Dear, and sweet Everett,

You are so close to walking. So close! You stand in the middle of the room, no crutch of support near you. You don’t even notice. When something is out of reach, you lean – closer, closer, closer . . . and then plop – onto your (usually) wet bum and off you crawl to the object of your desire.

You are so bald. Like a baby bird. Your big eyes, dark like Christmas chocolates, on your small, impish face. You smile, and those eyes wrinkle up and disappear into the folds of your so soft baby skin. And you laugh – the laugh of sucking in air, squealing in delight of some trick of your siblings.

You are growing and smiling and being everything that you should. I just want you to know how much fun you are, and that we are so excited to watch you reach for the things just beyond. This is a life of constant growth, just remember: baby steps.