Hi Bub. You’re coming up on fourteen months of air breathing, so it’s about time I tell you a bit about the things You Rock At.

First of all, you’re a dude. Being a dude squares the family votes by gender, making it at least a little less likely that Dad will get steamrolled by the girls. That makes Dad a happy dude.

Next, you’re a freaking ox. Uh, hold on - I just this second checked to make sure I was using the word correctly. And um, no, I don’t believe I am. We did give you the snip, but it wasn’t The Big Snip. You’re no ox. You’re a testosterone-oozing, testicle wearin’ bull. And strong like one. When you were still in Mom’s tummy you’d use her pancreas as a speed bag. Boppita-boppita-boppita. I’d watch Mom’s tummy vibrate as you’d wrestle intestines, dead lift her liver and do squats with a kidney over each shoulder.

I mean seriously - your butt looks like it’s had Golden Delicious implants. One in each cheek. Even at one, strapped into a booster chair atop a kitchen chair, you’d push and pull yourself (with booster and kitchen chair) to and from the table for fun. “Dad, check out my pecs!” you’d say. You’ve got a kung fu grip, and when we took you to the park last week and I dangled you from the monkey bars, you totally held your own body weight and tried to pull up for five or six seconds before your grip let go and you plunged to the ground into my arms. So, yeah. You’re strong.

And in the physical world, you have a healthy respect for nothing. Heights, dogs three times your size, whatever. If you can climb on it or fall off it, it’s in your wheelhouse. But you also Rock At falling, which makes us worry a little less. How can you Rock At falling? Simple. For almost every fall I’ve seen, you seem to have a kind of cat-like timing to when you hang onto things and when you let go, making every fall look about the same: you falling toward earth, hanging onto something by one arm just long enough that it screws with your descent and twists your body just a bit before your grip gives way, ending with you either curling up and rolling from butt to back to head (a.k.a . modified ass over teakettle), or rolling lengthwise, usually ending up with a face full of berber, but unharmed. It’s uncanny. I bet that skill will be helpful in your stuntman career. Or your stint as a daredevil. Or extreme sports athlete. What? Am I projecting too much?

There’s another thing You Rock At, and I can’t even believe I’m saying this because I swear this trait has caused us to look into The Stork’s return policy. You Rock At not settling for less than what you want. By that I mean if you want a particular food, you will not eat a single morsel of anything else until you get that food. And you’ll complain (read: cry) loudly about it. FOREVER. Go hungry you say? Just more complaints (crying). Or if you want Mom to help you get to sleep but you got Dad instead? You become a wiggling, crying, 100 pound bar of wet soap. I pray this will all translate into an unwaivering commitment to excellence and focus in whatever you do as an adult. Because if it doesn’t? Mom kept the wad of socks and duct tape away from me unnecessarily.

But you also Rock At giving nuzzles and kisses. Your kisses are a lot like Agalia’s were at your age; big, open-mouthers that leave one side of my face covered in boogers and saliva. It’s usually followed by you burying your head into whoever just received the kiss. Adorable as hell.

You Rock At the outdoors, too. When you’re at your crabbiest, when there’s nothing we can give you or feed you or play with you that can take your mind off of how unhappy you are, as soon as we cross the threshold of the front door and step outside you forget everything and start babbling and pointing at birds, blowing leaves, that dandelion, whatever. And you seem to like it better if there’s a chill in the air, squishing up your face tight and making exaggerated inhaling and exhaling sounds, like you’re getting a thrill from the cool air filling your throat and chest. You’re in your element when you’re outdoors.

While you only have command of about 4 words right now, that doesn’t stop you from barking orders at whoever will listen. Usually the barking is you pointing out something you’re pretty sure we’ve never seen but really need to, like THAT LIGHT! THAT KITCHEN LIGHT! HAVE YOU SEEN THAT KITCHEN LIGHT?! SRSLY. LOOK AT IT!  So I’m thinking the barking and directing of other’s attention is you asserting your birthright to lead.

You also Rock At getting the attention of the ladies. You flash your baby blues and a big smile whenever females are in the area, and it almost always earns you some welcome attention. Though lately I don’t know where you’re finding your pickup lines, because last week at the mall food court you waggled your tongue at three teenage girls as they walked by. Hilarious today, but 17 years from now you’re a pig for that same move. So keep it in your mouth, mmkay bud?

Rock on, Bubba.

Photo Courtesy of New York Apple Association