Sweet Martin is doing all of the things he should be doing at 14-almost 15 months old. He toddles, he runs, he tries to explore every nook and cranny that is not toddler-proofed. He doesn't climb like Olivia did at this age (Praise God!), but he gets around. And he babbles. He says very little that makes actual sense and sometimes gets frustrated that I don't understand him. But he talks a lot.
My favorite is when he comes up to me and, with animated facial expressions and hand gestures, launches into a very important description of...something. If I respond with something like, "Wow, that sounds great" or some other response that makes sense to other people, he looks confused and walks away like I can't possibly communicate with him. On the other hand, when I play along he continues to tell me (in completely unidentifiable words) exactly what he thinks about...something. It goes like this.
Martin walks up and slaps my leg. I look down. "What's up buddy?"
Martin, gesturing wildly and eyes wide. "Jesh-a-blah buh. Gah BAH bebud ziz duh. Blah bee?"
Me, animatedly, "Blah bee? Blee blah blah blue blee." (I'm not nearly as creative in my gibberish as he is.)
Martin, watching me with awe and respect, nods and says in all seriousness, "Bah beezah." And then we both giggle. And he grins widely and declares, "SSSSUP!" And he runs away.
Toddlerhood, man. It is pretty sweet.