He watches her. He watches and copies her. He learns from her. He wants to do what she does.
He climbs over the couch cushions lying on the floor and into the belly of the couch. She is sitting there reading, surrounded by books. He picks up a book too and sits beside her. He pretends to read.
From his perch on my left hip he leans away from me to grab a marker from inside her bucket of art supplies. He watches her as she sits at the kitchen table and moves her paintbrush across the white paper. I place him down on the floor with a scrap of paper I have ripped of from the roll. The cap still on the marker he drags it back and forth drawing a picture of his own.
One hand on the back of the chair and the other on the little table he pulls himself up onto the seat. He pauses for a moment before lowering himself down to a sitting position. He grabs one of the wooden dolls on the table in front of him. He moves the doll from the bed to the table to the chair and back again. He dances the doll in and out of the dollhouse.
Standing at the bottom of the slide he tries to claw his way to the top. Gripping the blue plastic sides of the slide he propels his legs forward, willing them to carry him up up up. He yells at me to hold his hands, now outstretched, and help him to reach his destination.
Just like his sister.