I keep thinking that my baby is not that old, but there is evidence everywhere to the contrary. There are sippy cups of apple juice in my fridge, and graham crackers in my pantry. The kitchen floor is strewn with the tupperware and cookie cutters that Wallaby entertains himself with while I cook. Toys overtake the living room by noon, there are locks on cabinets, and doors are shut to avoid mass destruction. My baby is clearly mobile and he is not afraid to tell you loudly what he wants in his own unintelligible language. With birthday planning on my mind, I think it is time to face the fact that my baby is a toddler.