Perhaps Alex doesn't always understand why we do what we do; but he sure is getting good at copying us.
Alex loves to draw - on paper, the walls and occasionally on Anna, as she sits doing her homework. In the kitchen, he empties the dishwasher (onto the floor), empties the cupboards (again the floor) and re-organises the drawers (toys in the saucepans). When I make dinner, Alex sits, stirring his own plastic bowl filled with dried pasta or crumbs from the floor - whatever he can find. In my arms, he tries his hardest to add something (an orange, his biscuit, a sock) into the saucepan I'm stirring at the stove.
With pride, Alex opens the cupboard, throw a tissue into the garbage and closes the door with a flourish. The toilet fascinates him. In goes shredded toilet paper, the whole roll, bath toys, clothes, and one morning, my car keys.
Alex can turn around and around, walk backwards and run. In frustration, he turn around, and around, and then throw himself to the floor. What he can't reach, he now points to with his tiny index finger and a gentle grunt. At the dinner table, he sits, a spoon in each hand, and slowly transfers the contents of his bowl into his mouth with success.
Bye-bye my baby. Hello Alex, our toddler.