Two days ago you couldn't sit unsupported at all.
You'd lean too far backward or sideways and topple immediately.
But last night (and again today) you found the balance and perhaps even the rhythm of sitting.
It's strange to me how these past months, as I get to know you, I've thought you a docile, placid little guy. Content to sit and watch. I've dubbed you coy but not terribly shy. Not immediately frustrated but also not easily distracted from things that torment you.
I love how you look at your sister. I love how you screach in a rock-star-like range to get her attention. I love that your happiness is loud and vocal. (I even love that your crying in the car can often be quelled now with Dave Matthews ... although I'm sad sometimes it can't be touched by the voices on NPR.)
I love your surprises. Because every day as you reach out, as you turn things over and figure them out, you are a new and delightful soul.