh-oh” in the correct context. You are also an expert shrugger.
Your feet are five inches long.
You abruptly ended your long and ardent love affair with baby yogurt. Mama is fine with this because of the high sugar content, and trusts that you will eat enough of other stuff that you keep growing.
You are 18 months old, and we can’t quite believe it.
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