When Jesus was nine months old

He was on the move – every which way but forwards. Pivoting, yes; reversing, yes; rolling, yes. But just not quite pushing up and pushing forward.

He had also developed a really annoying whine, designed to tell his mother and father that he really wasn’t happy about something and to fling down the gauntlet to challenge them to work out what.

And boy, could he eat. A ravenous little monkey man grabbing anything he could and devouring it. Yes, obviously at that age everything goes straight into the mouth anyway, and usually the wrong thing – a shoe more often than not – but he’d eat everything he was given and twice as much as you thought he would.

And he did have a smile. A real melter. And the way he kicked his legs when he saw his daddy coming in after a long day in the workshop… well, that was enough to…

Well, that was enough.

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