Actually, I do have a photo of Frank a year ago today that was the first photo ever taken of him and that shows him in some detail, but as he is still attached to me by the umbilical cord and looks like he’s just been sat on by a rhino I thought I would spare the blogosphere.
When Hugh turned one, I was already thinking of him as hardly a baby any more, quite a big boy. Frank is walking better than Hugh was and is far more independent (in the sense that he determinedly toddles away from us with hardly a backward glance), but I still view him as my baby, my little one. He is no doormat; he can be extremely stroppy, in fact; but he is so friendly, so bright-faced, so ready to smile and laugh or make happy babbling noises, he is a true source of joy to us. He seems to delight in the world. He even coped reasonably well with Hugh’s attempts to purloin his new tricycle. Though when I stopped him running out of Clark’s this morning with his new, then unpaid-for, shoes on and someone else’s green umbrella, he did get rather cross.
Happy birthday my adorable Francis Victor. May there be many more of them.