At almost-14 months old, you are cute, but you can be a terror.
You will sweetly hold up your arms to be picked up, and you'll smile and babble as we walk around the house, and then you will yell and smack me hard in the face. And you'll do it again, before I can manage to put you down.
You open your mouth wide and approach with an intense look in your eyes, like you are going to eat my face. Usually I back away fast enough. Once you got my entire nose and upper lip in your mouth.
You do a WWF-worthy move where you use both hands to grab the hair on either side of my head, and then you yank my head down while smashing your skull into the bridge of my nose.
Whenever your brother tries to play with you, you end up scratching or pulling or hitting him. I scooped you up after a vicious scratch and admonished you, "If you keep hurting K, he might stop loving you." (I wouldn't have said this if I thought you would understand.) But K looked up, surprised, and replied, "I'll always love him, even if he scratches me." You're lucky to have such an understanding big brother.
You don't spend all your time trying to injure us. You also spend a fair amount of time trying to injure yourself. On a recent trip to your great-grandmother's tchotchke-filled house, you tried to eat some candles and potpourri, and threw a glass picture frame on the floor as hard as you could.
Even though you're going through a difficult phase, you have your moments. Yesterday morning you crawled into my lap and we read "Pat the Puppy" together. As your pudgy little hand rested on my arm and I kissed your soft head, I knew it would be the happiest moment of my day.
And then you tore off the puppy's tail and ate it.