The best Christmas present still

I've gotten many great presents over the years: my own little crafting box, She-Ra's castle, a robin's egg blue outfit with lace leggings that I still think was the coolest thing ever. One Christmas, I got a diamond ring because my mom decided a girl's first diamond should be from her parents. Another Christmas, the husband bought me a diamond bracelet. My sister bought me a mezzaluna chopper that I use at least once a week preparing dinners.

But without a doubt, the best Christmas present I have ever received -- or will ever receive -- arrived last year at 7:29 p.m. I just put him to bed. His name is Wes Avett. He is my little Wesdebeest. The beastiest beast who ever beasted.

And yes, that's the kind of baby talk you hear in my house.

I'm getting a little teary just thinking about the last year. It's so cliche, but I really can't believe it's been a year. I can't imagine a day without The Lad's dimply smile yet it seems like just yesterday I was yelling at the nurse and a borrowed midwife to just hold my legs for the love of god, because this baby is coming. The Lad, who really is known mostly as The Beastie Beast, has been a smiley, curious and active baby from the start.

How could you not love those dimples?

He nursed easily, making me feel better about the one nagging annoyance I had from my first pregnancy. He's never been a great napper -- we're lucky these days if we get an hour or so -- but made up for it by skipping colic. He rolled early and has been moving ever since, crawling and climbing and now walking. Just in the last two days, The Beast went from stringing together a few steps before resorting to lightning fast crawling to teetering around everywhere on two feet. I wouldn't be surprised if he ran tomorrow. He's like that. I had a hard time figuring out what to buy him for Christmas and his birthday because he only wants his brother's toys. Baby toys I saved for him mostly have gathered dust as he's chased after The Boy.

Thanksgiving -- despite a rash-causing virus, The Lad was determined to have his turn.

"Merry Christmas and happy birthday!" I said this morning when I went in to get him out of the crib. The Boy and I brought him out into the living room, where the tree presided over a pile of gifts. The Lad, put down, made a beeline for the unwrapped, just-his-size trike from Santa (ie Grammy and Papaw). "Whoa!" he said. "Whoa!" He was on it in seconds, scooting around the house. Later, he was playing with a racetrack he'd gotten with the husband. The cars rolled over a spot on the track to turn the noise on; the husband couldn't figure out at first that that was what was happening. While he puzzled over it, The Lad smacked the exact spot to make the thing play music and light up. That's The Beast for you. He's not super verbal -- though he's starting to say words and phrases -- but he's very physical, very busy and very mechanical.

Happy birthday, Beastie.

And merry Christmas to you! Hope it was a lovely one.