Puppy is now eighteen months old. Zero to six months was cute in a helpless sort of way. Seven to seventeen months can only be described as "no brain on wheels." But eighteen months--well, let me tell you. I am loving eighteen months.
With all that life experience under his belt, eighteen months is ready to take on the world. Eighteen months takes off down the sidewalk without you because he has places to be. Eighteen months runs and climbs with fearless abandon. When you turn around in the car to check on eighteen months in the backseat, he looks over at you with an encouraging smile and nod, as if to say, "Great driving. Keep up the good work."
Eighteen months signs "please." When you say, "Use your words, please. Tell me what you want," eighteen months TELLS YOU WHAT HE WANTS. It's nothing short of a revelation.
Eighteen months loves to laugh. He will hold out a cracker for you, then pull it back at the last minute to pop it in his own with a smile. Eighteen months convulses in giggles at any form of hide-and-seek.
At the end of the day eighteen months gives you a hug and waves over daddy's shoulder as he's carried off to bed. When you ask him to "give mama some love," eighteen months puckers up for a kiss.
Eighteen months rocks, y'all.