My Mother's Corridors are Long

My Mother's corridors are long and straight and so it is that Samuel can travel down them at great velocity, faster than a mini-speeding bullet train. No measured steps for my boy; not like Lily, who carefully tip-toed her way around as a fairy princess might, but a rampaging rocket of a son, careering wildly in to walls and doorways, ramming his little walker against glass cabinets and antique whatnots and hurling himself on to the floor in fits and howls of delighted hysteria.
Before this point, I have seen very little gender-specific behaviour. A baby is just a baby, but my almost-toddler, armed and dangerous, is most definitely becoming a boy.