Just a few weeks before my birthday, little William had his first birthday. A whole year has flown by since I first visited him in hospital and we packed him up to come home. He's been growing and learning so much since then, but it's important that he gets the best tutelage and learns from a master. That's where I come in; I'm training tomorrow's rascal.
Walking is something I'm helping with. Well, encouraging. After a few weeks of faltering steps made while holding onto the couch, coffee table or people, William is getting more confident every day, while I egg him on. True, I do sometimes tell on him if he's tottering his way over to something he shouldn't (like my breakfast), but soon it'll be a case of look out every ornament that's within reach!
I'm also helping encourage him with some new tricks. Mummy has taught him what the answer to the question "What noise does the lion make" is (answer: "rarrhhh"), and we're now moving on to clapping hands and waving goodbye. He hasn't quite got the waving right yet - when he tries it looks a bit like he's trying to get something sticky off his hand.
People have told me that my vocabulary is pretty good, so this is something else I can try to pass onto William. He's only just said his first word ("mama") though, so that could be a long road.
Mostly though, the things I'm teaching William are those things Mummy and Daddy wish I wasn't. Like when we're eating dinner and I slouch back in my chair, letting bits of food fall off my fork onto the carpet. William looks across at me, finds it hilarious, and before you know it there's food being dropped from two sides. Which is normally where threats and curses ensue from Daddy, but neither of us pay much attention. Being a rascal is just far too much fun.
